#Keith looks delighted to be there

[shirtlessdigby]

Yep, it’s the Tim Hortons commercial

Many thanks to my sister for texting me to tell me this existed and then recording it in full. And thank you Tkachuks for trying to act. But also these could’ve been released when I was in Canada, rude honestly.

[apprentice-s]

and somewhere else lance is screaming, begging this stubborn, horrible fighter pilot to stay.

[chiropteracupola]

[feral growling and teeth-gnarling] LET THE SEALANT SEAL CORRECTLY PLEASE PLEASE [more intense and slorpy growling]

[humanmorph]

heard is such a keith character of all time because hes so different from any character keith usually plays and you can really feel him trying to stay in that role (serious, person with authority & willing to wield that, doesnt really show/give away emotions) & play it well and as a result heard comes across as someone so repressed its the best thing to me

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

[3.4K] title from ‘too sweet’ by hozier, just a stressed out steve, a willing girlfriend and a lot of filth. written in two hours and not edited in the slightest i’m sorry do not perceive me.

As sour as Steve had looked when he came home from work, he tasted twice as sweet.

He’d called you on his lunch, voice strained and low and you could picture the stitch between his brows, the downturn of his lips as he grumbled to you down Family Videos landline.

Robin was off sick, Keith was in a foul mood, two kids came in and stole a copy of a porno that was sitting behind the desk and the return pile sat at the height of Steve’s waist.

“Can’t wait to come home,” he had sighed down the line, voice rough and mournful and making your thighs squeeze together just right. “Wanna see you so bad, y’know?”

And you did know.

It seemed to take an age before you heard his car pull into the driveway, brakes squeaking slightly because the rent on the apartment came before any repairs to the BMW now. It’s why you’d poured a whisky for him, neat and no ice, no water, just the way Steve liked it. You considered dinner, home cooked and waiting on the kitchen table but something else took hold in your thoughts.

You could order pizza later.

So Steve came in the door with his shoulders slumped and his keys rattling from his fingertips, his green work vest already discarded and probably balled up in the backseat of his car. That frown was there, the one you’d wanted to soothe away all day for him, creasing at his brows, turning down the corners of his soft and pretty lips.

He thawed when he saw you, barefoot and in an old sweater that was too big for you, legs naked and your skin still warm from the shower you’d taken your time in. Steve held out a hand, groaning in delight when you stepped to him, all soft smiles and softer sweater, allowing him to pull you into his chest. His noises were doing things, rough sighs and low moans that made you think with what was between your legs, his purrs vibrating from his chest to yours as he curled his arms around your lower back.

It was easy to return the affection, pushed onto your tiptoes as you carded your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his cologne that you watched him spray that morning barely clinging to his skin. You nosed at his throat anyway, everything about him smelling like home and when Steve let out a low grunt at your adoration, you used one hand to pull at his jaw, bringing his lips to yours.

It was more than an average kiss ‘hello’. In fact, it made his brows shoot upwards and his breath hitch, the arm still around your waist faltering before he caught up with the pace you had set and tucked you in tighter to his body. He let you lead, eyes fluttering shut as he sighed softer than he had all day, letting you steal the noise and keep it for yourself.

Steve fell pliant for you, pretty lips giving in to yours as you kissed him slow, needy, lazy. Your tongue traced the seam of his mouth, teasing, testing, his breath ragged when he opened for you, trying to catch up. You pulled away then, pleased with the rosy cheeks and blown out pupils that stared back at you.

“Go sit down,” you told him, voice soft, quiet. There was a spell cast, not to be broken, not until Steve did too. “I’ll be through in a second.”

If Steve knew what you were up to, he didn’t say. No questions asked, the boy blinked and stumbled into the doorframe before righting himself, heading for the sofa. You’d long switched the television off, the lamp by the armchair dimmed low, the candles you liked to collect all lit and scattered across the coffee table and the fireplace mantle.

You returned with his whisky, the glass glinting amber in the candle light, your smile too coy. Steve raised his brows as you handed him his drink, his gaze too caught on your bare legs. He reached out for you, warm palm travelling up the back of your thigh, wide enough to curl around it and bring you between his knees.

Exactly where you planned to end up.

“What have I done to deserve this, huh?” He asked, whisky on one hand as he leant his chin on the soft of your stomach, eyes wide and dark as he looked up at you.

You scoffed, soft and light, your hands carding through his hair. You pushed it from his forehead, nails scratching at his scalp, beaming when he closed his eyes like he couldn’t help it, lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks. “What? Bring you a drink?”

Steve hummed, distracted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of deserving you.”

Love sick, that’s what you felt. An awfully sticky thing that glued itself to your heart at his words. You didn’t know what to say, especially not when he was looking at you like that again, all brown sugar eyes, honeyed and soft. So you bent instead, nose bumping his before you stole another kiss, gentler than before, lingering and as sweet as him.

You let him take one sip of his whisky before you dragged his shirt from his body, hair wild as you pulled it over his head, cheeks flushed and eyes surprised.

“What—?”

You didn’t respond, merely dropping to your knees instead and popping the button on his Levi’s. Steve swore, a dirty, throaty sound that made your stomach flip because you knew that he knew where this was going.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Fuck. You don’t have to do that—”

The sound of his zipped caught in the air, the rest of the evening quiet. The closed curtains and the flicker of the candle light made the small living room feel even tinier, a warm bubble where you could hear every little noise Steve made for you. His hand travelled up your forearm, fingers curling at your elbow and squeezing. Steve looked half gone already, lip parted and shiny from your previous kisses and you knew he’d taste like cedar and smoke now.

“What if I wanna?” You told him, pouring, just a little. Because what man could resist a pretty thing like you on your knees, lips soft and begging? You pushed yourself up, leaning into the space between his hips, your mouth skimming along his jawline, tongue licking into the corner of his mouth all sweet. It was barely a kiss, but it was somehow dirtier. “What if I told you I wanna make you feel better? That I’ve been thinking about your cock in my mouth all day?”

Steve groaned, falling into you, head on your shoulder, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck. “Fuck— baby. Baby, y’cant, you can’t just say shit like that.”

You grinned, amusement hidden from him as Steve continued to mouth at your throat, nose nudging down the collar of your sweater so he could kiss more skin. “I can’t?” You asked.

“Gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind,” he mumbled. He lifted his head then, cheeks pink and eyes looking heavy lidded, pupils black and too big. He looked delirious on you. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed heavily, tongue licking at his lips. “You really been thinking about that?”

You nodded, making your eyes a little too wide, too innocent, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and it was a cheap shot, an easy target— but fuck, it worked every time. Steve’s hand slid to your ass, lifting your sweater out of his way and squeezing a plump cheek, only your underwear to be found underneath.

“So can I?” You whispered, mouth parted, brushing against his. You shared your breath with him, nose pushed to his warm cheek, hands coasting over his thighs as you prepared to tug down those too tight jeans.

Steve sounded too breathy when he answered but he still played your game, too far gone or not. He was watching your mouth when he spoke, transfixed by the pink gloss there, the way he could see your tongue between them. “Can you what, honey?”

You smirked.

Steve knew what you were asking. He just wanted to hear you say it again.

“Can I suck your cock?”

You heard it then, the hitch in his throat, the too harsh exhale. Steve looked at you like you were everything, like you’d hung each star and you were ever wet dream all at once. Lips pressed together to deal in his moan, his filthy words, he nodded, hair falling into dark eyes. And when he trusted his voice, albeit rougher and lower than before, he spoke.

“Yeah, honey, go ‘head.” He lifted his hips when you tapped them, jeans and boxers shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and hitting his stomach. “You’re so— you’re so fucking sweet, y’know that?”

You smiled, all coy, faux shyness as you leaned your cheek onto his thigh, denim and coarse hair against your skin. Steve gasped when you wrapped a small hand around him, fingers barely meeting around his girth and you stroked once, twice. “I am?”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer before your tongue followed, a lazy, wide lick from the base of him to his tip, already dark pink and slick for you. Steve’s hips canted up, head thrown back against the cushions and you adored the way you got to watch his jaw tense, neck straining as he calmed himself down.

“God,” he blew out a breath, eyes trained on the ceiling because if he looked down and saw the way you were kissing a line up his cock, he’d fucking lose it. “Yeah, baby. The sweetest, Jesus Christ.”

You took it easy on him then, easing him into it until his shoulders sagged and his head tipped back up, his pretty face more flushed than ever but Steve watched you as you took him into your mouth, his jaw unhinged as you sucked the tip of him, licking over his head.

His hand found the back of your head, holding but not pushing and he groaned something fierce when you scratched at his bare thighs, nails dragging over the muscle there. “Tha’ s’it,” Steve moaned, unabashed, totally gone. “Keep suckin’ me, honey, yeah— please. Can you take more, huh? Take a little more for me, please, baby.”

You didn’t need to be asked, begging or not, but it certainly made it all that sweeter. Steve’s hand was cupping your jaw, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth as you widened it, tongue licking out over his cock as you took more of it into your mouth, inch by inch until he was touching the back of your throat. It made the boy go a little wild, gasping and panting, curses mixed in with praise that was filthy enough to make your own toes curl.

“Holy shit, jus’ like that, yeah,” Steve was slurring, words meshed together in a quick mumble, his breathes too heavy for him to care. “You feel me in your throat? You’re so fuckin’ good for me, babe, Christ— yeah, yeah, lemme see your tongue, yeah. Stick it out for me, honey, oh shit—”

You did as asked, pulling back with wet eyes and warm cheeks, your lips shiny from your efforts. You kept a hand around Steve’s cock, slowly pumping him as you stuck your tongue out flat. You knew what he wanted, it was why his cheeks were so pink, the tips of his ears too. Something he found too vulgar to ask for, always scared you’d shy away from it.

You never did.

You tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, the wet slapping sounds nothing but pure filth, your own breathy noises too much for him. Steve could barely keep it together, eyes screwing shut as he bucked upwards, swearing and groaning something awful as he watched his cock slide over your tongue. You let him move, hips thrusting as you held him to your mouth, parted lips slipping over his shaft, and warm tongue tracing the throbbing vein down the length of it.

“M’gonna come,” Steve gasped and he was shaking his head, hips pressing back down into the safety of the couch and he sounded overwhelmed, eyes glassy. “Fuck, no, no, no— I—”

“No?” You pouted, understanding. Pulling away, you leaned up again, wet lips sliding over Steve’s and he kissed you feverishly, tongue licking into your mouth to search for your own. He groaned, whining when you squeezed a hand around his cock. “Too much? You don’t wanna come yet, huh?”

Steve shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and his chest was heaving, his hands curling around your sides and he was pulling at your sweater, lifting it from your frame. “No, no— shit, not yet, please.”

You let him strip you, sweater discarded by his own shirt and your bare chest only made him swear a little more, eyes on your tits, your peaked nipples and suddenly he wanted nothing more than his cock between them. He felt drunk, delirious, suddenly too happy to care about how quickly he came.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he told you with a very serious expression. His hands travelled up, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over each nipple with careful precision. “M’gonna die and it’s gonna be because of you and your mouth and those tits and—” Steve choked on a laugh when you did, lashes fluttering as you took his cock back in your hand. “—and m’gonna be a very, very happy man.”

Grinning, you rolled your eyes at his declaration, as dramatic as they were. He was as hard as steel in your grip, his hips rolling up into your touch and didn’t want to wait much longer, his poor cheeks bright red with the exertion of holding back. So you gave him a kiss, light and sweet, too sweet for the current situation but it made Steve all the more wild. You were murmuring low and soft to him, holding his cock to your tits as you stroked him, words whispered between cute little pecks at his lips, his warm cheeks.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna come, handsome?”

“Mhmm.” A whine more than a word. “Please.”

“Where do you wanna come?”

A swear, guttural and hoarse. A twitch of his dick at the thought of his options. “Fuck, I— uh, I dunno.”

“Here?” You asked him sweetly, pushing his length between your breasts, rubbing your own nipple so he could watch it harden again. “All over here? Paint me nice ‘n pretty?”

Steve couldn’t form words now, which was exactly what you’d wanted.

Your mouth made its way to his ear, voice dropping lower than before. “My mouth?” You whispered. “D’you wanna come in my mouth, Stevie?”

A jerk of his hips, a whine and a grunt as his cock kicked up once more. He was so fucking close. Steve let his forehead fall to your shoulder, too hot and too helpless and too fucking desperate. He clung to you, hands wrapping around your bare waist and he didn’t know what he wanted more. He could sit back and watch you drop back down to your knees, pushing your pretty tits together as he jerked himself onto them, knowing he could watch the way he dripped down your body.

Or he could get you to open your mouth, pink tongue back out and waiting, you doe eyed and watching him. He always got dirty with that, asking you in the sweetest voice to let him see it all in your mouth, asking you to swallow it like a good girl before showing him your clean tongue after.

If Steve didn’t choose he was going to fucking explode.

So he tugged at your waist, gasping as he wrenched himself from you, falling back into the sofa. He took his aching cock in his own hand, pumping it once before squeezing tightly, willing away the need to come right there and then. He patted his knee, his eyes glassy and hooded as he looked at you.

“C’mere, baby, come sit.”

You did as told, happily, easily, willingly. Your own chest was thundering, excitement itching at your too warm skin because whatever Steve wanted you’d give him. Your thighs were slick, underwear sticking to your folds in the most obscene way because Steve’s sounds were too much to cope with without being touched too. He looked a riot, the prettiest kind. His hair mussed and cheeks flushed, lips pink and slick from your kisses, his eyes a little wild.

He helped you onto his lap, legs spread over his knees and his dick standing hard and to attention between you both. You waited patiently for his instructions, to hear what he wanted from you and Steve let his head fall back onto the cushions once more as he watched you from hooded lids. His jaw was flexing with each stroke he gave himself, hazy gaze roaming over your tits, your stomach and then lower.

And then—

“Lemme see you, baby?”

Your stomach flipped. A sweet voice, a prettily asked question, some filthy words. You smiled at Steve, lips twisting to hide your absolute glee because you knew what wanted, what he wanted to do and you were more than happy to give it to him.

You didn’t say anything as you hooked your fingers into the crotch of your underwear, gasping a little at how wet they actually were. You tugged them aside, white cotton stretched over your skin as you held the material away from yourself. With your spread thighs, you let Steve have the filthiest view, all glistening skin, a swollen clit between wet folds. You didn’t look down, you didn’t have to. You could hear the slick, fast sounds of Steve fucking his own fist, his frantic, hitched breaths.

“That’s it, yeah,” he sounded gone, drunk. “So good—”

Instead you watched him watch you, his eyes set on your pussy, gaze on fire as he enjoyed the show and when you swept your fingers over the centre of your folds, Steve swore, his free hand on your thigh clutching you tighter.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured, his teeth catching his bottom lip. He was close, you knew he was. “Such a pretty pussy, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I was gonna come without gettin’ to see her.”

You hummed, all delight and amusement. You cocked a brow even though Steve was still staring at your spread legs. “I’m dirty?” You cooed. “You’re the one who’s gonna come all over my cu—”

And he did.

Steve came with your name on his tongue, making it sound like the dirtiest, holiest thing you’d ever heard. He was gasping, choked sounds leaving his pretty lips as he fucked his fist, come spilling over his knuckles and onto your folds, leaving you and your underwear even stickier than before. His head fell back onto the sofa as he caught his breath, an impossible thing with his heaving chest but you curled into him almost immediately.

You let go of your stretched out underwear, your own breath hitching when you felt the warm, stickiness cling to your cunt. Steve pulled at you as you moved closer, your hands soothing over his jaw and cheeks, thumbs rubbing over his flushed skin as he kissed you, head lifting lazily, moaning at your touch, your lips, the feel of your bare stomach pressing his half hard cock to his own.

He was sticky with it all, with sweat, his own release, your affection and touch.

It was too much and entirely not enough, not of you.

Steve’s lips clicked as he pulled them away from your own, albeit grudgingly. You tasted sweet, like strawberry lipgloss and him. He was still panting when he spoke, his messy hand held away from you as he took your chin in his other. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, swollen from all your efforts and he watched the way it popped back into place, making you smile.

“M’gonna finish my whisky,” he mumbled softly, eyes searching yours. He was met with excitement, knowing, a whole lot of adoration and fondness that he felt for you too. “You’re gonna check my pulse—” you laughed, too bright and joyous for the gloomy light of the room. Steve grinned, cheeks aching. “And then we’re gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna return the favour.”

[sarcasticassian]

one day in Family Video Robin and Eddie are talking about films, some gay, some not and Steve is half listening but he eventually decides to join in because hey he’s watched a film with a gay couple in it before so that counts right? He tells the others this, feeling quite proud of himself and they both look kinda incredulous and so Steve, feeling helpful, is like I’ll go find them hang on, we should have copies

and Robin is dumbfounded because the only gay movie Family Video, because it’s right there in the name this place is mainly for families, have is The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Robin is pretty sure that’s because Keith didn’t know what he was ordering in because he admitted he’d never seen it but her and Eddie watch Steve trot off to the sci fi section, sharing confounded looks and waiting for him to return in silence

Steve comes back clutching three tapes to his chest and proceeds to drop the Star Wars trilogy onto the counter in between Eddie and Robin, he looks so proud of himself as he leans into Eddie for a moment blinking his big cow eyes at him, like he’s waiting for approval, Eddie decides for once in his life to keep his mouth shut until he’s figured out just what he’s supposed to say

Robin has no such qualms though and just states a fact for them all ‘this is Star Wars, Steve’, ‘yeah! kinda crazy, right?’, ‘sorry, where is there a gay couple in Star Wars? I know you and Dustin watch them a lot but I feel like I’d have noticed’, Steve’s expression drops slightly and Eddie feels so bad because Steve looks like a sad sad puppy and Eddie wants to wrap him up in a giant cuddle

‘are the robots not gay?’ is what softly breaks the momentary silence that has settled between the three of them

‘they sure are’ Eddie blurts out, determined to keep Steve happy and it works because a smile blooms across Steve’s face again and he nods to himself, leaning against Eddie again instead of on the counter like he normally would, Robin stares and Eddie narrows his eyes and then she’s nodding along too, ‘oh yeah, yeah, how could I forget about those funky little guys? they’re definitely married’

and the conversation moves on, Robin recalling Steve and Dustin’s nerdy handshake which makes Steve press his face into Eddie’s shoulder to hide his burning cheeks when Eddie crows in delight and they only send each other a little smirk the next time the Party is watching Star Wars with them and 40 years down the line Eddie sends Steve a tweet about R2D2 and C3PO having gay vibes and Steve starts cackling in the middle of his 9th graders history test and they all demand an extra five minutes because he distracted them all

[munsster]

hii!! i'd like to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic pls <33 reader confesses to steve, but he says he doesn't like her. then reader's all 'okay fine, i'm gonna move on' and when she actually does that, steve is 🥺 lots of angst please and some steve grovelling teehee <33

gut feeling

A/N: okay yes 😏 i screwed this up the littlest bit, but i hope it still tickles ur fancy. also i’ve seen this done for king!steve and i wanted to write it for s4 steven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have big feelings for Steve, he’s just not sure he feels the same way. 3.6k words.

Warnings: angst, but it resolves into fluff, unrequited love trope, lots of feelings, friends to lovers?, CURSING!, italics, established friendship, feat. Keith 😑

"You think it would be gross if we kissed?"

Steve thinks you might actually sound hurt, but he also thinks the face he's making is hilarious beyond belief: kind of contorted and screwed inward, nose scrunched and trying really hard to batten down a grin. You glare at him from the passenger's seat, arms crossed tight over your green Family Video vest.

You think he's wonderful despite his naiveté. If only he knew how handsome you thought he was, all caramel locks and big brown eyes and the kind of smile that reaches his eyes before he's even thought of it. No wonder he has an ego up to the moon. No wonder he still manages to weasel his way into the creases and crevices of any living creature's heart. Even yours. Hell, especially yours.

"Yeah, duh!"—and he's so sure of it, you could cry—"You're like the little sister I never had!"

You chuckle but you look like you're about to hurl yourself out of the car or get yourself arrested for manslaughter. Thank God he's only a block away from your house, or he'd never see the light of day again. Does he really think of you like that? The soft laughter peters out into a grating silence that burns right down your throat and feels like hard metal settling in your lungs.

He doesn't dare glance over at you. He only bites down hard around nothing and grimaces, eyes set hard on the lines dashing beneath the grill of his car. Jesus Christ, he does not think of you like that. And he begs whatever stupid pride is keeping him steady in this nonexistent pissing contest to leave it be, but its jaw is set in the tender meat of the game.

"Don't have to be so jovial about it," you grumble.

"What?"

"Mine's on the left," you grumble, nodding out the window. Oh, he's definitely in trouble. You only ignore him like this when he's done something boyish to a fault.

"I know. I drive you home every—hey!"

"Bye," you coo, booking it up the steps to your door, refusing to turn over your shoulder for fear that you'll burst into tears upon seeing him smile or frown or crack the slightest look of confusion.

He watches you slam the door and rolls the passenger window up with a frustrated sigh. Where the Hell did that come from and why. All while you're sitting against the foot of your bed, chattering into the phone at Robin, still wearing your uniform and tugging at strands of your hair as expletives weave themselves between every three words.

"Oh my Fucking God, I'm so fucking embarrassed right now, Robs—Does he—? Does he think I'm some sort of fuckin' baby? I just don't—"

"He's just being Steve, okay? He probably didn't mean it—"

"The way he looked at me, Robin, I felt like a fucking imbecile. Of all the dickheads in the world I could fall for, my heart chose Harrington? Maybe I'm the idiot." You sigh and kick your feet out, the frustration winding up new nerves and letting them go like tight springs to fling out over your body.

She sighs and it rattles through the grainy speaker. "You're not an idiot; he has his moments. Don't beat yourself up, you know how he gets. He's probably not thinking straight, just... tell him? The worst he can say is—"

"That I'm like a sister to him? Oh, how delightful. That's even worse than just flat out admitting I'm unattractive."

"You're not unattractive, don't do that."

"I am to him," you groan.

"Hey," she hums after a beat of crackling silence. You close your eyes and grip the sickly yellow receiver a little tighter.

"I really like him."

"I know."

"And it sucks."

"I know." The other end rustles and you let out a curt sigh just as you move to stand. "I love you, and I'm here for you. Especially when dumb boys make you feel like shit. You'll always be the most amazing and most beautiful girl in my life, don't forget that."

"Thank you. I'll see you, Robs."

"Take it easy."

—

Steve wakes up to an ache in his neck and a soreness in his knuckles. You didn't call him last night. And he's assuming you didn't call him before school this morning because his alarm clock flashes eleven, first period starts at eight-thirty, and the tone his ancient landline emits is shrill enough to deafen a man. Let alone wake him up in a cold sweat. He concocts a sick feeling in his stomach of burnt orange shame and maroon guilt because he has to wait until closing shift tonight to explain himself to you.

But by then, he's feeling spiteful. You weren't home when he went to pick you up and he waited ten minutes and knocked on the door in bulk. Until someone who was not you answered and told him that you'd gotten a ride with some jerk from the Hawkins High football team. That's not how it was originally said, but that's how he heard it. So you're avoiding him? It makes him spit up a little in his mouth, and he's going about twenty over the speed limit the entire way to make it on time.

By the time he can fling open the glass door and hear the sound of the tiny bell, he spots you in the back corner with a stack of tapes under your arm. Listening to music. To drown him out. And it makes him frown. Six hours. That's how long he'd have to endure this, then he could go home and not call you and not be able to sleep.

The casette in your Walkman can only run for so long, right? But he watches you rewind it after an hour and a half and slumps against the front desk when you grab a new stack of tapes from behind him. He simmers down after the first half of the shift, and of course, the fact that you won't talk to him rubs him the wrong way, but what's even worse is that now you're bumming rides off of losers on the worst football team in all of Indiana.

He gets worked up thinking about that guy's motivation and how many times he probably tried to make a pass at you. Steve would never do that to you. Even if he wanted to, he's a gentleman at heart. He could beat that jerk to a pulp just imagining him giving you the look. God forbid that sucker puts his hands on you. Steve would get charged with battery before ever letting that happen.

It's not like he can say anything to you about it either. He's pissed, and he knows himself. He'd get all angry and confrontational, and you deserve better than that. It's his fault you got there first, and it's his fault you got to stocking, and it's his fault you're tuning him out. But he didn't think what he said last night would be worth all that trouble.

"If you keep up the optic blast, I'm gonna buy you a ruby-quartz visored monocle." And that droning voice could only belong to one overbearing manager.

"What do you need, Keith?" Steve grumbles, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking to the front of the store to watch the encounter with a smirk.

"Duty calls, Harrington. Corporate sent us more shelf space. Need someone to unload it into the office," Keith murmurs, shooting a glance your way, "And, uh... it's kind of unwieldy, so get the kid to help you out."

It makes Steve's eye twitch because you're not some kid. And if you heard Keith refer to you as such, you'd unleash a fleet of curses on him. Only Steve is allowed to call you that. Because it's funny, duh. You're a year younger than him, obviously he's going to use that to his comedic advantage. Oh.

He lets out a sigh—"alright"—and leaves Keith to man the front while he skirts to the back of the store and leads you by the hand through the office.

"'The Hell, Harrington?" you hiss, but you keep your fingers locked between Steve's, abandoning the rest of the tapes on Keith's desk and jogging to catch up with his stride. As forward and demanding as his grip may be, you have to admit, the warmth of his palm is comforting and it makes your heart race because you've never held hands with Steve before. And in any other circumstance, you might've been able to enjoy it a little more.

"Keith told me to tell you that you have to help me bring a shelf in from the truck."

"Oh, I have to?" you bark, now pulling your hand away and putting your headphones around your neck once you exit through the back door with him. "And you didn't think to give me a warning before yanking on my arm?"

"Yes, you have to, and maybe if you weren't listening to that shit so loud, you would've been in the loop." It comes out far more harsh than he intended, and that was exactly what he was afraid of happening in a confrontation with you. His brow softens, and the tension in his upper back and jaw dissipates into his own self-pity party. "And I didn't yank on your arm. Or at least I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry for that much."

Steve hops up into the truck and offers you a hand you don't take as much as you both wish you would have. Because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you have to stop yourself from cheering yourself on. Maybe this will be your first literal step towards getting over him. Once and for all.

After about fifteen minutes of heaving and ho-ing, the two of you manage to haul the shelf into the office as per Keith's request. He was right: it was unwieldy. The awkward grip spots caused a lot of overlap, and you both flinched away from the physical contact in a matter of milliseconds. But Steve couldn't deny he felt bad, and you couldn't deny that you definitely still had feelings for him.

You grab your previously abandoned stack of tapes to scurry out of the office, but Steve stops you by the elbow. And you glare back at him.

"Sorry. The... yanking, I know"—he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down—"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened last night in the car, but it clearly made you uncomfortable, and I'd like to apologize."

He can see the neurons firing when he looks you in the eye, but he can also see that his apology wasn't effective in the slightest. Because you're still anger-ridden and fuming at him. You put your headphones on and go back to restocking shelves.

He checks the digital clock above the door. Two hours till eleven. Great.

And they creep by like refrigerated molasses. Second by second. Every time he glances at the clock, only a minute has passed. Eventually, though, he starts cleaning up for closing: vacuuming, cleaning the windows, fixing the display. And he finds himself getting a little more efficient at checking tapes back in and rewinding them only so you'll cruise by the front—scowling at him, but nonetheless at him—to grab a new stack and shelf it.

Five minutes to closing and a sleek, blue sedan pulls into the parking lot, and you practically beam at it, grinning and skipping to the front. You grab your bag from under the counter next to Steve's hip and shove your Walkman into it.

"You know, my car works perfectly fine," he grumbles, "don't have to replace me with some football jerk." He knows that struck a nerve because your smile immediately flickers away into a squint.

"That football jerk is bilingual, a painter, and lets me listen to the music I like in his car."

"But that's not the rules," he whines, desperately defending himself against some sports guy who's probably taking advantage of you.

"Well, I like him and he's nice to me." You sling your bag over your shoulder triumphantly, marching towards the door.

Steve is aghast at the implication. He thought you liked listening to the radio. Plus he took Spanish and art for the required two years, it's not that great of an achievement.

Still, he sputters out, "Yeah, well—"

You wave over your shoulder. "Later, Steve."

Since when did he become such a loser.

He watches jerk-face open the car door for you then glance over to wave at him with a perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect manners. What an asshole. Steve does not wave back.

—

"That's the kinda guy she likes?" he fusses into the phone, palming his face while Robin chuckles on the other line. This whole time he thought for sure you liked the self-assured, cocky, college-age boy type. And now you're dating a high schooler. Come on, jerk-face is not even that good looking.

"First of all, they're not dating. Second of all, don't lie to make yourself feel better; even I can admit he's basically a Greek god," Robin says, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Third... why do you care? You’re acting like it’s your job to protect her, but it’s not. She’s an adult now, you know, she can take her of herself.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, blinking hard and leaning into the pale yellow receiver. Then mumbling: "She told you."

And she replies, cheerily: "Yup."

"Well—! I just... don't want to see her get hurt. I know that type of guy. I used to be that type of guy. He's bad news, I can tell."

"Right,” Robin scoffs, “It's definitely not because you love her.”

"I don't love her. She's just a baby, and we don't even like the same things. It would never work out between us, there's no connection." They both know it’s a lame excuse, but it’s worked up until this moment. It’s worked since the day you met. You’re too young, the end. Sure, you can be cute sometimes, but you’re also a pain in the ass and you two could never get along long enough to stitch together a real relationship.

But Robin sees through all of that shit. And she’s over it.

“Okay, maybe, but she listens when you talk about cars, and you buy the albums she likes even when she only mentions them once. Plus, you both love Dustin like he's an extra limb”—she’s right, you love that kid to death and Lord knows Steve looks after him like a son—“I think as much as you wretch and complain over her being too young and the connection not 'being there', it seems like you try an awful lot to get her to like you."

He immediately rejects the idea with a scoff.

"Of course I’d want a cool person to like me, old fuckin’ habits die hard. But that's all. She's cool and has a good sense of style and tells the best jokes and makes me feel smart and listens to me, and right now I'm feeling pretty crazy because maybe I do love her and I blew it because... because? Because I don’t know why—but she's probably sitting in some jerk's car listening to her favorite songs and watching him paint the sunset while speaking Spanish or whatever."

Robin closes her eyes, and Steve’s annoyed by the fact that he can hear her smirking. "Jesus Christ, I need to start charging you idiots for my time"—and she sighs—"Just... tell her all that cheese. And maybe throw in an apology or two. I don't know, do what you usually do when you pick up girls.”

He’s frustrated. And annoyed. But he throws a thanks at her anyway and stomps down the stairs and to his beamer. It’s not until he’s shrouded in the piercing light of the convenience store that he realizes three things: he’s still in his work uniform, it’s midnight, and he’s pretty sure he does love you. He grabs a bouquet, not even realizing it’s a bouquet of amaryllis and baby’s breath—he’d prefer roses, but ‘tis not the season, as the cashier told him.

Minutes later, he’s muttering under his breath like he’s mad, waiting for someone to answer your door. And thank God you do.

“Steve—?”

“Oh, shit, did I—were you—?”

“Oh, no, I was just…”—thinking about him—“nothin’. What’re you doing here?”

He pushes a furious hand through his hair, then tucks a chunk behind his ear, worrying at his bottom lip. More nervous than he’s been in his whole life. Then he flashes those soft brown eyes at you, and you’re toast. You step onto your doormat and shut the door behind you because he starts into his sentence like a blazing fire:

"I feel so stupid, and I’m sorry for saying you're like a little sister to me; I don’t believe that, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You're not like a sister to me, you're like the only thing that matters and I feel like I wanna learn another language for you and take a cooking class for you and listen to your music with you. I just, I mean I’m trying to say you make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I’m already a better person whenever I’m around you. I... what I’m saying—and I promise I’m getting to it—is that I’m sorry for being so stupid and not seeing it before, but I think you're beautiful and I'd be honored if you'd forgive me and maybe consider letting me take you out sometime. Like on a date."

He’s breathing heavily, looking and feeling manic, and your eyes are wide as you slowly process his confession. It goes down like sweet wine, floral down your throat and settling in your tummy like candy. But still: what the fuck? Is he insane? Are you insane?

His hair is flopped to one side, and his work vest is snug around his shoulders. You step forward slowly, and the creases in his forehead seem to go smooth. And you point to the bouquet.

“For me?”

Steve glances down. "Oh, yeah, got em for you. Sorry they're not roses, it's not—"

"I love them, thank you."

He nods. And you smile. And despite how beautiful the soft pink and white flowers are, you’re not particularly focused on their safety when you hook your arms beneath his and rope him into a hug. It’s clearly just what he needed when he goes pliant and heavy against your chest, smiling into your neck as his hands wrap over your shoulders.

"I think we might both be stupid,” you whisper.

He chuckles. "Yup. Just a couple of stupids. Geez, what kinda pair are we?" You both pull away. Only to look at each other squarely. To see a smile creep and creep across the other’s face. And he cocks a brow and says, "By the way, worst twenty-four hours of my life—"

And that’s saying something after the last three years.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Steve, I was just so—"

"I know."

"So confused and disappointed, it was—"

"Torture, yeah, don't even think about doing that ever again,” he teases, pinching your side and scrunching his nose when you pinch him back.

"Yeah. Well, never tell me I’m like a little sister to you ever again.”

Gross.

"I don't plan on it"

With the slow bat of your lashes, and the tender curve of your lips, he can’t not think about kissing you. Not in this light. Not under the meddling moon, and not holding your waist like cupping pools of honey.

Then you look away. For all the shit you talk, he manages to make you far more shy than he ever anticipates. And it gives him butterflies to see you duck away.

"You know, I think you're pretty beautiful yourself, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s blushing now. The blood gushes hot to his face, he could sweat buckets right here and now. You can probably hear his heartbeat. Jesus Christ, what’ve you done to him? You can tell he’s nervous when he chuckles softly. "Does this mean I can start giving you rides again?"

You pretend to weigh your options. As if there would ever be a better alternative. "Only if you let me play my music sometimes.”

"Absolutely. I never liked the radio much anyway."

You let go of him only to cradle your bouquet in both hands, admiring the petals while Steve puts his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I'll see you later," he says. Grinning ear to ear, mind you.

"Yeah,” you coo, “I’ll see you."

With one hand on his shoulder, you plant a kiss on his willing cheek and let him go. But before he can make it to his car you holler, “Wait!” and he jogs back over to you.

"Did I forget somethin’?"

“Yeah,” you poke, "you forgot about our date."

He tilts his head a little, brows furrowed. "Our... our date? What do you mean our… Ohhhh”—he nods in understanding, suddenly hit with a wave of excitement and embarrassment—"Does tomorrow work? We could grab lunch or dinner or something and maybe stop by the arcade or—oh, the fair's in town, that could be kinda fun, unless you don't want to, I mean—"

"Steve?" you hum.

“Mhm?”

"I'd love to."

And suddenly his ego is miles through the roof; he's nodding and grinning and it’s like he can’t wait to wake up tomorrow just to see you again.

"Me too. Okay. Yeah! I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stevie.” You give him a small wave, and the shroud of plastic around the bouquet crinkles like the corners of his eyes at the idea of tomorrow.

masterlist

[iloveboysinred]

Life with Keith after the war [Domestic fluff hcs]

pg.13 fluff| Keith Kogane x gn reader

cw; fluff, domestic life, mentions of war

masterlist

-Okay so after the war against the Galra was won, you and Keith moved back to his house in the desert, opting to live a quiet life in isolation.

-it was peaceful and a stark contrast to the almost constant chaos of whirling around in space.

-you and Keith made some renovations to the home, fixing broken windows, re-storing the paint on the walls, and getting working appliances like a new fridge, a microwave and a bunch of new cups and plates.

-Mornings with him were your favorite, you always woke up before him, turning on some music and cooking breakfast for yourselves, watching the sun finish rising.

-he didn't wake up too long after you, your lack of warmth in bed basically forcing him to get up and look for you.

-He would find you in the kitchen, a cute apron that was much too long for you covering you from the mess of pancake batter all over the counter.

-"Morning Keith" "mmh morning baby. What's cooking?"

-he would come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his sleep laden eyes still not adjusted to the bright morning light shinning through the windows. He made a mental note to get curtains.

-He would hold onto your hips and sway side to side, following the beat of the music playing.

-you guys regularly visited Shiro, almost always taking home Tupperwares of food his husband would cook, never returning them back because Keith kept forgetting them.

-you guys had built a dog house outside for Kosmo, but he would just teleport right back inside, suddenly laying over you and Keith on the bed, wagging his tail like a puppy.

-You guys spent most of the day indoors, watching movies, talking about the future, loving on each other and trying to make up for all the times you couldn't be like this in space.

-Keith had become such a cuddle bug it was ridiculous, his hands were always wrapped around your waist, and he always had to be touching you, sub-consciously or on purpose.

-When you guys would sitting down at the dinning table, his hand would interlink with yours or rest on your thigh.

-you never went to bed before chit chatting about your day, exchanging I love yous and snuggling up under the covers.

-on the nights that you did stay up together, you and him would sit outside and stargaze, or stay in and watch scary movies with all types of sugary junk food, as if you guys were still teenagers.

-you regularly de-tangled and kept up with Keith's hair, it was so healthy and shiny.

-whenever Krolia visited you would all catch up, her sharing with you her earliest memories of baby Keith.

-he would blush and cross his arms, growing more and more embarrassed at every story. Your giggling not making it any better.

-after about a year and a half, Keith asked you to marry him. Much to Krolia's delight.

-you decided to have a small wedding, Keith not being the big flashy party type of man.

-You invited all the former paladins, as well as Ulaz and Krolia, everyone making sure to show up and celebrate your special day.

-you were over the moon once your vows were said and you were officially married, yanking Keith onto you and pressing a kiss to his lips, everyone cheering behind you and clapping.

-after the wedding, you guys laid in bed, just admiring each other, loving kisses exchanged between the both of you.

-from then on Keith just called you by your shared last name most of the time.

-"good morning, Mr/s Kogane"

-made it a point to let everyone know you were his spouse.

-he was such a sap, having multiple framed pictures of your wedding all over the house.

-Eventually the conversation of children came up, deciding when the time came you would adopt, wanting to give a child a family, just as Shiro did to Keith.

-Keith splurged as much as he could for the new addition to the family, buying clothes, food, toiletries, everything.

-he filled what used to be his room in the house with kid stuff.

-Shiro would frequently come over during this time, brining handbooks on parenting, offering useful advice on how to make the child feel at home and comfortable.

-When your new son came home you and Keith were over the moon, low-key freaking the little boy out with your enthusiasm.

-got a regular dog for him, scared Kosmo would teleport him to god knows where.

-it took a while, but he ended up warning up to you and Keith, you guys were a proper family.

-you and Keith grew old and grey.

-you would still hold hands on the porch, sitting side by side as the days would go by, but your love never ceased.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“No.”

Lance groans loudly, forgoing smacking his face in his hands and going straight for banging his head repeatedly against the elevator doors, which Keith thinks is a touch dramatic. But regardless he crosses his arms over his chest and stubbornly refuses to budge from his position.

“Keith. For the love of God.”

“God is dead and I’m not climbing out of a goddamn ten thousand foot elevator hatch with you.”

Keith admittedly puts a tad too much emphasis on the ‘with you’ part of the sentence. It’s obvious in the way Lance stops and lifts his head up and glares at Keith so icily he doesn’t need to squint to make out Lance’s expression in the low emergency lights; his eyes practically burn a hole through Keith’s forehead. Keith winces but doesn’t say anything.

“You have gone toe to toe with a goddamn zombie dictator,” Lance grinds out, “but you’re too much of a pussy to climb an elevator shaft?”

Keith stiffens. “I’m not — shut up!”

Smirking, now, visibly delighted that he’s managed to press Keith’s buttons (God Keith wants to punch him), Lance leans against the elevator wall, hip cocked, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says, inspecting his nails like it doesn’t matter. “I just never would have thought that the best pilot out of the Garrison and literal pilot of the Red Lion is, you know, a chicken.”

Keith clenches his fists. Lance is frustrated and bored and pushing Keith’s buttons because there’s fuck else to do. He is. Keith knows this.

But he is so goddamn good at it.

“I’m not a fucking chicken, Cargo Pilot.”

‘Cargo Pilot’ is usually a hole-in-one insult that’s guaranteed to make Lance bristle, sure to make him bare his teeth and go bright red and generally lose his absolute shit. Keith is even sparing in his use of the term, careful not to let it lose its potency.

But because the universe hates him and also Lance is the most annoying motherfucker alive, his smirk only widens, and he flexes his fingers, still fucking casual, still not even bothering to look up in Keith’s direction.

I hate you, Keith thinks, with feeling.

“Sure,” Lance says, without. He shrugs. “Prove it.”

For a second Keith thinks he’s so mad that he might. But then he imagines it fully, pictures his bare back pressed against Lance’s, feet planted on the slippery castle walls, lights probably still out, struggling to put one foot in front of the other and drag each other upright. He thinks of how much effort that would take and how easily he would start to sweat, how easily every shift of their muscles would loosen the friction-borne grip between them, how easily his foot could slip. He thinks of how long a ten thousand foot drop would take, how long he would have to accept that he’s going to die before he splats on the pristine floor.

His stomach turns. His face goes green.

Lance’s jaw drops.

“Oh my God, you’re afraid of heights!”

“I am not!” Keith snaps, because he isn’t, he just has a fucking brain. “It’s just — it’s ten thousand fucking feet, Lance!”

“A pilot!” Lance screeches. “A pilot afraid of heights!”

“You are so goddamn extra!” Keith cries.

Lance makes more vague screeching noises. He gestures furiously at Keith, then pauses, then makes a sound in the back of his throat akin to a loudly dying whale, then gestures back at Keith, then at the ceiling, then at the elevator as a whole. Then he lets out one loud, long, final yell, completely wordless and directed at what Keith can only assume is the heavens, and stops, closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and very calmly crawls onto the floor, belly first, and lays perfectly flat with his face pressed to the tiles.

“I hate it here,” he says serenely. He pauses for a minute, thoughtful. “Also, I hate you.”

“Ditto,” Keith mutters, finally giving up and joining him on the floor. He tips his head back until it thumps on the elevator wall and sighs, loud and long, wondering vaguely if this is punishment for the hundreds of times he mocked Shiro for his fear of squirrels. He truly thinks it might be.

All he wanted was twenty goddamn minutes in the pool. That’s all. He’d have even taken ten. He just wanted to swim a few laps, maybe float for a bit, and pretend he was in a lake somewhere without pressing problems such as saving the universe and the fate of every single soul in it.

Eight minutes, really. Seven.

The lights flicker back on. Lance lifts his head, hopeful, then stretches out one ridiculously long leg (seriously what is the deal with that he’s basically a giraffe, it’s too much, Keith should talk to someone about it because since when were legs allowed to be that — long and shapely, or whatever, it’s weird) and presses the closest button with his toe.

It does nothing. Lance stares at it for a few minutes, as if attempting to bring the elevator alive by manifestation alone, but no life is forthcoming. Lance huffs sadly and returns his face to the floor.

“That’s really disgusting,” Keith says, although he has his fair share of Floor Time. “People walk on this floor all the time.”

Lance doesn’t bother looking up, groaning loudly for several minutes before simply rolling away to the opposite side of the elevator.

“Shut up,” he says finally, after so long Keith almost forgets his original comment. “You just —”

Abruptly he straightens up, pulling the towel off his neck and crawling forward to place it in the middle of the elevator. Keith rolls his eyes so hard it actually hurts, a little.

“You and your commentary stay on the loser stinky mullet half of the elevator,” Lance says. “The pretty half that’s not infected with your rancid vibes belongs to me.”

“Were you trained to be this annoying?” Keith ponders, half out of genuine curiosity. “Like, do you do this on purpose?”

“Ignoring you now,” Lance says primly.

Keith scowls. He’s not — Keith isn’t the one who’s too irritating to be around without going insane.

“I’m ignoring you, asshole.”

Lance doesn’t respond. Keith closes one eye and holds up his thumb and forefinger to the approximate shape of Lance’s face, pretending he’s squishing his head. It brings him great peace.

After a while, though, he starts to get restless. His legs starts bouncing, up and down so fast it’s blurry, and then his fingers start to tap, but the feeling of rustling under his skin only gets worse, spinning faster and faster and coil tightening more and more in his stomach until he just — implodes, really, until his brain goes boom and says if you don’t get moving right this second, and Keith says in response to it, believe me I’m on it. He’s scrambling to his feet before he has the conscious thought to do so, hands moving before he tells them to and pushing him upright, bare feet padding rapidly on the floor as he paces, three steps until he hits the wall then pivot then three steps then pivot then three steps again. Over and over and over. His fingers stop tapping but his shoulders get twitchy; itchy under his skin and on it, sweaty because there’s no airflow and this goddamn elevator is sweltering. Or he’s just hot. He usually runs hot. He’s not sure and he doesn’t care to know, because the pool would have been refreshing but instead he’s stuck in a ten by ten by ten cube stuck somewhere on a ten thousand foot tube and to his right his rival-slash-teammate keeps huffing and rubbing his hands on his arms and muttering to himself.

“Could you maybe cut that out,” Keith snaps, which is entirely unfair because his pacing isn’t quiet, but Keith is three seconds away from attempting to climb the walls and it’s Lance, anyway, when are they not arguing, so it doesn’t matter.

Maybe when you’re having a crisis-brought bonding moment, says a voice in his brain. Stuck elevators are kind of a crisis.

Shut up or I’m going to give myself a concussion, Keith responds to it.

“Not my fault it’s goddamn freezing in here,” Lance snaps.

Keith pauses. He looks down at Lance. He frowns.

“Your lips are blue,” he observes, bewildered.

“Eat shit,” Lance responds, predictably. He’s fucking — he’s shivering.

Keith is made astutely aware of the cooling sweat on his back and grimaces.

“Lance,” he says slowly, “it is not cold in here.”

Lance blows out a breath like the goddamn weight of the world is on his shoulders. He flicks his eyes up to meet Keith’s, who is standing behind his head and leaning down, and somehow manages to seem like the more put-together person between them, which is bonkers.

“I’m anaemic, stupid.”

Keith blinks. Suddenly the air feels very solemn, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know you had an eating disorder,” he manages eventually.

Lance’s faces scrunches up in confusion for seven whole seconds before it clears, and he looks at Keith like he is the dumbest man alive and then bursts out laughing.

“That’s — anorexic, you idiot! I don’t have enough blood!”

“Oh,” Keith says, face heating. He scowls as Lance continues to laugh way harder than what was called for, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his face. He pokes Lance aggressively with his toe, and by that he means his kicks him. “Will you stop — it’s not that funny, dickhead!”

“It really is,” Lance wheezes.

Keith scowls harder. His face is as red as his shorts and the flush is starting to spread down his chest and Lance notices and it only makes him laugh more, because he’s a shithead of the worst kind. “I hope you choke.”

Keith flicks his towel over his head and yanks, embarrassed, stomping to the other side of the elevator as if that will somehow make Lance shut up faster. It doesn’t, obviously, and he hears Lance laugh for several minutes until he finally winds down to giggling, then eventually nothing.

Keith harrumphs quietly to himself. He resolves to sticking in his corner like he should have from the very beginning, until the elevator starts moving again or someone on the team comes to save them. At this point he’s so done he wouldn’t even care if it was Shiro, wouldn’t even care if Shiro gloated about it for eternity (Keith saved his ass from government experimentation, anyway, so he wins by default for the rest of time). He faces his corner and pulls his knees to his chest and starts picking at a loose thread in the seam of his shorts to amuse himself.

Several minutes later, he hears Lance shifting. He ignores it. He pulls at the thread until it comes loose, then busies himself with tying the thread into the most complicated and random knot he can.

A few more minutes later, and there’s the sound of fabric rustling and draping, then quiet cursing. Keith untangles and retangles his knot for the fourth time.

After what must be a half hour, Keith hears the sound of teeth chattering.

He sighs. He looks forlornly at his knot.

“I could just ignore him,” he mutters to himself. “He probably won’t die.”

He thinks of how short Lance’s shorts are. He pinches his own towel in his fingertips, so thin he can practically feel his fingerprints. He remembers blue lips and a clenched jaw and raised gooseflesh.

He sighs loudly, more of a groan, and flicks his ball of thread away.

It takes Lance a few seconds to respond to Keith looming over him, which is worrying. But eventually he cracks open one brown eye and flares up at Keith.

“What,” he mutters. His teeth are chattering so bad it sounds like two words.

“You’re freezing,” Keith says. His voice is softer than he expected it to be.

Lance huffs, closing his eye again and curling further into himself. “No shit.”

Keith frowns. “I’m not.”

“Well, rub it in, why dontcha.”

Keith frowns. “You’re not understanding.”

Lance ignores him. Keith has a sudden and vivid memory of the year Shiro and Adam drove him up to Seattle in the winter so he could be more cultured, or whatever (or less of a desert menace, Adam had argued, and perhaps more inclined to stop biting people), and spent the whole car ride lecturing him about hypothermia.

“It doesn’t take very long to set in,” Shiro had said.

“And once you have it you need to warm up or your heart can stop,” Adam had finished, very serious.

Suddenly Keith starts to feel very panicked.

Lukewarm tea, warm blankets, skin to skin contact with someone who’s warm, were Shiro’s instructions. And then possibly hospital.

Well. Keith has one of those things.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps a gentle hand around Lance’s shoulder, tugging him upright, then pulls him forward so his cradled hands are pressed against Keith’s chest and his head is tucked into the junction of Keith’s neck.

Worryingly, it takes Lance almost thirty seconds to start complaining.

“You smell like mullet,” he whines. But he doesn’t move away. In fact, he burrows closer.

Keith swallows down his worry. “Mullets don’t smell like anything, dumbass.” He brings his hands up to press against Lance’s back. Lance groans, curling deeper into Keith’s hold. His nose is icy and burns a trail across Keith’s shoulder, down his collarbone. Keith’s flush from earlier makes an enthusiastic return, because nothing good still exists in the world.

“I still think you’re annoying,” Lance mumbles. Every move of his lip brushes against Keith’s skin.

“Shut up and focus on not freezing to death,” Keith snaps.

Lance snorts. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, doofus. It’s just a dead elevator. Once I fell asleep on the Garrison rooftop in January and only had to spend three days in urgent care, so basically I can withstand anything.”

Keith pauses. He tries to reconcile the Lance who just said that to the Lance who came up with a life saving plan in thirty seconds on the Balmera to the Lance who threatened to stick Keith in a wormhole to the Lance who smiled and said they made a good team before passing out in Keith’s arms.

“You are a very confusing person,” he says when all the reconciling does absolutely nothing.

“Thank you,” Lance says, sounding pleased.

Keith snorts and tightens his hold. Lance sighs and sags a little. Slowly his fingers stop feeling so much like ice blocks, and his breathing doesn’t sound so erratic. Keith doesn’t know how long it’s been. He stopped trying to count somewhere between when Lance’s cheek squished against his chest and his fingers started tracing featherlight patterns across his skin.

Lance yawns. Keith tries to fight his but ends up yawning anyway.

“Is it bad to let a person with hypothermia sleep?” he mumbles, half-slurring his words.

Lance hums. “‘M not hypothermic.”

“Dunno. Could be.”

He sighs again, a puff of air against Keith’s neck, and spreads his palms against Keith’s chest, flat. “‘M not. You’re too warm.” He pauses. “Freak.”

His tone is fond. The corners of Keith’s lips quirk up. “Weirdo.”

“Mhm.”

He falls asleep trying to count Lance’s breaths. It’s — groundbreaking, somehow.

———

(“Oh, my God.”

Keith cracks open bleary eyes, lifting a hand to rub his face. Lance groans from his place on Keith’s chest — in a puddle of drool, why is that not nearly as revolting as it should be — and snatches Keith’s wrist way faster than he should be able to as groggy as he is, placing it back around his waist.

“Oh, my God,” the voice repeats, gleeful.

“Shut up, Shiro,” Keith mutters. “Fuck.”

It takes him a minute.

His eyes fly open at the same time as Lance’s, and they look at each other, and then Keith is being shoved and kicked at the same time somehow and Lance is scrambling backwards at the speed of light, screeching. A loud bang makes Keith look over and he discovers his brother, who is dead to him, collapsed on the floor, laughing so loud Zarkon can probably hear him.

“What — Shiro — go — stop fucking laughing, you piece of shit!”

Lance continues to screech. Keith whips a towel at him.

“You gay pining loser!” Shiro shrieks. “I’m going to tell literally everyone!”

Keith puts his head in his hands and wishes he’d fallen down the goddamn elevator shaft.)

[moonstruckme]

so requests are open again, can i así for a Robin fic where she tries to ask Reader out but she is really nervous and all cute?

Thanks for requesting babe!

Robin Buckley x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You have no idea how Robin managed to get Keith to let three of you work the Saturday shift, but you owe her your life for it. 

Normally, you end up by yourself, uneventful weekday nights where you organize and reorganize the clearance section, talking to yourself since the last time you brought a book and Keith’s boss caught you on the cameras you got chewed out. 

Robin and Steve have a routine of their own. They pulled a hidden stock of snacks out of the break room, gossipped about who had borrowed what movies for how long and what that meant, made up ridiculous life stories for the customers that came in. Then Dustin had come over and Robin had relegated the boys to the back room. You like Steve, but you’re not mad about it; having Robin all to yourself makes your stomach do flips like it does on a rollercoaster. 

“Okay,” she says in a low voice, eyes tracking a customer who’s just wandered into the teen section. You’ve hopped up on the counter, sitting with your back to the door and your legs dangling, and her elbow is about three inches from touching your thigh. “The guy in the tank top. What do we think about him?” 

“He looks like he just rolled out of bed.” Which isn’t unreasonable, because it’s only ten. “Who comes to rent a movie first thing in the morning?” 

“Someone desperate,” Robin agrees. You’re both leaning in as you talk in near-whispers, but that distance between her arm and your leg stays. 

You hum. “He could have kids.” 

“Does he really look like someone who has kids?” 

“I don’t know what people who have kids look like. I guess there’s probably a variety.” 

“Fair…” She kisses her teeth as she watches him, big eyes narrowed sneakily. “I don’t know, I think he’s horny.” 

Your laugh is so loud and sudden you have to clamp a hand over your mouth. A customer browsing near you gives you an odd look, and you murmur an apology. Robin looks delighted. 

“Why would you think that?” you hiss at her. “He’s just looking for a movie.” 

Her expressions turns sheepish, complete with a cute half-smile that makes your brain buzz distractingly. “It’s possible I have some information you don’t.” 

You lean back on your hands and tilt your head, looking at her curiously. 

Robin leans in close. “He rented Fast Times five days ago and hasn’t returned it.” 

Her eyes are sparkling with amusement. With great effort you tear your gaze from them, looking past her at the man. “Oh,” you say, “yeah, I see it. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. I’ll bet he’s been locked in his mom’s basement watching the pool scene on repeat.” 

She turns her head down toward your leg to hide a smile, and her laugh tickles down your spine like a grazing touch. You have to trap your bottom lip between your teeth to keep your own grin from getting too out of hand. 

“This is fun,” you blurt. Or, it feels like a blurt, but Robin doesn’t seem to note your abruptness, only turning her eyes up to yours curiously. “Hanging out, I mean. I wish we worked the same shifts more often.” 

“Yeah, I—it is fun.” Robin’s smile gets a funny look to it, her gaze flitting down to the counter. “I’d rather work with you than Steve anytime. Not that you’re, like, only just better than Steve, obviously you’re tons better than him, I just meant that—Steve, he’s actually not terrible, I mean he’s probably my best friend, and he and I hang out outside work all the time, so—” She presses her lips together as if physically stopping herself. You chew your bottom lip. “Basically, I like hanging out with you even more than him, which is…not as low a bar as you might think.” 

“I don’t think that’s a low bar,” you say through a smile. “Steve seems cool.”

She scoffs. “He’s not. Don’t let him think you think that.” 

“He seems nice, I mean. Nicer than he was in high school.” 

“Exactly.” Robin lifts her stare to yours again, something like relief in it. “Yeah, he’s…better. He, like, had a spiritual change or something.” 

“Maybe he found good influences.” You nudge her leg with the toe of your shoe. She makes a scratchy laughing sound, looking away from you again. 

“We hang out a lot outside of work,” she says.

“You mentioned that.” 

“We could try that.” 

You blink, her candor cutting through the light and flirty feeling you’ve fallen into like a knife. 

“You and me?” 

“Yeah.” Her eyes find yours. “Like, if you wanted to hang out more, we don’t have to—I mean, we could, totally, we just don’t have to—do it here. At the store.” Her throat bobs so quick you almost miss it. Your chest feels tight, but not entirely unpleasantly. “We could go to the movies, or to get pizza, or to the roller rink—I don’t actually really know what you like to do, but you have to like movies, right? We could definitely watch a movie.”

There’s a commotion in your stomach. You want to look down and check again the distance between her arm and your thigh, but for some reason now it feels like too much of a risk. “Like, with Steve?” you ask. 

Robin’s nose wrinkles. “Definitely not with Steve.” 

“So, just us.” 

In the corner of your eye, you see her hands flex on the countertop. “If you want,” she says quietly. 

You wet your lips. When you take a second too long to answer, she goes on, “Or we could totally invite other people, if that’s what you want to do.” 

“No,” you say quickly. “Just us is…is good.” 

“Really?” Robin sounds so surprised you can’t help but smile. She smiles back, tentatively, like she’s not one-hundred percent sure if she’s in on the joke but she’s happy if you’re happy. 

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, glancing around the store. You’d nearly forgotten you were in public. You think for a second you catch Steve looking, but he directs his stare to the movies he’s organizing, smiling to himself and waving off something Dustin’s said. “I’m not doing anything tomorrow, if you want to see what’s showing then.” 

Robin grins, huge and heart-stutteringly pretty. It shows all her teeth and little lines shoot out from her eyes like rays of sunshine. “Do you like thrillers?” 

“Sure.” No. 

She leans forward conspiratorially, and it takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to look down when you feel her skin make contact with the side of your thigh. Your heart starts beating hummingbird fast. “Perfect.” 

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Yves' Sequel Spoilers

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

In an ordinary mansion in a certain city of a certain country一

Matthias: ".........."

Matthias: ".........."

Matthias: "You're late."

Kagari: "You're just too early. Weren't you here 10 minutes before our appointment?"

Matthias: "30 minutes."

Kagari: "You're such a good student. Stop being so uptight."

Kagari: "I brought you something nice."

Matthias: "What's this?"

Kagari: "Dorayaki. It's delicious. You'll be amazed."

Matthias: "Hmm. It's certainly delicious."

Matthias: "It's exquisitely soft and sweet. This must have been made by a delicate, sensitive, and beautiful woman."

Kagari: "I don't get what you're saying."

Matthias: "By the way, why did you suddenly decide to bring me a gift?"

Kagari: "We've met several times, but I haven't given you anything."

Kagari: "I was just imitating you since you always give me coffee. Eat more."

Matthias: "No, I appreciate it, but I'll refrain."

Matthias: "Consuming any more sweets would go against the 15th precept of the Åsbrink family."

Kagari: "You're so uptight. You should relax a little."

Azel: "Oh, that smells nice. The scent of sweets is always delightful."

Azel: "I'll have some."

Kagari: "Here comes the greedy god."

Matthias: "Azel, you're always late. At least learn from Kagari and arrive five minutes before our appointment."

Azel: "I'm not late. Look, the bell just rang. I'm actually right on time."

Azel: "But this is delicious. Does this dorayaki have red apple filling in it? And there's Achroite coffee, too."

Azel: "I always return the favor when I receive gifts. I have the utmost respect for your kindness."

Kagari: "I don't care about that. Do you have any gifts? I bet you don't."

Azel: "Kagari. You shouldn't judge people or gods based on their appearance."

Matthias: "But you don't have any, do you? It looks like you're empty-handed to me."

Azel: "Offerings aren't limited to things that can be seen."

Azel: "It seems that the dark calamity (Gilbert) has started to move."

Kagari: "Obsidian, huh? That was quick."

Matthias: "But that's to be expected. That's not enough for the dorayaki."

Azel: "Now, now. Let the God finish speaking first."

Azel: "It seems Obsidian had a secret meeting with Rhodolite."

Azel: “They likely intend to use Rhodolite to gather information about the alliance we formed.”

Matthias: “A wise decision. That small country won’t pose a threat to our country, let alone Kogyoku and Tanzanite.”

Matthias: “They’ll receive a warm welcome anywhere they go."

Kagari: “If someone who can withstand Kogyoku’s ‘hospitality’ comes, I’ll personally take care of them.”

Azel: “I agree. We should gladly welcome them. Tanzanite’s way of welcoming might be a bit stimulating, though.”

Matthias: “You two, make sure you don’t break the law.”

Matthias: “But what do you think Benitoite and Jade will do?”

Azel: “Those two countries are in the same situation. They will surely start moving to find out our intentions.”

Kagari: “Will I get to see Keith? I just got a new sword and want to test it out.”

Azel: “Keith would probably be thrilled. I miss Prince Silvio. He’s rich, you know.”

Matthias: “All the law-breaking stuff you guys are trying to pull is really giving me a headache.”

Matthias: “So I guess the important thing now is how we work?”

Azel: “Good point, Matthias.”

Kagari: “Shall we kill them?”

Azel: “No, Kagari. That should be the last resort.”

Azel: “We each formed alliances with specific goals in mind. However, it wouldn’t be in our favor if the princes of each country figured that out.”

Kagari: “.........”

Matthias: “..........”

Azel: “Whether to take a defensive or offensive stance is up to each of us.”

Azel: “Now, let’s begin. For the sake of our respective ambitions.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

part two to this random thing!

pairing: steddie | word count: 3,651 | rated: E! this is Explicit! | now on AO3!

Robin, bless her heart, lets him leave an hour early.

“Okay, I can’t listen to another longing sigh, just go. I’ll cover until Ryan and Keith come in for the closing.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. 

He heads home immediately, starts making a dinner he’s not even sure Eddie’s gonna want to eat before he’s even taken his vest off.

Would he want to eat something? He did kinda reject the ‘date’ part of his offer just before he left, said jokingly as it was.

It’s fine though, if Eddie just wants to get to the fun part of the evening. Again, he hadn’t quite agreed to the ‘for real’ part, so Steve would take what he could get. Even if that was just for one night.

Or multiple, he could be casual..

Or at least, he could pretend to be cool with casual.

He spent so long agonizing over it that he just barely realizes it’s already 4:36.

“Shit!” Steve takes the pan of fettuccine off the stove and hauls ass upstairs for the fastest, most thorough shower he can muster.

He avoids getting his hair wet, scrubbing the rest of himself nearly raw. Starts toweling off at 4:50, is pulling on a comfy pair of jeans and plain tee at 4:52, is downstairs plating the alfredo at 4:53, and is sweating from the hot shower still at 4:58 when Eddie knocks on the door.

“You’re early,” Steve accuses, opening the door wide.

“You’re astute.” Eddie grins back, stepping in and to the side to take off his sneakers. He’s changed since he was at Family Video, a fact that makes Steve’s stomach swoop. He also prepared for this. Duh, why wouldn’t he have?

“You changed.”

“So’ve you, big boy, that a problem?” Eddie smirks, standing straight and backing Steve towards the stairs behind him.

“No, of course not..” He’s cut off by Eddie’s lips on his, the soft, warm feeling of them sends all other thoughts in his brain elsewhere.

“Upstairs?”

“Lead the way, Stevie, darling”

Steve immediately swivels around and drags Eddie by the wrist up the stairs, dinner forgotten.

He gets to his door and swings Eddie through it first, following close behind and shutting it behind him.

Back to the door, Steve takes in the man in front of him, handsome, amazing, beautiful..

“You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

“So which is it first, Eddie,” Steve asks while stalking forward, much to Eddie’s delight, “Suck you down, eat you out, or fuck you into next week?”

Eddie backs up to the bed, sitting down as soon as the backs of his knees hit the corner. “I believe I was promised Tuesday, not just next week,”

Steve steps into the space between Eddie’s knees, “Oh right, my mistake,” He bends down slightly, and lifts the other man’s legs, throwing/shoving him backward towards the headboard, and follows him shortly after.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie breathes out when he lands against the pillows.

“What? You okay?” Steve backs away quickly, looking over the man below him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, that was just one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me, maybe the hottest thing.”

Steve blinks down at him once, then grins, “The hottest thing that’s happened to you so far.”

“You’re right, maybe you should get on with those other things then.”

Again, he doesn’t need to be told twice.

He slots himself between Eddie’s legs and folds himself down over top of the other man, locking their lips together while Eddie’s legs and hands lock themselves around his waist and into his hair, respectively.

He presses forward and down with his hips, pulling a perfect, breathy moan from Eddie’s throat. 

Oh, good idea.

Steve kisses down across the corner of Eddie’s mouth to his jaw, the underside of his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly as he goes.

He hears a whispered, “Don’t be shy, sweetheart, let them know who I belong to,” and with a moan of his own, starts to suck bruise after bruise into the long, soft column of Eddie’s neck.

The “Mine.” comes out of him on instinct, making him freeze.

The responding “Yours, sweetheart, all yours.” melts him again, pressing his hips and a couple more kisses into the beautiful thing beneath him before pulling back.

Eddie (astounding, perfect Eddie), is heaving breaths below him. His eyes blown even darker, and his now sun-kissed skin flushed pinker than he’s ever seen it.

“Beautiful.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh (‘So beautiful’, he thinks), “I bet you say that to all the ladies.” then pulls him back down again.

Lips and tongue preoccupied once again, Steve lets his hands wander. 

Well, his hand. The right one. The left is hooked under Eddie’s right shoulder at the moment, holding him up.

He starts way back at Eddie’s left knee, pressing his palm and fingers under and down his thigh, around his hip, and up his side, over his chest…

It’s there that he gets a sharper reaction, a higher-pitched whine in the back of Eddie’s throat. 

“I didn’t think there was any feeling there anymore.” he laughs, pressing his nose and forehead to Steve’s.

Oh yeah, there’s a significant lack of nipple on this side.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” Steve asks, moving that hand away and down to his hip instead.

“No, no, just feels like you’re barely touching it. Like you’re teasing me.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Which really does it for me if you can believe that.”

“I can,” Steve agrees with a smile of his own, then moves back up to the scar, this time under Eddie’s shirt.

He rests his thumb where he can feel (guess?) where the missing little appendage should be, and curves the rest of his hand around bony ribcage.

“This okay?”

“Mmph.” Eddie says into his lips, since he’s decided he wants to sit up but also not remove his mouth from Steve’s as he does so.

Steve takes the hint and sits back onto his heels, his lips only leave Eddie’s for a moment when Eddie pulls his shirt over his head.

He does, and their lips meet one more time before Eddie lays back and says “I want your mouth on me.”

Somehow, Steve’s even harder than should be possible at those six words.

He dives down hungrily, dragging still spit-slick lips over the dark smattering of a happy trail, over heaving diaphragm, and up to the one nipple Eddie still possesses, his thumb going back to the missing one immediately.

He breathes open-mouthed over the sensitive skin there, letting his tongue get the first taste, the first reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie’s chest immediately pushes upward, chasing the feeling. “Oh fuck you,”

“Maybe next time, sweet thing.” Steve says, then clamps his lips around the sensitive little nub. Sucking lightly and flicking just the tip of his tongue over it again and again and again.

Eddie’s breathy moans fill the air around them and when Steve finally lets up, Eddie can take a solid deep breath. “Holy shit.”

“You alright, Eds?”

“‘You alright, Eds?’” he mocks back with an eye roll, “He says, as if I’ve never been this hard in my life.”

“Maybe someone should do something about that.” Steve’s still lightly rubbing over the scar tissue on Eddie’s chest.

“Yeah, someone named Steve Harrington.”

Steve stops his ministrations, sitting up fully again and looking around his plaid nightmare of a room like he’s looking for someone.

“Oh..Oh! That’s my name!” He says, finally pointing at himself and grinning down at a still red Eddie. “Yeah, I can do that.”

His hands start popping open the buttons of Eddie’s jeans. 

“Yeah, I would hope so, big guy.” He chuckles lightly, “You’re so ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ridiculous are these pants, why are there so many buttons??” He’s gotten to button number four, and yeah, there’s all buttons instead of a button and zipper, but like…why?

Eddie just laughs at him. “Sorry, handsome, these were the only clean pair I had left,” he lifts his hips for Steve to shimmy the denim off his hips when the last button finally comes undone, “They’re a pair they gave me on the farm. Can’t work in skinny jeans very well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” Steve says, throwing the offending jeans behind him. The buttons clack loudly against his closet door. “What I do know is that I need these,” he pauses to run his palms over the wiry hair on two absolutely delicious thighs, “as earmuffs. Immediately.”

“Earmuffs? Wha–Ohhhh..” Eddie acknowledges low and long as Steve gets situated on his stomach between his legs. “Don’t you need to take these off too, sweetheart?”

Steve looks up at him, offended for making him break his concentration on Eddie’s crotch, but acquiesces, pushing Eddie’s legs up to get the elastic off over his ass and down his legs, settling back in on his stomach at the same time Eddie’s thighs relax over Steve’s shoulders (and ears).

Steve noses along the seam of thigh and crotch, and it takes Eddie until he’s basically up at his stomach again, to realize that he’s being kissed.

As soon as he does, however, he can’t do or say anything about it because at that same moment, his dick is swallowed up into Steve’s perfect mouth.

“Ohh Steve holy shit.”

Steve’s throat rumbles around him in response and that only makes him moan again.

“Oh fuck yeah, sweetheart, just like that. Your mouth is so perfect,” Eddie starts to babble as Steve begins to move up and down his length. “You’re so perfect, Steve, holy fuck, I–ohhh–yeah, yeah, keep going, darling.”

Steve picks up the pace, holding a steady rhythm and rumbling around him in response to each whimper or moan.

When he pulls off completely, Eddie looks down at him, his neck only a little sore from the way he’s had it wrenched back in pleasure, and nearly shoots off from the sight. 

Steve’s eyes are on him, his tongue swathing over the underside of his dick, the hair on either side of his head is plastered flat, his face a beautiful shade of pink. 

“What a pretty picture you are,” He sits up slightly, leaning on an elbow to run his thumb down the side of Steve’s flushed hot cheek. “What I would give to see you like this every goddamn day of my life.”

“You can, Eddie. I’m yours.” Steve says, like it’s nothing, then pushes his legs wide and up just a little higher to..

“F-fuck‘ng hell Steve—holy nghf—“

Steve’s tongue circles and dips into that ring of muscle over and over and over again, leaving Eddie a panting mess. The moans coming from Steve making every swirl and dip into him that much better. Just knowing he’s enjoying this as much as Eddie is…

“Steve, Steve!” Eddie looks down and squeezes his legs around Steve’s head minutely, trying to get his attention. Steve only moans louder, his eyes rolling back in his head at the movement. 

“Steve, sunshine, I’m serious,” he huffs out a laugh, “Come up here, you’re gonna make me come before you’re even naked.”

Steve grumbles at him, but complies, climbing back up onto the bed and kneeling at the foot. He pulls his shirt off in one quick motion and uses it to wipe his face off.

“Hello darling,” Eddie greets as Steve lays back down between his legs. There’s a hard seam at the front of his jeans that presses awkwardly on the underside of his head, but he ignores it, something to help take him down from the edge.

“Hi,” Steve grins, and Eddie can’t help but pull him down for a kiss.

He nudges Steve to flip over, which he does after a fleeting moment of confusion.

“My turn, handsome.”

The single button and well-worn zipper of Steve’s jean’s definitely come apart much easier than his own button-fly did, “See how easy that was? You should for sure wear regular pants next time.”

Eddie smirks up at him, lounging against the pillows, “That’s the second time you mentioned a ‘next time’, big boy.”

Steve’s face falls instantly. “Uh, y-yeah, I figured there would be a next time…will there not be?”

“No, no, hey, Steve baby,” Eddie climbs up Steve’s body to lay atop him, a mirror image of before, Steve’s warm hands coming up to rest on his back immediately. “I meant it earlier, when I said I was yours. I am, if you want me.”

Steve smiles softly, a hand leaves a cold patch on his back when it leaves to push a strand of hair back from his face. “I have since you pinned me to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse.”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Really Steve? That’s the moment you decided you wanted all this?” he gestures down his body incredulously.

Steve just continues to smile, no hint of embarrassment in his expression. “Okay, maybe it was before then; your whole bad boy schtick didn’t just have the girls swooning after you, ‘know.”

Another blank stare.

“Really? You have no idea what girls would say about you?”

“I don’t really strive to care what girls would say about me and—hang on, yeah I do, they’d say I’m a freak!”

“Yeah, but at least 70% of those were in the good way. Look, ask Robin, okay? From what she says, she was bombarded with questions about you after coming back from spring break. Band girls go insane for a ‘bad boy’.”

“Wow…who knew?” Eddie pauses, looking down at Steve, before getting up off the bed and gathering his clothes.

“Whoa…Eddie? What are you doing?”

“Getting dressed, duh, apparently I’ve got a whole band full of chicks to woo. Got any pointers, Steve-o?”

Steve snorts behind him, “You can’t go yet, I’m not done with you.”

“Oh yeah?” he picks up his boxers.

“Yeah, I have yet to fuck you into next Tuesday.”

Eddie drops his clothes unceremoniously and spins to face the bed once again.

Steve’s cocky grin melts away into flushed awe as soon as Eddie says: “Not before I ride you, you’re not.”

He goes to the nightstand first, telling Steve to “Lose the pants, big boy.” while gathering the lube and a size XL (Holy shit, really? I mean, he felt big back outside Family Video, but really??) condom.

There’s frantic shuffling and squeaking of springs, but by the time he turns, Steve’s flat on his back and…

“Oh, XL for sure.”

Eddie straddles Steve’s legs and drops the condom onto his chest.

“Hi baby,” He says, uncapping the lube and pouring it over Steve’s length.

He winces at the cold, but whispers “Hey, starlight.” in response.

Eddie can’t hold back the whimper that escapes his throat at that moment.

“Starlight?” Eddie manages, and starts to coat Steve’s cock with the lube.

“Yeah—unf, hah—yeah, you called me sunshine, and you’re—fuck—you’re like the night or whatever.”

He stops his hands’ movement so Steve can breathe. “I am the night? Are you saying I’m Batman?” Eddie gasps dramatically, “How’d you know??”

Steve laughs in return, “Dustin told me, obviously.”

“Damn that kid, he’s gonna get all the villains after me at this rate.”

“Shut up, asshole, I was trying to be sincere.”

“I know you were, sunshine, explain it to me?” He grabs ahold of Steve again, slowly pumping him.

“Oh fuck—Well, I figured if I was sunshine, and you’re basically my opposite right? And uh—uuhnn—I also thought if you were calling me that, it must be like, all the things about the sunshine that you also like about me, since you, you kn—kno—knowww——hate the sun.”

“That I do,” Eddie says, sounding just as breathless as Steve. “Keep going, sweetheart.” He opens the condom then, rolling it down and moves to straddle Steve’s hips, shifting back against the warm weight over and over, letting Steve run along the cleft of his ass.

“Ohhh yes—S—so I thought about the things I love about the night, even though I prefer daylight, and well…” he grabs hold of Eddie’s hips, holding him still against his own and looks him straight in the eye. “You are a clear summer night, Eddie. You are clear skies, a big bright full moon, perfectly glowing starlight.”

Steve’s hold on his hips shifts upward, lifting him above his length and gently pressing upwards.

“This okay?”

Eddie can only nod dumbly, the feeling of Steve pressing against him is nothing compared to the tightness in his chest at Steve’s words.

“Out loud, starlight,” He’s still only barely pressing against Eddie’s entrance.

“Fuck, yes, yes, it’s more than okay.” he manages to huff out, “I prepped before i came over here.”

Steve finally sinks into him then, well, rather, Eddie sinks down onto Steve and holy shit.

“Holy shit, I can feel you in my throat.”

“I’m not even all the way in yet, baby.” Steve responds, then shifts his heels into the mattress to press further.

He’s panting again. Panting and probably drooling, fuck, he feels so full.

Finally, Steve lowers his hips back down to the bed, seated fully inside the man above him.

“Take your time, darling, breathe. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

His words help; Eddie finds himself relaxing further onto Steve.

“You’ve ruined me, sunshine. Ruined.” More panting, "No one is ever going to live up to this.”

Steve chuckles from below him, and Eddie cracks his eyes open to look down. When did he even close them?

“Would it be bad to say that I’m glad?”

Eddie grins back, feels himself relax completely. “Probably; can’t have you getting a complex, now can we?”

Another chuckle, “Oh Eddie,” Steve hauls him down, his lips ghosting at his earlobe, “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Then he starts to move.

Slow but hard, each thrust pitches Eddie forward, still bracketed in Steve’s arms. And with Every thrust, Steve pulls him back down away from the headboard infront of him and onto that fucking amazing dick.

Eddie knows he goes incoherent for a few minutes, he can’t even see since his eyes have been rolled back in his head since Steve started to move. Babbling and moaning and whining before he can get the words out.

“Wait, wait—Jesus H. Christ—Steve, hold on a second.”

Steve stops immediately, letting Eddie sit up.

“Eddie, you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No, no, just hold on—oh fuck that’s even deeper now, okay.”

Steve waits while Eddie catches his breath again.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no! ‘Course not! I just—“ He pauses, and chuckles, face blushing in embarrassment this time, “I said I wanted to ride you, didn’t I?”

Steve’s worry melts away, “That’s right, you did say that, didn’t you? Well,” he puts his hands behind his head then, the nonchalant asshole, “Have at it, darling.”

That spurs Eddie on even more. He’s going to get those hands back on him in minutes.

From the clock on the nightstand, it takes two before Steve’s grasping onto his hips again and panting up at him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh Eddie..”

Eddie halts his movements. “Yes, Stevie dear?”

Steve honest to goodness growls in response and suddenly, Eddie is on his back under him.

“Holy shit..”

“You better hold on, Eddie darling.” is all the warning he gets before his legs are hiked up and Steve is nothing short of pistoning into him.

“Jesus—fuck! Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes, Steve, holy shit fuck meee~”

He dissolves into an unbroken stream of moans from that moment on, starting over with every “Eddie” that leaves Steve’s lips. Every grunt, every “Yeah,”, every “Fuck.”.

“St-Steve—HAH—Steve, I’m going to—“

“Yeah, yes—give it to me, c’mon…”

He paints both their stomachs with his release, and Steve follows soon after, collapsing atop him once he does.

They breathe heavily together for a few short minutes, Steve finally lifting himself up off Eddie with another “Hi.”

“Hi, sunshine.”

Steve smiles down at him and brushes a stray sweaty curl away from his forehead. “You in Tuesday, yet?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, “I think I made it to Wednesday, actually.”

—-

They shower together after Eddie can finally stand, and Eddie makes sure to taste Steve himself, despite how far down his throat he goes.

“Movie?” Steve asks once they’re both dressed.

“You read my mind, big boy,” Eddie grins, and leads the two of them down the stairs, “Can we order in some food too? I’m starv—“

“Oof—“ Steve runs right into Eddie’s back at the bottom of the staircase. “What’s wron–”

“You made dinner?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I forgot.” He rubs the back of his head nervously, “I didn’t know if you would've had time to eat or if you’d even want anything.”

Eddie finally looks back at him with those insanely beautiful doe eyes of his, then back to the pasta he can see on the little table at the front window, then back to Steve.

“You don’t have to eat it, promise.” Steve grins, “It’s probably all gross and rubbery now.”

“No way, I’m gonna eat the fuck outta this dinner,” Eddie says, running into the kitchen and scooping up both plates “I’ll show you how me and Wayne reheat pasta the right way.”

Steve watches him dump both plates back into the pan on the stove as he goes on about how to make sure the noodles don’t get rubbery and weird, and how long pasta can go before getting weird, and Steve pulls him in for a kiss mid-rant.

“What was that for, sunshine?” Eddie asks, with a smile like the stars.

‘I love you.’ Steve thinks.

“Just like you, I suppose.” he says with a shrug and a cheeky grin. “Starlight."

those who asked to be tagged for part 2!! @dangdirtydemons, @justforthedead89, @gothwifehotchner, @corrodedbisexual, @str4wb3rry-guy

plus those who seemed interested in the tags on the prev &lt;3: @matchingbatbites, @vecnuthy, @grimmfitzz, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @yournowheregirl, @mysteddiebrainrot, @mightbeasleep, @emchant3d, @scoops-stevie, @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus, @quinnbower, @theheadlessphilosopher

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 44th Tilt

Thranduil, the Elvenking, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014) VS. Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009)

Propaganda

Thranduil, the Elvenking, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014) Portrayed by: Lee Pace

“He's such a bitch and I like him so much. THE blond bitch, old as hell and annoyed about everything. Willing to leave the dwarves in the dungeons to rot claiming he's patient but is not at all patient for an immortal. Also really pretty.”

Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009) Portrayed by: Keith Allen

“This man had so much fun in this role. He is so thoroughly evil and surprisingly funny. His Sheriff and Richard Armitage's Guy of Gisbourne make a fantastic bad guy duo. He has some of the best lines in the whole series and is very good looking. He is a delightful villain and a very handsome man.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Thranduil:

For Vaisey:

[zoe4math]

Recently, I found this picture:

I am sure that there must be some wonderful stories in it.

However, I know this picture is not clear, and neither my English nor Japanese abilities are good.

So, I will try my best to translate this picture. If you have found some grammar problems, please let me know, and I'll improve it. 🥹

【Geordo】

Dear Catarina,

It has been a month since we became lovers. Although I stayed by your side as your fiance, when I accomplished to tell you my feelings, and the time you accepted it… do you know how joyful I was? I believe if I hadn't known about you, I would never understand those feelings.

From now on, I want to go to various places with you more than ever and spend time together. I want to know more about what you like.

I love you, Catarina.

Geordo Stuart

【Keith】

You may not notice, but since I met you, my daily life has changed incredibly. Knowing you makes me understand that such happy feelings really exist, and being accepted is such a wonderful thing. I will definitely protect you well from now on. I hope you can rely on me more.

And…if possible, I want to do something a little more like lovers with you…though, I don't really know what kind of things lovers do…

Anyway, I love you.

Let's always be together.

Keith Claes

【Alan】

To Catarina.

Becoming…becoming lovers with you is still unbelievable to me…but yes, we really develop to this kind of relationship. And it reminds me of one thing: I care about you more than caring for myself.

When I look up at the sky, I would think of your eyes’ color, and at the concert, I often choose to perform the songs you like. I can't take my eyes off of you whenever we meet, and if I am ignored by you, I will get mad as a child. I feel like thinking about you all the time is a little weird, but every day, I feel happy.

Catarina, I am grateful for the days with you.

Let's make these great days continue.

Alan Stuart

【Nicol】

To my beloved Catarina,

Honestly, sometimes, I am still afraid that this mysterious reality is only a dream. I have hidden my feelings since I was little, and I thought that I should be satisfied with protecting your smile.

However, you who are already by my side are neither a dream nor a longing, which really made me delightful.

Please stay by my side from now on. I love you, and I will surely make you happy, I promise.

Nicol Acsart

【Rozy】

To Catarina.

I am eager to know what you are doing. I am thinking about you all day, and even Silva is arguing with it and asking me not to think about you so often. But I miss you so much that I think my feelings are going to burst out, that's why I am writing this to you.

I love you, Catarina. I want to hug you right now. You always blush and make a little embarrassing face when I hug you. You are so cute and make me want to hug you even more.

…I love you, Catarina.

I am looking forward to the day we will meet.

Rozy Lind

【Silva】

I think writing a letter is not wasting time, but…well, sometimes doing things like this isn't bad, is it? Especially you, always forget things quickly. Now you can read my letter to you and think about me during the time we can't meet each other.

You are precious to me. Of course, I am saying this is not as a friend but as a lover.

I love you…l won't leave you. That's it. Make up your mind now that you will be by my side forever.

Silva

[jiveyuncle]

your roleith pieces give me so much lifeeeeee ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ plz share any headcanons u have of them ps have a good day 🤩

!?!? You have no idea how delighted this ask made me, anon 😭💕 thank you sm!! I obsess over them in my notes and have so much planned for drawing. I’m actually about halfway through coloring a little mini comic interaction I have sketched out between Rolo and Krolia where she’s basically like, “High key, I’ll kill you if you betray him, again.” Lol

Sneaks!!

As far as headcanons, hmm. I’m bad at detailing, but I have general concepts and moments laid out in my brain:

When the Blade of Marmora teams up with the rebels on one of Keith’s earliest missions, Keith is not happy to see a certain someone working with the rebels. Doesn’t trust him at allll. He’s not outwardly hateful or anything, but his stress goes through the roof whenever intel is shared with Rolo or when Rolo is expected to watch Keith’s team’s backs.

Trust is slow to build. It takes Rolo ignoring an order from the Blade to go back for a civilian before Keith finally starts to believe Rolo might actually be alright. (It reminds him of something his old Voltron teammates would do.)

They race each other in crafts. Things are more even when Keith flies base models instead of his old lion, but he’s still the better pilot. He enjoys having someone challenge him.

Rolo 100% falls first. He’s not subtle at all, but he also doesn’t announce it or anything. Rolo’s team is so painfully aware of his feelings and tease him endlessly. Nyma will drop remarks (to Rolo’s annoyance) right in front of Keith about it, and it will still go right over Keith’s head. Matt is the last to figure it out and he about short circuits when he finally puts it together.

Despite the height difference, Keith kicks Rolo’s ass in hand-to-hand combat training.

Rolo’s bandages cover scars from his time under Galra captivity. The skin is particularly sensitive and fragile in those areas, and they’re prone to reactive flair ups of pain and swelling when messed with. Keith gets a look at these scars for the first time after a particularly rough battle where they wind up stranded and have to wait for backup to pick them up.

Lance is initially outraged to find out Keith is buddy-buddy with Rolo and Nyma (“You know, the people who sold us out to Zarkon and chained me to a tree ‘Rolo and Nyma!?’”), but he and Nyma actually eventually click and become decent pals. They have a bet going about how long it will take Keith to realize Rolo’s crush.

Krolia meets Rolo post- Space Whale and basically threatens Rolo with murder if he ever betrays her son, again. She doesn’t trust Rolo, but she trusts Keith’s judgement so she doesn’t meddle beyond that initial greeting. He earns her respect at a later time when a mission fails because he does something to ensure Keith’s safety over the mission’s success.

Rolo’s race can breathe in a wider range of atmospheres. There’s a pretty big scare when Keith’s mask gets shattered in a battle on the ground, rendering him unable to breathe, and Rolo has to drag him back to the ship while under heavy fire. Rolo essentially spells out his feelings after.

First kiss follows Keith making a close call piloting maneuver during a mission that saves his team. Rolo outright grabs him by the hood and fusses him out over the risky behavior, before Keith ends up closing the last of the distance.

Rolo’s race needs less sleep than humans. Once they’re finally together it basically becomes a battle for Keith to either choose to go to sleep together or wake up together. Keith chooses to do both anyway sometimes.

Both work in humanitarian aid efforts after the war.

I think that hits the highlights. Hope this satiates! And hopefully I'll finish the next Roleith piece sooner than later lol

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: I do not know!

Debut: Sonic Adventure

I just learned about this thing! It’s so cool! I want to show you it!

This is clearly a prisoner, and most likely a ghost. So I will call it Prisoner Ghost because I can’t think of anything better at the moment. But WOW, what a ghost! This is honestly an incredible design! It evokes the stripes of a cartoonish prison suit, except the stripes are disconnected, and are the closest thing to a body this has! It is, however, wearing solid shoes.

And look at those eyes! This is no Eyes-In-A-Void Face, but something like this is arguably even cooler! Just eyes, no surface to house them! Even more unrealistic a beauty standard!

These poor souls are doomed to dance in their cells for eternity and NO, they are not flossing! Their arms are exclusively in front of their torsos at all times. Maybe they are from a dystopia where those who cannot floss are imprisoned, and forced to spend their afterlives embarrassing themselves, repeating the same incorrect dance forever... horrible!

For such a wicked design, these guys are not important whatsoever! They are only present in one small portion of the Red Mountain stage, and I’m gonna let you in on a little something about the “Sonic” character. He is quick! Not only are these ghosts dead and imprisoned, but they are somewhat easy to not even notice while running through the stage. Poor things!

With all the fire and death in this place, and especially the robot monkeys that throw bombs, this place is basically the for real Hell. Maybe these funky dancing skull graves are where the bodies of our beloved ghosts are buried? We really know next to nothing about them! If they’re prisoners in HELL, of all places, maybe they are really some supremely Bad Guys... but also, look at their faceless faces and tell me they are not at the same time delightful!

I hope I turn into one of these when I die! I hope I won’t be an imprisoned ghost though. I will just request to be buried in a ridiculous striped outfit if that’s what it takes!

This would have been a good thing to post around Halloween, huh? Oh well! You get it now! Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Thank you to Sonic the Hedgeblog for being the source of the gifs used! Also shout out to Keith Stack for being the reason I found out about these in the first place!