#Im gonna be shot for posting this

[evansboyfriend]

im gonna pull an ol' switcheroo. buck was being extremely disrespectful making a daddy issues joke when tommy was being vulnerable.

look at the face he makes. your boyfriend just told you he doesnt get along with his asshole dad and youre all :D like? can you stop being horny for ONE (1) second buckley? (impossible)

smdh.

[lighteyed]

can it be easy this once? / steve harrington

summary: steve accidentally gives a stupid answer to your honest question. (best friends with benefits pining idiots to lovers, fem!reader)

unedited we die like men & title from the alcott by the national ft taylor swift hehehe enjoy

It started as a means of comfort after Starcourt, when he was bloody and bruised up but you took him home and got closer, closer, closer, until it turned into a mess of blurred lines and panting breaths, lips swollen for reasons other than being hurt, for better reasons, reasons that brought forth safety and relief for the two of you. You both tend to hunger for such things. It’d been good, easy, for a bit there. Lately it’d felt like the intimacy was threatening to choke you. Like you’d never met a form of  closeness you didn’t cling to. And God, did it feel like you were clinging. Craving an unwarranted change. Was it so unwarranted? You weren’t sure, you could never tell.

    The air in his room is hot and sticky with summer, the ceiling fan providing the barest relief, your bare skin providing the slightest bit more. You stare all around his room, taking in all the stark traces of him, though in truth it doesn’t betray much, just as he attempts to. It’s a plain room, plaid walls, matching curtains, his desk messy and cluttered, all the dresser’s drawers slightly ajar like he spent a touch too long shuffling through all his clothes to determine which outfit would be best, which, knowing him in the way you do, he probably did. You knew he wasn’t as secure as he liked everyone to believe. Steve Harrington tried his best, but sometimes you saw right through him.

     Other times he was harder to read. It was probably purposeful, layers of protection built around himself. Don’t love anyone, don’t let anyone love you, and you won’t get hurt. People can only hurt you if you let them. Steve wasn’t letting anyone anymore. Definitely not his parents, definitely not Nancy Wheeler, definitely not random girls who would inevitably end up disappointed with him. He swore it all off. He was a hopeless romantic who never wanted to be in love again. You understood it for the most part. Or you attempted to. It was hard when you were halfway (maybe more than halfway) in love with the guy, in his bed most nights, in his company most days, acting like a couple without being an established couple because he was too hesitant and you were too gentle to be pushy.

    He nudges you lightly, naked chest peeking up from his covers, naked everything else kept firmly underneath. “You okay? You’re quiet.” He sits up so he’s level with you, and you avoid eye contact by leaning down toward the floor to grasp for the shirt he let you borrow, a faded Spider-Man one he insisted was from middle school. You didn’t entirely believe him, but maybe it was just funny, and kind of sweet, to picture Steve sleeping in a Spider-Man shirt and keeping it a secret just for himself. You pull the shirt on over your head, and before you can do it for yourself, he reaches for your hair and takes it out from where it’s caught under the shirt. The familiarity of it makes you flinch. You can have sex with him all you want but God forbid he’s the slightest bit loving outside of that. It confuses you, the softness in the touches that aren’t in bed with him. If he holds your hand in any context other than bringing you as into him as possible while he slips himself in and out, you lose all sense of normalcy between the two of you. You can’t be normal when he’s holding your hand and stroking your cheeks and being kind, soft, adoring Steve, without being your Steve.

     “I’m fine, I’m just…” You reach for your shorts at the end of the bed. Steve watches you get dressed with his eyebrows scrunched together, confused. You’re not usually in a rush to leave after you have sex. Not that he wants you to. He likes that you stay until day sinks into night and he drives you home and waits to repeat it all again. Waits to see you, generally. And it’s not sex every single time. You drag him to see whatever’s playing at the Hawk and he makes you sit with him at Family Video on slow days when it’s just him on the clock and a single tumbleweed blows through the store instead of any customers. He drives you just about anywhere you ask and he lets you put on any cassettes you want in his car even if he hates what’s playing. It’s nice, the friendship part of all of it. If you had to give everything else up and just keep the friendship you’d be willing. He’d be willing. You consider it. “Nothing, just tired, probably gonna head home,” you smile at him over your shoulder before pulling on your socks and it’s half-hearted and he knows it.

    “What? You can sleep here, you know that,” he waves a hand around the room, trying to catch your gaze, but you avoid his eyes again. Descending light slants in through the curtains and envelopes him in gold. He glows, he’s so pretty. His hair is messy from where you heatedly ran your hands through it, but it still looks nearly perfect. The fact that he always looks so good infuriates you.

    “No yeah, I know, I wanna like shower and stuff too, and I left my new book at home and I wanted to do some reading,” you bluff calmly, standing up from tangled bedsheets and roaming the room in search of your sneakers.

   “That Stephen King scary clown book? I’ll take you home and you can come back and read it here, so you don’t get scared,” and he knows you won’t get scared and that you love horror far more than he ever could but he just really, really doesn’t want to be alone. Why would you go when everything’s right here? His parents aren’t home and something about you leaving makes him antsy and desperate. When you still refuse to look at him he feels himself, his confidence, growing smaller and smaller. “Did I- did I do something?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as pathetic as it does.

   You whip around to face him, finally, finally, and touch a hand to his face. Relief floods through him at the heat of your fingers. “No, of course not, it’s all me, okay? I’m all sweaty and awful.”

    “You look beautiful, I swear,” he squeezes your hand and you feel like you’re drowning. It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me, it’s me.” He scoots closer, if that’s possible. “You’re one of my best friends, we tell each other everything.” You look up toward the ceiling, inwardly groaning. Best friend.

   “You do this with all your best friends?”  

    “Well, no, Robin wouldn’t touch me even if she didn’t like girls-“ He feels himself starting to grin, teasing smile lilting at his lips.

     “Steve!” You’re laughing a little and so is he as you push his arm back. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

    “What’d you mean, then?” He’s still smiling, that entrancing, deliberately pouty, lazy smile. Vaguely smirky. You don’t know if it’s deliberate, a ploy to distract you, con you into staying, make you less prone to saying what you want to say, but you press anyway, even though he’s making you want to lean forward and endlessly kiss the smirk off his mouth.

   “I just think, I don’t know… you’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

   “’Course not, why, you got other plans after this?” He grins again. You roll your eyes. He makes it so hard sometimes.

    “Steve,” you whine, “I’m so serious right now.”

    “Okay, okay. No, you’re the only one for me.” He means it. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you seeing anyone else?” He asks you like it’s the easiest question in the world for him to ask but honestly he’s shitting his pants a little. He’s not sure what’d he say if you said yes, I am, and I think we should end this, which is where he’s assuming the conversation is going. You’ve got we shouldn’t do this anymore written all over you in his eyes and he’s steeling himself for the heartbreak.

     “Does it look like I am?”

     “Does it look like I am?” He repeats back, and he reaches for your hand in that too intimate way of his, takes it all careful and slow. “What’s this about?”

     “I just, I just think, that, you know, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re not seeing anyone, but we’re sorta… seeing each other, yeah?” You gesture between the two of you. He nods. He’s staring at you very intensely, waiting for you to get your words out. He’s still waiting for you to say you think this whole thing has been a very bad mistake, a miscalculated judgement on your part, you should go back to the way things were, so he’s not expecting what comes out of you next. “Shouldn’t we be, like, official, then?”

     And instead of throwing up all the ways he so badly would love for that to happen, he chokes out, because he’s stupid and speechless, “Official?” And the way he says it, like it’s a curse when it’s only his disbelief that you’d want that with him after all this time, makes you immediately go into panic mode.

    He quite literally sees the way you lose any sense of confidence in your question and he immediately tries to take it back as you stand from his side and start trying to force your words back in your mouth, too. “Fuck, forget I said anything,” you mumble, spying your shoes shoved under his desk where you’d comfortably kicked them off. You hasten to put them on as Steve scrambles up from the bed and starts dressing, matching your frantic speed.

    “Hey, wait, that’s not what I- I didn’t mean it like that-“

     “It’s fine, Steve, I get it, I totally do, this isn’t that for you, it’s fine-“

      “It is, it is-“ but you’re not hearing him, your mind is already elsewhere. It’s in your own bed in the quiet, alone with your thoughts and not with him, mercifully not with him. You need this one mercy, “I’ll drive you home, babe, c’mon, I’ll explain everything, please-“

    “I got it, it’s fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to explain, okay? I got it,” and you don’t just walk out of his house and down the block to yours, you absolutely flee. You take Steve’s heart with you.

      He’s pacing the floor behind the register at Family Video three days and three shifts later, practically clawing at the walls of the place, and Robin is pulling her hair out at the sight of him in distress this way.

     “What did you do?” She finally breaks, flipping her magazine shut.

      “What? How do you know it was me?” He stops pacing. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

       “You’ve had three shifts and she hasn’t visited one single time. She always visits. And I know I didn’t do anything wrong, because I never do anything wrong, so, what’d you do?” Robin places her hand under his chin and stares at him expectantly.

      He huffs, his hands on hips. “Maybe she did something, Robin, did you ever think of that?”

     “Definitely not,” Robin retorts, waiting for Steve to be serious.

      He deflates. “Okay, it was me.”

      “I know that, now continue.”

      “We were, you know,” he tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes.

     “Having sex, sure,” Robin bobs her head. A customer in the nearest aisle frowns and shuffles toward a different section further away from the two of them.

     Steve shushes her. “I wasn’t trying to say it so loud.”

    “Having sex,” Robin repeats, louder this time, not bothering to fight back a laugh at Steve’s exasperated expression, “continue.”

      “Well, after that, she started asking if, if I was seeing anyone, which of course I’m not, because, you know, I’m into her, obviously, so I told her I wasn’t, and she said she wasn’t, so she said maybe we should be official.” Steve hesitates to say the rest of what happened. He still can’t believe all he could do when you said the words was repeat them back to you with that stupid look on his face instead of giving you the biggest, loudest declaration of love in a big, messy, pathetic, devoted way, the way he pictures himself when it comes to you, messy and pathetic and devoted, and he replays that moment back to himself all day long, thinking of everything else he could’ve said to make you understand.

    “That’s what you want, isn’t it? She’s all you talk about all day long, you want to be with her, don’t you?”

    “Of course I do!” He snaps, dragging a hand across his face. “But when she said it I just couldn’t get the words out and she got, she got so sad and she left without me being able to explain anything and she hasn’t answered the phone which, yes, I’ve been calling, and I don’t know how to do this.” He’d never been good at school but he knew he’d get a Grade A in Pitiful.

    “Do what? Tell a girl you love her? You’ve been in relationships before, Steve.”

    “I know, but…” he sighs. “I’m different now, like, it’s not as easy anymore, for me, and I- I don’t want her to get hurt, and I don’t want to get hurt, it’s like, everything used to be my fault, and I wasn’t as good as I could have been, and I don’t want to break anything, I don’t want it to get fucked up, because it’ll be my fault, and I can’t do that again. Not to her.” He swallows, the words harder to come by than he would care to admit. “I’m a little… I’m a little in love with her, I think.” This is said quietly. It frightens him to say it out loud. He’s gone over it in his head, those words, so few of them, but they say so much, and it’s scary. He hasn’t said them to someone in years. The last time he did he got so brutally hurt he thought he’d never recover. But he had. So why was it still so scary?

    “A little bit?” Robin teases, but it’s all love for him, truly.

    “Alright, a lot in love,” he concedes. He wants to get used to saying it. He wants to say it to you. For real. Loudly. “I still don’t know how to do this, though. Not anymore.”

   “Come on!” Robin gets up from her stool and places her hands on his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington. You were using those…” she pauses for a beat and then, “charms,” the word is said with the smallest hint of sarcasm but she persists nonetheless, “on tons of girls in high school and at Scoops! Now whip them out again for our very nice friend that you sometimes go to town with!”

   “When did any of those charms,” he says it with a matching sarcastic tone, “work aside from when I was sixteen and an idiot?”

   “You might not be sixteen anymore but you’re still an idiot, if that helps.”

    “It doesn’t but thank you for the encouragement.”

    “I’m just saying!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up and returning back to her seat. “Putting yourself out there is always gonna be scary, but you can’t let that stop you. You’d actually be an idiot if you let that stop you. Are you just never gonna see her again? No, because you’d go insane. It’s not like what you did was all that bad anyway.”

    “You really think so?” He perks up a bit, needing that confirmation that he isn’t a totally awful and irredeemable person. It’s easy for him to fall headfirst into that spiral of thinking. It was a trap set with the most accessible, perfect bait and he somehow always found himself walking straight into it without stopping to think if he was being fair to himself.

    “You’ve both been in bad spots, you reacted the way you did and she reacted the way she did out of what was most likely panic and embarrassment. She’s definitely not even mad at you. Probably just, again, embarrassed. If you explain I think it’ll all be okay, Steve, I swear.” Robin can’t take much more of this conversation circling around, as much as she loves Steve and wants to be there for him, she would love him even more if he acted on his feelings and allowed himself some happiness for once.  “So do you think you can you, like, maybe go tell her so she can keep visiting us at work? I need more company than just you and Keith and these customers with no taste,” she complains, glaring at the closed door that hides Keith, in all his absolute glory. The customer from before hears her comment and storms out. Robin rolls her eyes.

    “Right, yeah, tell her I love her, tell my best friend I love her,” he frowns, nerves creeping up the back of his neck. “Maybe you could just call her first and ask-“

     “Steve! I am not meddling in your love life like that when you already know everything there is to know!” She throws her magazine at him. “She said she wants to be with you, go be with her!”

    “Alright, alright!” He waves his hands dismissively. He begins to pace again, this time his eyes held to the clock. Robin groans. There’s still three hours left of their shift.

     You’re in your room wallowing, or doing what’d you call attempting not to wallow but failing at it miserably. You haven’t touched a single page of your book, mostly content to just listen to sad records and more or less stare at the wall. It was stupid, you knew, to behave in such a way over some guy. But it didn’t feel like some guy. It was Steve, after all. It all felt deeper than just some guy. You two had been through a lot together, more than most people have been, and if you’d just ruined your friendship with someone you always felt safe, felt at home with, over feelings you couldn’t control and probably would be better off not having, you were going to need some serious therapy.

     It probably was silly of the two of you to start this thing up anyway, you reason, fighting back your urge to do any further crying into a pillow. You try to focus on painting your nails a nice shade of dark blue but it reminds you of Steve’s old Scoops uniform and of that night (and all that nights that followed) so you stop in the middle of your second thumb and grab nail polish remover and start scrubbing away at your finished right hand.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you mutter, the cotton ball in your hand soaked through with blue and your nails discolored and muddy. “I am ridiculous,” you say to yourself, shaking off your wet hand. Your room is filled with the smell of acetone and disappointment. You think about lighting a candle when your doorbell rings. You debate answering it before it rings again. And then again. And again, more frenzied this time.

    You open the door to a distressed Steve. His cheeks are red and he’s breathing like he can’t anymore. He’s not the multi-star athlete he was in high school, he realizes in this moment. “Did you- did you just run here from work?” You ask him, but he’s already too close to you, not answering your question, gazing at you because simply looking isn’t enough and has never been enough. He is gazing. He is flush with adoration. It’s hard not to bloom under that radiance. He makes you want to forget everything and go back to plush lips on hot skin and the quiet contentment that came alongside being with him in those first few months. You back up a little into your doorway but he steps up to you, following your steps. “Where’s your car-“

    “Forget that for a sec,” he says, and you stop talking out of surprise. “Just, just tell me if we do this it’ll be okay, and we won’t be terrible for each other, and we’ll be good,” because he needs to hear it, even if it’s ridiculous and he’s jinxing it before it’s begun he needs to know you’re right there with him. “Like, just tell me it can be easy this once. If you broke my heart I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. ‘Cause I love you. I do. And I want this.” And you get it. He’s letting you get it. He’s letting you all the way in. You realize, flustered and basking in it, that he’s the first one to say those words. That you hadn’t even said them when you posed your first question. But he’s saying them out loud and it’s brilliant and beautiful. He is beautiful.

    It makes you want to weep, the love that swells here, out in the open. “Fuck, Steve, what type of girl do you think I am, breaking the heart of the guy I’ve been in love with since he started sneaking into my bedroom?” He smiles. He glows. It’s so beautifully Steve. Maybe it can be easy.

    When he kisses you, he proves it: the ease, the tranquility. He is fervent and burning. Everything is urgent with Steve. Especially kissing. He captures every bit of you immediately. His touch is light when he urges you out of your doorway and into your living room so he can shut your front door and quit giving the neighbors what he’s sure is the show of a lifetime. It is for him, at least.

[charlotte-family-apologist]

Best thing about mkx was Takeda's ass shots

[bamsara]

DRIVING STOP. AND NOW. FOOD

[quirkedupkicks]

Iida, bro, you Gotta remember to knock first ...

[soul-eclectic]

bombie!!! i went a bit Wild with the colors and markings

[deadmothsketches]

Roll credits and end theme.

[simptasia]

LOST: Season One

[skitskatdacat63]

Oh to be kissed the way Fernando Alonso kisses his trophies

+

[todayisafridaynight]

[ambivartence]

i wanna be your best friend ever 🌈🧸❣️

[artfulacrostic]

jean moreau, and faith and religion and the absence of it.

the sunshine court, nora sakavic // the unabridged journals of sylvia plath, sylvia plath // "stay down" by boygenius ft. julien baker, lucy dacus, and phoebe bridgers // the denial of st. peter, caravaggio // salome with the head of st. john the baptist, simon vouet // henry iv pt. ii, william shakespeare // the rebirth of the arts, charles haslewood shannon // daredevil: "born again" (1986) by frank miller et al. // "ash-wednesday", t.s. eliot // map of hell, botticelli

[fereldanwench]

You should not have returned--You will die here with me! You can thank me later!

⚠️ do not reupload or edit my shots without my permission ⚠️

[vanweezer]

that type of person who you think you'd be friends with in every universe - expressed through jim & corey - id/transcript in alt text

so this is a kind of not-so-surprise for my friend @sinclarsupremacy , bc they were the first person i showed this two and was on the phone with me the whole time while i made it. didn't give a single thing away until everything was scanned and done. five dead pens and one reliable sharpie later, i show him this. wanted to get used to drawing the slipsour guyz more but also wanted to articulate something i have troubles saying to important people. this is kind of an ode to all my close friends ive made who i definitely wouldve hung around some graveyards with, and an ode to some bands i didnt know id like as much as i do 🫶

[thetriggeredhappy]

people comment on running blind like "i know this fic is five years old but-" dude im still fully here. i worked on taking shots TODAY. truly "sometimes i can still hear his voice" like cmon next youre gonna tell me tf2 is an old game

[unreadpoppy]

The making of heirs

Raphael x Gwen

Read on AO3

(Btw this is the same universe as Betrayer and Runaway Bride, it can be read on it's on own, but maybe reading both of them will help.

Warnings: 18+ this is smut. Just smut with a smidge of something in the beggining, but besides that, just straight sex. Breeding kink, there's some hands on neck but no actual choking, i think this might qualify as mating press? Also dirty talk near the end. P in V sex.

A/N: Second time i write smut let's go bitches. Also this is me setting up future dad!phael

Children. 

The topic had been on Raphael’s mind for some time. He didn’t particularly like them. They demanded attention and made a mess everywhere. Mol had been an exception, but she was already a bit older when they met, and not a toddler or a babe. 

But the idea of reproducing had its appeals. With the proper discipline and education, he could mold his children to his desires. They would be loyal to him, obey his commands, they would be the only ones he would entrust with positions of power, as they wouldn’t dare to go against their father. Besides, in the long run, he would be creating a line of tieflings, all tied back to him, just as the past archdevils had. 

Raphael looked across the table he was eating dinner from. His wife, Gwendolyn, sat on the other side. He started imagining what their children would look like. A little girl, with the same pink skin and purple hair as her mother, but with his eyes and four horns. Or a boy, as handsome and strong as his father, with the same easy going smile as Gwen’s. 

His thoughts took on a more lustful turn. He imagined ravishing her again and again, finishing inside of her until there was no doubt that his seed had taken place. He thought of her already fat belly growing bigger and bigger with his heir. 

Raphael was suddenly brought back to reality when Gwendolyn asked “What’s on your mind?” 

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

“You have that look on your face.” She grabbed a glass of wine. “The one you make when you’re scheming.” Gwen took a sip, looking at him.

“I was thinking about you.” 

“Really?” She put the glass down, raising one brow.. “And what about me were you thinking of?” 

He smirked. “About you carrying my heir in your womb.” 

If Gwen had been drinking, she would have choked. “You want to have a child, Raphael?”

He got up from his seat. “Think about it.” Raphael slowly walked towards her. “It is the next logical step. Mephistopheles and Asmodeus both had lineages of tieflings traced back to them. It is only fair I have mine. A way to secure my - our - legacy.” At this point, he had walked behind her chair and put his face next to hers, whispering in Gwen’s ear. “Just imagine. A bunch of little ones, running around, a mix of the two of us. You wouldn’t be alone.” 

“It’s a tempting thought.” She took a deep breath, moving her head slightly. “And how many children would the Lord of the Nine Hells want?”

Raphael sneaked one hand towards her neck, holding it and pulling her head backwards, making her gasp. “Eight, I think, would be a good number. One for each layer of hell, except this one, of course.” He kissed her open mouth. Raphael tightened his hold on her neck, just slightly enough to cause pressure but not to cut air supply. 

Eventually, he let go of her, allowing Gwen to breathe. She turned around in her seat to look at him. “Surely you don’t expect me to carry eight children.” She stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder, while his eyes were fixated on her heaving chest. “How about we settle on three?” 

Raphael took the hand on his chest and raised it towards his mouth, kissing her fingers. “We can discuss that later.” He murmured. “Now, let’s focus on producing the first one.” 

Gwen bit her lip and nodded her head. Not even a moment later, his mouth was once again on hers, one hand holding her cheek with force, while the other went to the back of her dress, trying to untie it. With her hands, Gwen began to slowly unbutton his vest. 

Eventually, Raphael grew frustrated and let go. He put his hands on top of the dress and in one movement, ripped the garment open, leaving her in her underwear. She gasped. “I really liked the dress.” Gwen removed her undergarments before he had any chance of ruining them as well. 

Raphael made quick work of his own clothes and replied. “I’ll get you a hundred thousand as a replacement, pet.” He was once again on her, hands roaming her soft flesh. 

Gwendolyn grabbed him by the back of his neck and reached a hand down his chest, slightly grazing his skin with her nails until she reached his half hard cock. She grabbed it, gently, rubbing it up and down. Raphael had one hand on her breasts, toying with her nipple, while the other was at her sex, inserting one finger than another, his thumb stroking her clit. 

As they were both getting close to their climaxes, Raphael snapped them away to their bed. As soon as Gwen’s back hit the mattress, the archdevil raised her legs, putting her calves over his shoulders and pushing himself inside her in one fluid motion, their previous ministrations facilitating the process. 

She moaned loudly as he pounded into her. One of Raphael’s hands wrapped around Gwen’s neck, squeezing it just a bit. 

“You take me so well, look at you.” He said, in a raspy voice. Gwen’s reply came in the form of a moan. His placed his free hand over her belly, grasping and kneading the flesh. “I can already see it, you round with my heirs.” 

“Raphael…” She managed to say, voice raspy. 

“I’ll breed you over and over again, until there is no doubt that you’re pregnant. Everyone will see how you’re mine.” He let go of her neck, and instead, held her cheek. “Tell me you want this.” 

“I…I want this.” She breathed out. 

“You’ll carry all the children I give you.”

“Yes, yes! I’m-I’m so close.” Gwen moaned. The hand on her belly traveled to her clit, rubbing it until she threw her head back, reaching her orgasm. Raphael leaned forward, engulfing her mouth with his and bringing her knees close to her chest, drinking up the scream that left her as she climaxed. 

A few more hard thrusts and he soon reached his peak, finishing inside her. As they both came back, breathing heavily, tears of pleasure running down Gwen’s face, she noticed that he continued inside her. 

Raphael saw that and smirked. “To make sure not a single drop goes to waste.” He laid on top of her, weight almost crushing. She threw her arms around him.

“If we keep doing it like this, I won’t object to the eight children.” Gwen whispered.

Raphael kissed the side of her head. “Good.”