#and whatever do whatever you want on ao3 or for movies made for adults

[lovelyamneris]

I know the fandom is mostly adults so I hope we can all try to be mindful that these characters are children&minors in a show made for kids thanks.

[galexystern]

i don't wanna wait my whole life through (to say i'm in love with you) - 18+

pairing; steve harrington/eddie munson/fem!reader aka steddie/fem!reader

rating; E

warnings; fluff, smut (MDNI), pining, fix-it, spitroasting, oral (f & m receiving), fingering (f receiving), face-fucking, p in v sex, established relationship - eddie/reader

word count; 8.8k

desc; You and Eddie start to notice all the things Steve does for you two. Or, alternately, Sometimes things that feel too good to be true are true anyways.

read on ao3 / masterlist

It all started a few months after you, Eddie, Steve, Robin, and Vickie moved in together.

Steve's parents were part of the wave that swept out of Hawkins after everything with Vecna. They'd tried to convince him to go with them, not wanting to leave him in this obviously cursed town, but he'd declined their offer. They almost didn't let him, but he was an adult now and they couldn't force him to do much of anything. Teary eyed, they'd joined the long line of cars inching down the road, itching to get out.

As a gift, they'd left Steve the house. The giant house, with so many empty bedrooms he couldn't hope to fill by himself. So he'd opened it up to the people he cared about most.

By chance, he ended up inviting you and Eddie to live with him first (he made you promise to never tell Robin that fact). It took some convincing, but he managed to puppy-dog-eye his way intothe two of you agreeing to move in. He graciously gave you the master bedroom, something about how it would be awkward to move rooms within his own house and weird to take over the room where his parents had slept. When he'd said that, it'd creeped you out as well, but Eddie persuaded you that you would be able to make it your own, and eventually you wouldn't even think other people had lived in the same space.

Sure enough, over the days and weeks, the whole house transformed. Stuff started filling all the cabinets, drawers, and surfaces until they threatened to overflow. Anywhere you looked, there was something that clued you in on who lived there—Robin's language dictionaries and stacks of pen pal letters from several different countries, Vickie's gardening supplies and magazines, Eddie's sheet music (blank and filled out, he wasn't very good at keeping it organized) and various guitar accessories, your piles and piles of books in every genre available (you liked to hoard them). Sometimes you caught Steve just sorting through it all with a smile on his face; he liked to scold you all for how messy it was, but you could tell he was so unbelievably happy that there was plain old stuff sitting alongside his, almost burying it even. He started to buy more of his own things just to keep up.

And your and Eddie's bedroom changed just as much. You plastered the wall with posters of bands and movies you both loved, dumped your combined clothes in the dresser and closet, placed all the kitschy stuff you owned on every surface available. All the books in the main area were just spillover; they couldn't even come close to how many were strewn across the floor in your room. You bought everything you found and liked in thrift stores (okay, so maybe you were a hoarder in general). Eddie couldn't resist buying any new cat toy for your beloved Sweet Potato (he could say he hated your cat all he wanted but you knew the truth) so they were always under foot. Vickie liked to give you cuttings from her plants, and so those were placed anywhere sunlight reached. You loved candles a little too much, so there were not one but two drawers full of them. There were shells you and Eddie had collected when you'd gone to the beach, VHS tapes of your favorite shows and films, supplies from any hobbies you'd picked up but eventually gave up (it drove Eddie crazy but he couldn't resist buying you things for whatever new hyperfixation you had, he always wanted to get rid of the old things but you wouldn't let him).

And yet, the room was just a little too big for the two of you. The bathroom was enormous—you and Eddie didn't much care for your looks (besides Eddie's hair) and so it felt empty whenever you went in there. You and Eddie couldn't reach the highest shelves and so they remained clear—you two frequently talked about buying a ladder, or asking Steve to put stuff up there since he was the only one who could reach them, but it hadn't happened yet. And the bed...it felt huge, an expanse of sheets and blankets and pillows. You and Eddie could lose each other in it. When you were in bed, even with Sweet Potato, it was like a whole other person could fit beside you, and even be comfortable.

A voice came from the doorway as you pondered that, just finishing up making the bed. "Wow, this room is unrecognizable."

You looked up to see Steve, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. You smiled at him as you fluffed up Eddie's pillow to how he liked it, then flopped on the bed. Following Steve's roving gaze, you looked around the room at all your stuff mixed with Eddie's. It gave you a thrill, every time, remembering that you two actually lived together, on your own, in a house filled with loved ones. Seemed too good to be true.

Turning back to Steve, you teased, "Is that a compliment?"

His eyes snapped back to yours and he narrowed them playfully. "No, I actually hate what you've done with the place."

You clutched your chest in fake hurt, comically dropping your jaw too wide. "You wound me."

Steve laughed, the sound music to your ears, and you couldn't help but grin back at him, breaking the act. "It looks great," he said, genuine this time. "There's no mystery about who lives here."

"You trying to be dick?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

A faint blush rose to his cheeks. "No. I like it. It's nice knowing you and Eddie are here. Living here. With me."

"Well," you replied, looking away, your own face flushing, "we like it."

You could feel his eyes on you. "Good," he said quietly. Taking a chance, you looked back up and caught his stare. It felt intense. And then he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Maybe I should've kept this room." His teasing tone was back. "If you're not careful, I might take it back."

"Oh yeah? I might just dare you to." You smirked.

"Mm, well, I'm not going down without a fight."

"Neither are we."

You and Steve grinned at each other goofily and your heart pounded and his hand clutched at his bicep and then Robin's voice thundered through the house.

"STEVE!"

Said man huffed out a laugh. "Guess that's for me."

You nodded and watched as he gave you one last smile before disappearing from view. You heard his footsteps down the hall, then the stairs, and then you couldn't hear them anymore.

After that encounter, you started noticing.

Like the day Steve came home from grocery shopping, dumping the bags on the kitchen counter while chanting "gotta pee" before quite literally running to the downstairs bathroom. You'd been at the table, engrossed in a book. Your focus broken, you got up and perused the bags, looking for something to snack on. You wanted to be quick—Steve didn't like it when anyone ate too close to a meal, he said it ruined your appetite and Vickie's delicious cooking would go to waste, something you never understood because Eddie inhaled anything in the fridge when he got the munchies and so leftovers were always eaten—but then you found no less than six different bottles of allergy medication. You picked a couple out and examined them.

You heard Steve walk back into the room and looked up at him. "Who're these for?" You asked curiously.

He glanced at the bottle in your hand. "Oh, they're mine."

"What? Why?"

"I'm allergic to cats."

You looked down. Sweet Potato was weaving between his legs, leaving orange hairs all over the bottom of Steve's jeans. He was notorious for how much hair he shed all over the house. You tried to vacuum regularly, but it was impossible to get it all.

Your eyebrows raised so high they probably hit your hairline. "Steve!" You exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Steve shrugged and leaned over to pick up Tato and hold him to his chest. "Because you and Eddie love this pea-brain," he answered. The cat head-butted him affectionately, purring loudly, and Steve scratched under his chin. "I wouldn't have made you get rid of him. Besides, he's grown on me." Tato started making biscuits on his shoulder.

That's when Eddie walked into the room. He saw Steve holding Tato and immediately went over to them. "Hello, you little monster," Eddie said lovingly, petting him. Sweet Potato just soaked up all of their attention. Your heart melted at the sight.

Steve looked up at you. "Can you and Eddie put away the groceries? Since I shopped and paid, it's the least you can do."

You rolled your eyes. "You're the one who can afford it." Steve smirked. "But yes, we'll unpack." Steve nodded and left the room with Tato.

"Why do you rope me into these things?" Eddie whined. You smiled at him and he reflexively smiled back, walking over to give you a kiss.

"Help me now," you replied, "and I'll give you a back rub later. If you're good." Eddie's eyes lit up and he immediately went over to the counter and started taking things out of bags. You shook your head fondly—when you gave him back rubs, things tended to get heated, if you know what I mean—but still stared at the space Steve had been, thinking over what he'd said. Until Eddie called your name and you turned away, joining him in the task.

Or that time when you and Eddie were at work and a sudden thunderstorm broke out in the late afternoon. It shocked the hell out of you both when lightning flashed through the music shop, a crack of thunder following immediately after.

"Oh, man, we didn't bring any umbrellas or coats or anything," you whined to your boyfriend.

He kept sorting through the new records that had come in, setting aside any that looked interesting. He liked to play those on the store's player near closing time, when there weren't any customers and it was just you and him, sitting on the counter and soaking up the sound. If Eddie was feeling particularly romantic, and the record was full of ballads, he liked to dance with you in the aisles, making you feel like the only person in the world.

"You can wear my jacket," he offered.

"But then you wouldn't have anything to wear," you retorted, to which he shrugged. You rolled your eyes, knowing you wouldn't take up that offer. It was super easy for Eddie to get sick, you'd learned, and going into a thunderstorm without a coat would give him a cold almost immediately. Then he'd bring it home and spread it around the house, making everyone miserable. You weren't going to let that happen.

You watched the rain fall through the window when a familiar car pulled into a parking spot out front. You peered outside as the car door opened and someone stepped out and ran to the door. They opened it and in walked...

"Steve!" You called out in surprise and Eddie looked up.

Steve gave a wave, one of his arms full of stuff, stamping his feet on the shop's welcome mat before walking towards you both.

"What are you doing here, man?" Eddie asked, bewildered, records forgotten.

Steve huffed and dumped what he was holding onto the counter in front of you. You looked down and found that it was your and Eddie's rain gear, complete with your coats, boots, and umbrellas.

"Thought you might need these," Steve said. You and Eddie stared at him in awe.

"You brought these here for us?" You asked.

"In a thunderstorm?" Eddie continued.

Steve shrugged, the tips of his ears going pink. "I know you didn't take them this morning, what with the sun shining and everything, and I know how easily this one—" he pointed to Eddie, "—gets sick, and I wasn't doing anything so..." He cleared his throat. "I thought I'd bring them to you. Be a good friend and all."

You just looked at him.

"Well," Steve broke the silence. "I guess I'll go now." He turned away and started back towards the door.

"Wait," Eddie called, and Steve stopped and turned back around. "Do you wanna stay and eat lunch with us? We haven't taken it yet."

"Oh, I didn't bring any food," Steve said, sounding disappointed.

"That's okay," you replied. "I always pack extra since this one—" now you pointed to Eddie, "—likes to steal my food. Maybe he can control himself and you can have it." You raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend, who nodded excitedly. "Yeah! Stay!"

Steve just looked at you.

"Unless you have somewhere you need to be?" You asked. "Do you need to bring Robin and Vickie their stuff too?" You knew they were at work as well and sure to have not grabbed their stuff either.

"Oh," Steve answered, looking sheepish, "I didn't bring theirs. I forgot it."

You and Eddie laughed. "We won't tell them," you promised.

At that, Steve smiled and walked back to the counter. "In that case, sure. I'd love to stay."

While Eddie grabbed your lunches from the back, you stowed your rain gear under the counter and hopped up to sit. Steve leaned next to you, and you could feel the warmth of his arm against your leg. Eddie returned and you three sorted through the food, picking and choosing what each of you wanted to eat. Once that was done, you dug in, talking about what Steve had watched that morning and what records Eddie had chosen to play and what you were reading at the moment. It felt nice, with the rain pounding away outside, matching how your heart felt.

Or the time when you and Eddie had gone to a concert and gotten a flat on the drive home and had to stop at some random gas station. It was practically the middle of the night and there was no one around. Even the gas station store was closed. It was cold and you both shivered as Eddie dug through his pockets for change.

"Here," he said, teeth chattering. He had two quarters, two chances to get a ride home. You took one and called the house, but it just rang a couple of times before the machine picked up.

You hung up the phone with a huff. "No one's home. Steve, Robin, and Vickie are probably still at that party they were going to."

"What are we going to do?" Eddie asked. His tone sounded calm but his word choice revealed his worry. "Who else can we call?"

"Maybe Joyce? I don't—wait!" You ran to the van, opening the door and digging through the glove compartment. "I know it's in here," you muttered as you threw everything in there on the floor. Eddie's messiness and your hoarding were really catching up to you.

Finally, your hand closed around a piece of yellow paper. You pulled it out and quickly examined it. Smiling, you jumped out of the car and ran back to Eddie.

"What's that?" He asked, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Sometimes, Steve's maternal instinct comes in handy," you answered, showing him the list of names and numbers of all of Steve's closest friends. Eddie laughed. "I can't believe we actually have use for that thing."

"Me either," you breathed and grabbed the last quarter. You were so happy you remembered Steve was at Emily's house, otherwise you and Eddie would've been screwed. You dropped in the quarter and dialed the number. You hoped Steve would answer, but you would've been fine with anyone after the third ring.

Eventually, someone picked up. "Hello?" You could barely hear them over the party noise.

"Emily!" You yelled. "It's Y/N!"

"Oh! Hi Y/N!" She shouted back. "What's up?"

"Is Steve there?"

"Yeah! One minute!"

You waited for three seconds.

"Y/N?" Steve's voice came through the phone and you relaxed almost completely. Everything would be okay. Eddie noticed and sighed in relief, leaning against the wall. "What's wrong?"

"We got a flat tire!" You answered. "Can you call us a tow truck or something?"

"No way," he said, and you tensed in confusion. "I'm coming to get you!" You relaxed again but didn't understand. "What?"

"Just hold tight! Where are you?"

You told him you were just off Highway 73 at a gas station. He said he would be right there and hung up.

You and Eddie ran back and got in the van, turning it on so you could have some heat. "At least the battery didn't die," Eddie joked. "Otherwise we would've frozen." You rolled your eyes but didn't say anything, just leaned against his shoulder. You two dozed until someone knocked on the driver's side window.

You both jumped and saw Steve outside. He waved and Eddie rolled down the window. "Come on," he said. "Get in." He pointed over his shoulder at his car.

"What about the van?" You asked.

"We'll get a tow truck in the morning. Let's just get you home and out of the cold," he replied. He waited as you two got out of the van, grabbed anything valuable, and locked it, leading you to his BMW.

Eddie dove into the back and laid across the seats. "It's so warm in here," he slurred, half-asleep already. You and Steve smiled as you buckled into the front. Steve looked both ways before pulling out onto the road. You lay in the passenger seat, head turned to watch Steve as he drove. It was warm and everything smelled like him, a comforting, familiar sensation. Your eyes drooped, following Eddie's lead. Steve kept his hand on the stick shift and you laid yours on top. He looked at you briefly.

"Thank you," you whispered. He smiled softly. His hand flipped upside down and squeezed your fingers, making your heart flutter. Your eyes closed fully.

"Go to sleep," Steve whispered back, and you could've sworn he said "my love" at the end, but you were already gone.

;

"Babe," you started, as you slid under the covers and into bed beside Eddie, trying not to disturb the sleeping Sweet Potato. "Have you noticed anything...odd about Steve recently?"

Your boyfriend turned on his side to face you, a curious expression on his face. "What do you mean?"

You explained about the allergy meds and rain gear and flat tire.

"What do you think it means?" Eddie asked.

You sighed. "I don't know. But it's confusing me."

Eddie hummed, and you watched as he thought. "You know," he said eventually, evenly, "maybe he has a crush on you."

Your breath caught, but shook your head anyway. "It can't just be me. All the things I told you about were for both of us."

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you. "We don't know that he's bisexual."

"Yeah," you conceded. "But he knows we are." Eddie's eyes widened at that and you giggled.

"Now that I think about it," he mused, "he lets you drive his car. He doesn't let anyone else do that."

"Well, he lets your band practice in the garage whenever you want."

A moment of silence.

"He does let me pick whatever we watch when we're together," you continued.

"He lets me play any new record I get, even if he knows he won't like it," Eddie said.

"He always gets my favorite flower when he goes shopping..."

"...and our favorite magazines..."

"...and our favorite candy."

You and Eddie looked at each other and spoke at the same time.

"Holy shit."

;

It felt like a dream. It actually was a dream, kind of the dream for you and Eddie both. You'd determined that a few months ago, before you'd moved in with Steve, back when you were living with Eddie in his trailer.

It was just pillow talk, uncommonly intimate pillow talk. It was raining outside and the trailer felt warm and cozy and you and Eddie were in sex's afterglow, tangled up in each other. It started innocently enough, but then you started discussing exes and old lovers. You'd been a goody two shoes in high school, never getting into trouble, never doing much of anything. Unfortunately, that meant you didn't get much action, and Eddie was your first (and probably last) serious boyfriend. He wasn't your first though, and so you told him about how you'd lost your virginity to some nice, bland kid at summer camp—the same summer you had your first kiss with a girl. Eddie had whistled and said something about how for someone who didn't do anything, you sure did at lot in those three months. You'd hit him but blushed as well.

Eddie had talked about Tanya, the girl he'd dated throughout freshman and sophomore year, before she'd moved away. He'd been devastated, thought she'd been the one and everything, but long distance didn't work and he'd eventually lost touch with her. It'd hurt for a long time, and still hurt if he was being honest, but he said you were better than she ever was. You rolled your eyes but you couldn't stop a smile from playing on your lips.

Then he'd asked, "Do you have a crush on anyone?" You looked away quickly and he noticed. "You do," he said. You could hear the smirk on his face. "Who is it?"

"No one," you insisted, not wanting to say and hurt his feelings.

It was like he could read your mind, he always could. "You can tell me, I won't mind."

You looked up at him. "Are you sure?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he answered, complete with the motion of an x across the left side of his chest. You smiled softly at the gesture. "Go ahead, princess."

"Well..." You started softly. "I've always had a crush on Steve."

Eddie's eyes just about bugged out of his head. "Steve? Our Steve? The Hair?"

"Don't say it like that!" You shoved him lightly. "You've seen how he's changed after graduating. Everyone had a crush on him before, who wouldn't have a crush on him now?"

"Me," Eddie scoffed, but you could see him bite the inside of his cheek—the tell-tale sign he was lying.

You gasped. "You liar!"

"No!" He exclaimed, trying to save face.

"Yes!" You were excited now. "You have a crush on him too! Oh my god!"

He shoved his face into his pillow and groaned. "No I don't!" You heard him say, his voice muffled.

You leaned in close to his ear. "You can't hide from me," you said lowly, teasing him. "I know all of your secrets. And now I know this one too, the juiciest one by far."

"It's not that big a deal" came from the pillow.

You leaned back. "It's not." Eddie lifted his head and looked at you with an eyebrow raised. "You're just as hopeless as I am."

He sighed loudly and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "He's just so pretty," he whined, lovesickness finally coming out.

"He is." You mirrored his position, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. "Sexy, too."

"Yeah...and funny and caring and beautiful and thoughtful and smart..."

"You sound like you're down bad more than me." You giggled.

"Well then, babe, you should catch up."

"Oh, I will."

"Good," Eddie said, sounding tired. He leaned over to give you a hug and kiss before rolling away.

You pouted. "Why don't you ever hold me at night?"

"Angel, I love you, but you're like a million degrees when you sleep. You make me feel like I'm going to melt into a puddle."

"I bet Steve would cuddle me."

Eddie chucked into the dark. "I bet he would."

You huffed.

;

You laid on the couch, head on Eddie's lap and feet on Steve's. Credits rolled across the TV screen, throwing the room into near darkness. Red flared above you as Eddie took a hit, passing the remnants of a joint to you. You took a drag and inhaled. Steve's hand lightly caressed your leg as he brought it to yours, plucking the joint from your fingers. You exhaled shakily and Eddie rubbed the back of your neck as his hands brushed through your hair. He knew.

It'd been a few weeks since your and Eddie's conversation regarding Steve's behavior, and since then, you couldn't stop seeing all the things Steve did for you both. Reading the books you raved about, listening as Eddie's band practiced and giving praise, buying little things he thought you two would like. You and Eddie tried to return the favor: you took pictures of the three of you together with the camera you'd picked up during your photography phase, visited him at work whenever the two of you were off to cheer him up, brought him home cassettes of his favorite musicians as soon as they came in. For his birthday, Eddie wrote him a cute little jingle and you gave him a collage of all the pictures you'd taken together; he loved and cherished them both. But nothing felt like enough—not enough to show him how much you two cared for him. Nothing short of telling him felt like enough, but you were scared. It felt too good to be true.

"Steve," Eddie said, breaking you out of your reverie. The man at your feet hummed. "Why didn't you leave with your parents? Why did you stay in Hawkins?"

A minute of silence passed.

Eventually, Steve answered, voice scratchy from not using it in a few hours, "It's complicated. Part of me wanted to go. I love my parents, but I never got to see them. They always worked too much. It felt lonely, when I was a kid. I thought maybe this was my chance to really spend time with them." He sighed. "But that wasn't real. They were going to continue working hard even after moving. I would've been alone again—actually alone, without all of you."

You made a sympathetic sound and he squeezed your feet in gratitude.

"And..." He continued. "And it just felt wrong to leave everyone. I don't think it would've felt right to live anywhere but Hawkins. Cursed as it is." He chuckled softly. "You know what I mean?"

"Mhm." Eddie answered for the both of you.

"This is where I belong. With you."

You knew he was talking about everyone, the kids and adults and other teenagers, but it really felt, in that moment, like he was talking about the three of you. You, Eddie, and Steve, saying you belonged together. You felt the same, deep down in your bones.

"Steve," you said suddenly, propping yourself up on your elbows. "I—"

He turned his head to you, leaning against the back of the couch, the moonlight shining through the windows to highlight his face, with its sharp jaw and high cheekbones and strong nose. His eyes sparkled and his hair glowed and a soft smile spread across his mouth and your words died in your throat. He was too beautiful, too kind, too loving for you. You didn't deserve him.

If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

"Um," you managed. Eddie rubbed your neck again, giving you strength. "We would've missed you. If you'd left."

"I would've missed you too," he whispered, still smiling at you, giving you butterflies.

You laid back down and looked at Eddie desperately. He nodded and said, "Well, I better get this one upstairs," patting your hip. At that, you pulled your legs from Steve's lap, missing his warmth already. "Scoot up," Eddie murmured to you and you did as he asked. Once you were in a better position, he placed his arms under your knees and back, lifting you as he stood up from the couch.

"Damn, Munson," Steve said, sounding impressed.

Eddie turned you both around and he winked at Steve, making you giggle. Steve also laughed, staying seated as Eddie carried you upstairs to your room. He laid you on the bed gently. "Are you okay?" He asked softly.

You nodded but didn't say anything.

"You know I love you, right?"

You smiled. "How much?"

"Oh," Eddie drew out as he sat on the bed next to you. You climbed into his lap and straddled him. "More than the number of stars in the sky. More than the amount of water in the oceans. More than the number of trees there ever have been or will be."

Love for him pooled in your stomach. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered simply. You kissed him, deeply, passionately. You wanted to forget you couldn't have Steve. You wanted to remember that you would always have Eddie.

Like always, he read your mind and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and letting his hands rest on your ass. He ran his tongue along your lower lip and you opened for him. He gently moved your hips, making you grind against him, and you moaned at the hardness beneath you. His mouth left yours and ran hot kisses down your jaw and neck, stopping at your pulse point to suck deeply. You groaned again at the sensation, pressing harder against his crotch.

"Eddie," you panted. "Need you."

His teeth nipped at your skin when you said his name and you whimpered, his tongue soothing the hurt. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt and you leaned back so he could pull it up over your head. He moved towards you again, and his lips explored the newly exposed skin like it was the first time. He always made you feel so precious, like you were a wonder he couldn't believe he got to touch. You placed your hands on his face and pulled it up to yours, kissing him deeply again. He grunted, smashing your chests together in an effort to get closer to you. You gasped lightly as his shirt rubbed against your breasts, creating friction and making your nipples stand at attention.

He leaned back and pulled his own shirt off, throwing it somewhere behind you. Your fingers caressed the open skin, feeling the line between his abs, the happy trail leading into his jeans. Going lower, past the waistband, to the bulge that was growing as you kissed. You rubbed the heel of your hand against it and he broke away to groan into your neck, the sound going straight to your cunt.

Eddie suddenly flipped you so you were lying underneath him, head against the pillows. He trailed his lips down your neck to your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking. You gasped, hands going to his hair and pulling him closer. He swirled his tongue around, a hand coming up to tweak the other one and make your back arch. "Good girl," he muttered against your skin and you whimpered at the praise. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to make you feel good."

He continued down your torso, sucking bruising marks here and there, making sure they would stick around for a while. Finally, he reached your waist, and he pulled down your pants and underwear in one go. You sucked in a breath as the cold night air hit you, goosebumps popping up. But it was quickly replaced with Eddie's warmth, as he ran wet kisses down your thighs and licked a long stripe up your slit.

"Fuck," you moaned, thrusting your hips up. Encouragement enough for Eddie to dive back in and devour you.

That's when the door creaked.

You looked up and said breathlessly, "Steve."

He stood in the doorway, your jacket in his hand. His mouth was open but he didn't move, watching where Eddie's head was buried between your thighs. At your voice, he ripped his gaze away to meet yours, and your breath caught at his dark eyes and hungry expression.

Eddie lifted his head. "Did you just call me 'Steve'?" But when he realized where you were looking, he sat up, turned, and saw Steve as well. He must've recognized the same look on his face as you did, because neither of you moved. In fact, Eddie brought up his fingers to drag through the slick wet of your pussy, making you gasp. Steve swallowed at the sound.

"Hi there, pretty boy," Eddie said, and Steve looked at him. "What a nice surprise."

"I—" His voice was strangled. "I just wanted to give this back."

"How chivalrous of you," Eddie replied, somehow sounding calm and wrecked at the same time. The hand not lazily sliding between your legs grabbed your ankle, and that was your only warning before he pressed his middle finger into you. You arched back at the sensation, still staring at Steve, who looked down at Eddie's finger pushing in and out of you slowly. "You know Steve, this angel right here has never been wetter than she is right now."

"Oh?" Steve said faintly. The squelch of Eddie's finger moving sounded louder than ever.

"Yeah," Eddie drew out. "I think maybe it has something to do with you?" On "you", he added another finger and you moaned loudly at the stretch. His rings felt cold against your hot skin, and it just heightened the tension in the air between you, Eddie, and Steve. "What do you think?"

"Fuck," Steve breathed out.

"How about you, princess?" Eddie turned his attention to you and you could see the wicked glint in his eye. "Who do you think is making you so wet?"

He hit inside you particularly hard and you cried, "Steve."

Eddie looked back at Steve triumphantly. "See, pretty boy? All you. Now, rather than me just telling you, would you like to come over and feel it?"

Steve nodded dazedly, stumbling forward and closing the door behind him. He walked to the bed unsteadily as you and Eddie watched him. Once he got close enough, Eddie removed his fingers from you. You whimpered at the emptiness, clenching around nothing, but Eddie leaned forward and pressed his fingers into your open mouth. "Suck, beautiful," he murmured and you followed orders. Eddie and Steve both groaned at the sight and your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

You felt someone shift and opened them to find Eddie now sitting beside you and Steve perched between your open thighs. You locked eyes with him as he shakily reached out a finger and gently swept it through your slick. His eyes widened at the sensation and he said, "Wow."

"Go ahead, pretty boy," Eddie said, his hand coming up and massaging your breast. "Give it a taste."

Steve kept your gaze as he slowly leaned forward and very lightly touched the tip of his tongue against your clit. You both moaned at the feeling, Steve's eyes rolling back up into his head as he pressed closer and pushed his mouth into your pussy. You let out sounds like you were falling apart, feeling like you were, as Steve's tongue explored your folds, never stopping, like he didn't want to stop. Like he wanted to map you down to the millimeter.

"You make such pretty sounds, sweetheart," Eddie said, and you wrenched your gaze from Steve to him. "Doesn't she, Stevie?"

You felt Steve nod against you, pushing impossibly closer. He was settling now, moving his tongue down so it could press inside you, and your body shivered. He did that a few times before running it back up, nosing your clit teasingly. "Tastes so good," he groaned, and you and Eddie both responded with your own whines. "Like honey."

"She's our sweet girl," Eddie managed to say, though his voice was barely there.

"Eddie," you whimpered out. He knew what saying "our" would do to you.

But then Steve pushed two fingers inside you while lazily sucking at your clit, and you cried his name out with pleasure. Your hips moved of their own accord, thrusting down to meet Steve's hand, like it was a dance you two knew how to do without ever trying before. Eddie's free hand moved and rubbed his hard cock through his jeans, slowly but forcefully. You didn't want him to feel left out, so you lifted a hand to tangle in his hair and turn his head towards you. "Kiss me," you pleaded in a whisper.

Eddie wasted no time, falling into you and your mouth, tongues immediately clashing. Your noses and teeth and jaws bumped together, feeling violent, as you chased your climax on Steve's mouth and fingers. "Do you wanna cum?" Eddie asked into your mouth and you nodded against him frantically.

He leaned away and you whined pitifully. "What do you think, Steve?" Eddie sounded absolutely breathless. "Should we let our good girl here cum?"

As an answer, Steve revved up his motions and worked overtime, making you wail wantonly into the dark. It only took another minute of Steve's ministrations and Eddie's kisses and then you were over the cliff, free-falling into your climax. Your body jerked as Steve slowed but didn't stop, extending your pleasure, making sure it lasted as long as possible. At some point, you moaned in overstimulation and Steve finally stopped, letting you collapse on the bed and try to get your breathing back. He sat up and put one of his wet fingers in his mouth, and you watched as he sucked it clean, closing his eyes at the delicious taste. If you could've moaned, you would've.

Then Steve opened his eyes and trained them on Eddie, who swallowed slowly. "Here," Steve said simply, and held out his other wet finger to your boyfriend.

They didn't break eye contact as Eddie crawled down the bed to Steve, wrapping his lips around the offering. He sucked eagerly, groaning at the taste, and Steve's eyes darkened in response. And you watched it all happen with half-lidded eyes, already feeling desire pool again within you.

Steve gently pulled his finger away, and Eddie followed it, not wanting to let it go. But then Steve leaned down and pressed his lips against Eddie's. It must've felt good, because then they tried to swallow each other whole, hands coming up to grip waists, shoulders, hair, before they found their spots: Steve's on the back of Eddie's neck and Eddie's on Steve's lower back. They pulled at each other endlessly.

You whimpered at the beautiful sight, and that broke them apart, giving all their attention to you. You shivered under their combined stares, knowing they weren't close to being done.

You were proven correct when you saw the wicked glint that had been in Eddie's eye now shining in Steve's. "Don't worry, my love," your breath hitched at the pet name, "we haven't forgotten about you. Right, baby?" By the end of the question, Steve was looking back at Eddie, who was hanging on by a thread after hearing "baby" fall out of Steve's lips and directed at him. He nodded with a whimper. Steve smirked, knowing he had the upper hand now, and moved his hand to Eddie's hair. He tugged lightly, but Eddie's head fell back like he'd been pushed. "Good."

At that point, you'd gotten some of your strength back, so you sat up and grabbed the hem of Steve's shirt. "Stevie," you whined. He looked down at you with an eyebrow raised and adoration in his gaze. "My turn."

"Your turn for what, beautiful?"

You seemed to shiver anytime Steve addressed you by a pet name, and this time was no different. "To kiss you."

Steve nodded and leaned down, still holding onto Eddie's hair and moving the free hand to cup your cheek. When he was a hair's breadth away, he whispered so the words would fall across your lips, "I've been wanting to do this for so long."

You melted and combusted at the same time. "Me too," you replied, and surged up to meet him. He moaned against your lips as they pressed against his. They were soft and sweet and a perfect fit. You never wanted to stop. All you wanted to do for the rest of your life was kiss Steve and Eddie, one after the other, again and again, that was it. You slid your hands under his shirt and lightly brushed across the skin and muscle. In response, he flicked his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to him. His tongue pushed in and started to map your mouth like it had your pussy. You could taste the sweetness he'd loved so much and you dove it to chase it further.

Eventually, Steve broke away. You were all panting, eye contact electric between you. Steve took a breath and asked, "How is everyone?" Ever the most caring boy in the world.

"Good," you replied breathlessly.

"I'm great," Eddie answered eagerly and you shot him a look.

Steve laughed quietly. "It's not a competition."

"But I'm winning, clearly."

Before you could shoot a sarcastic comment in his direction, Steve pulled Eddie's hair so his head went back and his neck was exposed. "Oh?" The dark look was back in his eye. "Is that so? What do you think, angel?"

You hummed, watching as Eddie's stare bounced between you and Steve, desperation growing in his expression, hand going to palm his crotch. "I don't know if he's winning per-say...but I think he's been a good boy for us. Haven't you, my love?" Eddie nodded as much as he could with Steve holding his head back. "Yes, such a good boy, letting Stevie eat me out and letting me cum. Don't you think he deserves a reward?"

You gave Steve your best puppy dog eyes and he sighed shakily at the sight. "Now that you mention it," he replied, voice a tiny bit strangled, "he has been a good boy. I think it's time we give him some relief." You nodded at him. "And since I already got to experience your pretty pussy tonight, I think it's only fair Eddie does too. How does that sound?" He grabbed your chin and pushed your head back to mirror Eddie's. "Would you like our good boy here to fuck you? Make you cum again?" Eddie whimpered at the use of "our" just like you had, and you nodded at Steve desperately.

"Yes, please," you breathed out and Steve smiled sweetly. He kissed you and Eddie before letting go and moving so Eddie could take his spot. He was about to leave the bed when you grabbed his hand. He looked at you and you tugged him towards the top of the bed, motioning for him to sit behind you. "I'm a good girl, remember?" You asked, teasing gently. You turned so you were on all fours, ass high up in the air towards Eddie, who squeezed it hard. That made you arch your back and you gave Steve a coy but knowing look. "Let me be your good girl."

Both Eddie and Steve rushed to get rid of their pants and underwear while you waited patiently, looking over your shoulder at them. Within seconds they were back on the bed, at either end of you. The three of you together—it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Eddie pressed two fingers into you and you keened at the feeling. He leaned down and kissed up your spine to soothe as you got used to the stretch once more. Steve slid in and sat in front of you, cock red and hard and already leaking. You dropped your head and used the tip of your tongue to lap up the white bead of pre-cum. You heard Steve's head hit the headboard along with a loud groan, and so you did it again—this time adding a swirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.

"Fuck," he swore, the sound seemingly echoing throughout the large room, making you wetter. Eddie took the opportunity and added a third finger to the two that were fucking you nice and slow and deep. You moaned around Steve's cock, halfway into your mouth, and the vibration made him jerk his hips up and push it in all the way. You gagged at the sudden pressure in your throat, but he was quick to bring his hips back down. "Sorry, angel," he whispered.

You swallowed the spit that'd gathered in your mouth. "S'fine." Looking up at Steve with doe eyes, you continued, "I can do it."

He smiled softly and kissed your forehead. "I know you can. You're going to take both of our cocks so well, baby. Right?"

You whined and nodded, bringing your head down again and taking Steve all the way into your mouth. "Oh my god," he groaned out.

"No gods here," Eddie smirked, fingers speeding up and curling to hit just the right place inside of you to make you cry out around Steve's cock. "Just a good girl who's about to create the most beautiful spit-roast imaginable." He removed his fingers and before you could whine about the loss, you felt the head of his cock press against your cunt. He dragged it through your slit, hitting your clit now and then, enough to make you whimper but nothing else.

Then he slowly pushed his cock inside you, letting you adjust as he moved inch by inch. "So tight," he praised. "Always so tight for my cock. Such a good girl."

You shuddered at the praise and being filled up. Steve spread his hands in your hair to help move your head so you could keep sucking him off. When Eddie bottomed out and you could feel the press of his hips against your ass, he stopped and just reveled in the feeling.

"You're so beautiful," Steve said as if in awe. "You're both so beautiful." You knew he and Eddie must be staring at each other as they both fucked you and you moaned at the thought. You pushed back a little on Eddie, giving him permission to move. He gradually pulled out and then pushed back in hard and fast. You choked around Steve's cock but didn't stop sucking his cock.

"Look at you, taking us both so well," Eddie cooed in a strained voice. His hips quickened, making Steve speed up your head movement. You were just between them, letting them use you for their own pleasure, and you'd never felt more perfect in your life.

Steve panted hard. "M'gonna cum," he managed, and you wrapped your lips tighter around him and sucked harder. "Oh, fuck, baby." You took him all the way, deep into your throat, and swallowed around him. He jerked and you quickly retreated so you wouldn't gag. His cum shot into your mouth and you did your best to swallow it all, some of it leaking down your chin. Steve slowed and eventually stopped your motion, extending his orgasm as much as he could, and then lifted your head so it was level with his. "That was amazing."

You smiled and used a finger to wipe the cum from your cheek and into your mouth, sucking on the digit while staring at him. He already looked wrecked and that was just the icing on the cake.

And then a hand, adorned with big silver rings, wrapped itself around your throat and pulled you back.

Your back came flush with Eddie's chest and you cried out from the change in position. His cock was hitting deeper now, and rubbing that specific little spot over and over again.

"Hi, princess." Eddie's voice was right next to your ear. "Having fun?"

You nodded.

"Ah ah ah, I wanna hear you say it. Let Steve and I hear everything," Eddie directed and then bit down on your pulse point.

"Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes," you cried. "Feels so good."

Eddie's wicked chuckle tickled your neck. "It does? Well, I think pretty boy here can help you feel even better."

Next thing you knew, Steve was kneeling right in front of you, hands pressing into your waist. He looked exhausted but there was still a hungry look in his eyes. Then he moved his hands up and grabbed at your tits, rolling the nipples in his fingers harshly. You dropped your head onto Eddie's shoulder, keening, feeling like you could explode.

"Look at us, angel," Steve said gently, and you turned your head so you could see them. They leaned into each other and kissed wildly. Both sets of their hands tightened on you and you whimpered. Your orgasm was on the horizon; it was a tsunami and headed towards you fast. Steve took one hand and dragged it through Eddie's hair, pulling him even closer. You felt his lips on your neck, here and there, and you knew he was marking up both you and Eddie, marking you as his. You leaned your head to the opposite side so he would have more space to create his art.

His other hand slowly slid down and then two fingers started rubbing fast circles on your clit. "Oh, god!" You shouted.

Steve leaned away, and Eddie retightened his grip and focused on drilling his cock into you, harder and faster and deeper. "That's it, baby," he said. "Cum for us."

You lifted your head and locked eyes with Steve. He nodded, a half-smirk on his face, and that was it. The tsunami hit and wiped everything out.

"Holy shit!" Eddie groaned as you clenched hard around him. You let out whines as he kept fucking you and Steve kept rubbing your clit, prolonging your pleasure to the maximum limit. Three, four, five hits later and Eddie was cumming too, his hips stuttering but still thrusting as he rode out the high.

At some point, he slowed to a stop and pulled out. You collapsed forward and Steve caught you, moving you so you could lay on the bed. He set you down gently and pressed kisses to your face. Eddie flopped down next to you and did the same as Steve. You giggled tiredly.

You were in heaven.

Then Steve was getting up and walking into the en-suite bathroom. You heard water running and then stop and Steve reappeared, carrying a warm wet towel. He gently cleaned you and Eddie up, then himself, then tossed it into the dirty laundry hamper. He was about to lay back down when there came a meow from outside the door. Steve walked over and opened it, and Sweet Potato emerged from the hallway. He rubbed against Steve's leg before jumping onto the bed, curling up in his regular spot, and falling asleep.

All three of you laughed quietly. Steve closed the door and returned to the bed. He climbed in and laid between you and Sweet Potato, with Eddie on the other side of you. You pulled up the comforter and got cozy.

"I don't know if this actually needs to be asked now," Eddie said, sounding worn out, "but I'm gonna do it anyway. Steve, would you like to date me and Y/N? The both of us, together?"

You looked at Steve and smiled. "'Cause we wanna date you," you finished.

It was pretty dark in the room, but you thought you saw a tear or two shining in his eyes. "I would love to date you, both of you, together."

Eddie sighed. "Thank god."

"I thought there weren't any gods here?" Steve teased.

"Oh, shut up."

You and Steve laughed. You looked up at the ceiling, feeling like you were on cloud 9. "This feels too good to be true."

"Well, it's true," Steve said.

"Finally," Eddie sighed. You felt both of their eyes on you. It gave you indescribable joy to know they were looking at you, and each other, the same way you and Eddie would. Like they were the most important person in the world. Like you couldn't live without them. Like they were the key to your happiness, and you to theirs.

You gave each of them a kiss and then turned on your side towards Eddie. Steve shifted behind you, and you felt his body pressed up against you from behind. His arm snaked around your waist and held on tight. "Is this okay?" He asked.

"Ha!" You yelled, startling both boys and the cat. They all stared at you and you looked back at Eddie triumphantly. "I told you Steve would cuddle me!"

Eddie laughed. He gave you a kiss and said, "You sure did, babe."

You all settled down again, and you covered Steve's arm with your own to keep him against you. "What was that?" He asked, sounding more confused than ever.

You giggled. "I'll tell you in the morning. Promise."

[spiritmadeofstars]

Something to live for, someone to die for (Lokixfem!Reader) CH 1 [on-going]

Summary: Loki is looking for a powerful artifact. When he’s just in reach, one silly little Midgardian decides to fuck up his plans.

(female reader, nondescript appearance, non-specific timeline, tags will be added)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

NO use of Y/N, instead "you" and using a nickname

Words: 4,309

Warnings: violence, blood, adult themes in later chapters, 18+ (warnings and tags to be added)

Chapter 1 - A bird in a cage, of course (originally posted on my AO3)

chapter 2

Hey guys, so I am a sucker for enemies to lovers, but often find myself unhappy with the ratio being like 5% enemies - 95% lovers, so I decided to give it a try myself. You know what the French say “soo la voo or whatever”.

This is very loose in terms of the movies, I usually do not care much about sticking to the plot/timeline and this is my first Marvel fic, so I’m gonna do this free form. The reader is female, a part of the Avengers, appearance not really described (if I slip up I apologize in advance, I hope you can imagine yourself in there).

You were pressed against Loki’s chest and his dagger was pressed against your throat. Too bad your hands were tied and secured to your waist, otherwise you would have punched him right in his stupid smirk. In this situation, being tied up and all, blood trickling from your forehead and down your cheek, you managed to struggle a little against him, only causing the dagger to knick you.

  “If I knew you were so eager to throw yourself on a blade I would have spared you the beating.” Loki said next to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin, it made you want to vomit. Either that or your concussion.

  “If it’s a certain death and being this close to you the choice is obvious.” You managed to get out, though your speech was slurry.

  “You wound me, woman. I am the best company you could ever dream of.” He turned the knife so the flat side of the blade pressed against your skin. Then he turned you around and pressed you against a wall, the point of the blade under your jaw. You could feel the sharp sting of yet another wound. “Tell me where you hid the artifact and I might consider granting your wish of escaping.”

  “The artifact.” You said, confused. “What artifact?” Looking up, you focused on Loki’s face. A little blurry, but you could see the fury and blood thirst, his eyes filled with madness. You tried to think, but the thoughts kept slipping away like fish in a river.

  “You don’t want to play this game with me.” He almost shouted, his left hand pressed against the base of your throat. Holding you steady rather than trying to choke you.

  “This is awkward, but I don’t remember having anything of yours in my possession.” You said in a daze.

  The feeling of his wet, sweaty palm pressed against your skin was too much, his closeness was too much. You were going to vomit if he did not let go of you soon. It was a relief when he did pull his hand away, along with the blade. You breathed out slowly, only to be struck by him, causing you to lose your balance and fall to the ground. Alas, you finally vomited, the spin of the fall sealing the deal. At least you did not get vomit on yourself. When you finished and managed to look up at Loki, you noticed the blood dripping from his left hand and a thought occurred to you. Maybe his palm wasn’t sweaty at all.

  “You are the God of Lies, can’t you tell I’m not lying?” You whispered sarcastically, slightly offended that he was not clever enough to realise it on his own. His frustrated “fuck” let you know, that he, in fact, did know you were telling the truth. Content, you lowered your head to the floor. It felt like it was about to explode, and the cold touch of stone made it a little more bearable.

  “Fuck!” Loki screamed and something shattered. “Fuck. Fuck you and your stupid weak little Midgardian head.” You closed your eyes, feeling at peace now that the man from your nightmares left your personal space. “No matter.” You heard a bit too close for your liking. You were being pulled up again, your feet struggling to find ground.

  You were being dragged by the collar of your suit, two cold fingers found their way underneath the fabric, and though you tried your hardest, the back of your neck could not escape the touch. You were not sure if you were glad that the zipper on the front was slightly undone. If it wasn’t, maybe you would have been strangled before Loki brought you on his ship and took you with him.

  ….

4 hours earlier

….

  “Can you hear me, Birdie?”

  “Tony, this isn’t funny.” You whispered into your intercom.

  “Oh, come on, kid. It’s not my fault Peter chose you a new superhero name.”

  “In my defence, I called her Robin.” Peter said quickly.

  “Eh, a bird is a bird.”

  You shook your head, annoyed and offended. You did not care for superhero names. Thought your name would be enough, but apparently no. Just because you could fly and your uniform happened to be brownish with red details, did not mean you looked like a robin in the slightest. That was low even for Peter. At least he did not call you a bird-woman.

  “At least Birdie is cute.” You said more to yourself, but the mic picked your voice.

  “Hah, knew it!” Tony said triumphantly and Peter grumbled something you did not quite catch. You were trying to focus on the scene before you. The reason you were actually hiding up in the tree, (like a fucking bird!) in the first place. You have nothing against birds, actually, but the topic of your superhero name has been too popular for your liking today.

  You blocked the intercom out and watched the men standing around near a space craft. Your Stark(TM) goggles adjusted the image for you and you could see the cargo hold was empty – you came in time. Just did not know in time for what exactly – is it just a robbery? There has been some stirring, happenings, around Earth but also on other planets, and it made everyone paranoid. There were countless theories, and that only made things worse, because everything was regarded as if it could lead to another event.

  So almost every day, majority of Avengers were running around, patrolling. Today, you were called to a newer museum that opened in Prague, they acquired some previously personal pieces a.k.a. stolen and displayed in someone’s mansion. Looks like some families felt like they could share. All the items were already inside the building for at least a week, so it was suspicious that a disguised space ship showed up in the backyard.

  It felt funny to you, that some space pirates came to rob a museum on Earth. But you’ve been watching them for the past 10 minutes and nothing was loaded into the cargo. Just 4 men, standing around, though you guessed someone already entered the museum before you came. It was all a little fishy, so you waited and observed. The deal with these patrols was – give it a moment and see. You started getting restless, so you slipped from the tree and made your way inside the museum.

  Sticking to the high ceilings, you made your way to the hushed voices and found them in a storage area. Boxes with priceless artifacts and art opened and made into a mess on the ground. So they weren’t really robbing the place. They were looking for something specific. The five men were quick in their work, but actually did not break anything. Weird. Maybe they were enthusiasts and just looking for a souvenir to take home.

  You were too curious about what they were searching for, so you decided to wait a little longer and see. The storage space, which was actually just another two story room with empty display cases and full of wooden boxes, allowed you to stay above them on the upper balcony floor. You noticed some boxes near you, unopened – they would probably come to check upstairs, too. You wondered why they left so many men outside, when they could have used the hands.

  Suddenly there were steps that sounded like they were going upstairs, so you flew across the room and hid behind a case.

  “It’s here, I can feel it.” A muffled voice said. “Find it.” It commanded.

  You were lucky that they only had headlamps and hand held lights, but you did not have where to go, really. Oh well, time to call backup and – just as you were about to type a message on your Stark (TM) watch, something caught your eye.

  In front of you, a box just like the others was open, filled to the brim with protective packaging material. Without thinking, you pushed your goggle up onto your forehead, so you could see it with your own eyes. A beautiful gold necklace with an ornate pendant just happened to catch some moonlight. Suddenly it was in your palm, the chain coiling itself around your fingers and hand like a snake, and a light shone straight at you. You sprung up to your feet and ran.

  “Catch her! She has it!” The voice commanded again, and just like that, all lights were on you. You thought to yourself – Almost as if I was a displayed piece behind glass.

___

  At least the glass walls of your little cage were cold. Freezing, actually, but your breath did not seem to fog it at all. You were on a ship, a space ship, with a small crew and their leader – Loki. They were all preoccupied.

  “Tony.” You whispered. “Tony, I am in space, Loki is -”

  “Right here.” Loki was right next to you, holding something in his palm. Your eyes took a moment to focus and then you realized he was holding your intercom, all bloody, and your watch, completely broken. “It’s not the first time I met one of you, you know.” He said, offended. You scoffed.

  “Oh, I know.”

  “Good, then you know what to expect unless you give me what I want.” He threw your Stark gear into the air where it vanished. You took a deep breath, knowing you still had the tracker behind your ear. You just hoped Tony had figured out the long distance tracking. Very long.

  “Then please tell me what’s gonna happen if I do give you what you want.” You challenged.

  “I’ll kill you, of course.” You rolled your eyes and Loki chuckled. “Was I supposed to say I’m going to return the lost puppy and ask for a reward?”

  “That would have actually made me feel a little bit better, but now you ruined it.” You tsked.

  “If you won’t cooperate I’ll have to torture it out of you. Works for me.” He shrugged and leaned back against the wall. You turned yourself a little, wanting to keep an eye on him. Your hands were still tied tightly and secured to your waist, but now your feet were tied, too. They probably did not know how your flying worked and wanted to be sure you weren’t going anywhere. Your started looking around when Loki suddenly leaned forward and looked straight at you.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You lost this.” He held up his hand again, and between his thumb and pointer finger was your tracker. You gulped. “We’re stopping in a moment and I just wanted you to know I’m going to toss it somewhere, just so your friends can go on a little trip. What do you think?”

  You banged your head back against the glass. “Fuck you. Did you just rip it out of me?!” Loki smiled brightly.

  “I am quite skilled with a knife, actually.” He walked away from you. You closed your eyes and tried to remember what actually happened. The last thing you remember was lights and running, flying, and then you were suddenly tied up, and beaten, and held by Loki. He mentioned an artifact… yes, you were at the museum surrounded by boxes. There were probably many valuable things around you, but you did not remember taking anything. You were fucked.

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

My Sweetest Downfall - Chapter Three

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Work Summary:

Eddie’s back from the Upside Down, but things aren’t exactly how he left them. Hawkins is in pieces, his friends are scattered and the love of his life is… pregnant?

Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader

Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Epilogue

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2738

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye @eddiesgirlforever @harrys-tittie

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

warnings for pregnancy stuff, mentions of vomiting, grief

---

~ FOUR MONTHS EARLIER ~

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own?” Steve was perched on the arm of the couch, dressed in his Family Video uniform, looking down at you with concern.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, although you didn’t feel fine at all. You were curled up on the couch, sweat gathering at your brow, a sick bucket beside you. At least Steve had braided your hair to keep it low maintenance and out of the way. “Go. Be an adult. Make money.”

“Fine. But you know the store’s number if you need to call me, okay? I know Robin won’t mind covering for me.”

“I know, you already said. You should go or you’re gonna be late.”

As soon as the front door closed behind him, you tugged your blanket tighter around yourself. You had a plan, but you needed Steve to be further away before you put it in motion.

It involved you making your way to the pharmacy without him knowing. There was no use in worrying him over nothing. It wouldn’t be too difficult, assuming you could stop puking for long enough to make it there and back.

So you waited. You turned on the TV. There was nothing on that was of any interest to you, but you found yourself mindlessly watching whatever channel it had landed on, checking the clock every two minutes.

When it had been half an hour since Steve left, you dragged yourself off the couch. The pharmacy was a couple of miles down the road, and you didn’t have a car, so you took your bike. You didn’t let yourself think too hard about what you were doing. You were just being cautious, that was all.

You couldn’t make eye contact with the pharmacist as you put three boxes of pregnancy tests on the counter in front of him. You could feel him watching you, but you said nothing as you paid and scooped the boxes into your backpack.

Overall, the trip took you about forty-five minutes. You went straight into your bathroom when you got home and unpacked all the tests. As you read over the instructions, you realised that they were more complicated than you were hoping for. Still, you set to work.

The process made you feel a little like you were in chemistry class. It involved pipettes and test tubes and a lot of waiting. Two hours of waiting, to be precise. You set the whole thing up and then went downstairs to make yourself some lunch. At least the feeling of sickness had subsided by now.

You tried not to watch the clock. You knew it would only make things run slower. Resolute, you raided the cabinet where your family kept their VHS tapes. There were a few old classics that you were sure would bring you closer to your time limit, but you found you couldn’t focus.

You stopped the first movie fifteen minutes in. When you switched to another, you barely made it ten. After trying and failing a third one, you gave up, feeling agitated. Nothing could hold your attention.

You found yourself staring at the phone. But who could you call? You didn’t want Steve to cut his workday short to come and look after you. Like you said, you didn’t want to worry him over nothing. Robin was at work with Steve. All your other friends either had their own problems going on, or they’d drifted away from you with the passage of time.

In your heart of hearts, you knew who you really wanted to talk to, but that was no use. He was gone.

Steeling yourself, you dialled the number of your father’s office. His secretary picked up on the third ring.

“Mr Harrington’s office?” she said. You didn’t recognise her voice, but that was no surprise. Your dad never kept one secretary for long. Your mom didn’t trust him to.

“Hi, I’m Mr Harrington’s daughter, I was wondering if you had the number for the hotel he’s staying at.”

There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, I can’t give that information out without his authorisation.” 

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m his daughter.”

“So you said, but I’m afraid that I can’t just take your word for it, but I can pass on a message on to him?”

“Don’t bother.” By the time he called you back – if he called you back – your two hours would be long over. You set the phone back on the receiver and covered your face with your hands.

What were you doing? It wasn’t as if you even wanted to talk to your parents, but at least it would give you something to do.

Feeling defeated, you went back to the stack of VHS tapes and rifled through them once again.

When your timer finally went off, you’d been staring at it for ten minutes. You took a deep breath, turned off the television, and got to your feet.

The array of test tubes in your bathroom were exactly as you’d left them. You don’t know what you were expecting. It felt strange that while you agonised downstairs, they’d just been sitting here. With trembling fingers, you picked up the instructions again, and compared the test tubes with the pictures provided.

Your stomach dropped. This couldn’t be right. You were only taking the tests to put your mind at ease. You couldn’t really be pregnant.

Eddie was the first guy you’d slept with in a long time, and you’d only done it once with him.

Oh god.

Eddie.

A tremulous sob broke free from you. All of a sudden, the floodgates were open. The numbness that had hung over you since Eddie had died was gone now, and you were feeling the sharp edge of every emotion that came with it.

“Eddie,” you said aloud, like it might somehow ease your pain, and then you began to sob harder. The instructions fell from your fingers. Your knees buckled. Slumped on the floor, you hugged yourself.

You don’t know how long you spent sitting on your bathroom floor, but when you heard your front door close, you realised that you were sitting in the dark.

“Steve,” you said, but your voice came out cracked and hoarse.

Somehow, you managed to get your feet under you. You clung to the wall as you made your way down the stairs, your vision blurred with tears.

Distantly, you could hear voices, and you realised that Robin was here too. Part of you hesitated, not wanting her to see you like this, but a bigger part of you needed Steve right now.

You stepped out into the living room, and they both turned to face you. You watched their faces fall as they took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Steve,” you whimpered, and he crossed the room in two strides, putting his arms around you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “What’s wrong?” Your emotions had caught him off guard. He, like you, had grown accustomed to your numbness. Robin was staring at both of you, mouth agape.

“I’m gonna go get you some water, okay?” she said, her voice strained.

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Steve guided you over to the couch and then pulled you into his lap. It was like you were children again, with him comforting you when a mean girl made fun of you. It had been years since you’d been this close to him, with school and popularity and different social circles pushing you apart. Right now, you needed him.

“What’s wrong, sweetpea?” he murmured, rubbing your back. He hadn’t called you that in years. Your reply was muffled by his shirt. “What?”

You leant away from him and took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.” You watched the horror dance across his face, and winced.

“A-are- Are you sure?” he stuttered.

“I did three tests.”

“Fuck.” He leant back against the couch. “Can I ask who-” He didn’t finish the question. The way your face crumpled was answer enough. “Fuck. Fuck. Sweetpea, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you two were… like that.”

“We… weren’t. Not really. It was just one time.”

Robin reappeared a moment later, holding a glass of water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you. “But I kinda heard everything you just said.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay, Robin. I trust you. But please don’t tell anyone yet. I don’t want this getting back to our parents.”

Steve put his arm around your shoulders again and squeezed you. “You know I’m here for you, right? Whatever you want to do. Whatever you decide to do. I’ll be here for you.”

“It probably doesn’t mean as much coming from me, but for the record, me too,” said Robin.

You sniffled a little, but a smile curled up the edges of your lips. “Thank you. Do you guys wanna watch a movie?”

The three of you settled down into an impromptu movie night. There was popcorn and soda and all the trimmings. After the second movie, Steve dropped Robin back home.

While you were alone, your mind went back to what Steve had said earlier. ‘Whatever you decide to do.’ You knew what he meant by that, but it wasn’t something you’d thought about yet.

Instinctively, you drew your knees up to your chest, hugging them close. An image flashed across your mind of a little boy with dark, curly hair and big brown eyes. Your baby. The little piece of Eddie that was growing inside you. All that was left of him in the world. With a shaky breath, you realised that you couldn’t get rid of him.

When Steve got home, he found you tidying up the living room. This revelation, while it had broken you, had electrified you too. You had more energy than you’d had since Eddie died.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Steve, trying to take things out of your hands, but you shrugged him off.

“I want to. I’m not that useless.”

“I don’t think you’re useless.”

“Well, I’m trying not to be.”

Steve watched you as you set the bowls, plates and glasses in the sink and then turned on the hot tap. Silently, he came and stood beside you, and as you washed the dishes, he dried them.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m keeping the baby. It’s all I have left of Eddie. I can’t get rid of it.”

He set down the bowl that he’d been drying and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You can’t tell mom and dad. You know what they’d say.” That you were throwing your life away. That you should get an abortion. That you’re an idiot and a slut for sleeping trailer trash like Eddie.

“I know.” He squeezed your shoulder.

~ PRESENT DAY ~

You didn’t let go of Eddie for a long time. Your baby bump was pressed against his stomach and your face was buried in his neck, your fingers tangled in his hair as you held him close.

He couldn’t help but cling to you too. He couldn’t imagine what you must’ve been going through over these past few months, and he’d be damned if he was the one to pull away first. Your body was warm, and you smelled like shampoo. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, breathing you in.

“Eddie…” Your voice was soft and strained. You leant back, and he felt bereft. He didn’t want you to go, but you were just leaning back far enough to look him in the eyes. “We have a lot to talk about. My- My baby-” Eddie’s eyes darted down to your stomach. “I’m sure you’ve probably figured out that it’s yours. I understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with her, you didn’t sign up for this-”

“Her?” Eddie interrupted. “We’re having a girl?”

He watched the anxious lines of your face smooth out as you gave him a cautious smile. “Yeah, we are.”

“Babe, if you think I’m gonna be anything but 110% there for you and our daughter, you’re nuts. I’ll do whatever you need me to. If you want me involved, I am there every step of the way.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Of course I want you there, Eds. I just didn’t wanna foist a baby on you when you didn’t ask for it.”

He stroked a lock of hair out of your face. “You’re not foisting anything on me. I promise.”

You smiled at him. Your eyes widened suddenly. “I think she knows we’re talking about her.” Before he could ask what you meant, you grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand against your belly.

“What- Oh.” He felt movement underneath his fingertips. “That’s her?”

“That’s her. She’s saying hello to her daddy.”

In distinctive Eddie fashion, he dropped to his knees and put both hands on your belly, staring intently at it. “Hi, baby. I’m your dad. I know I haven’t been around so far, but I’m here now. I know I haven’t met you yet, but I want you to know that I already love you more than anything.” He dropped a swift kiss on your bump and then got back to your feet. With a jolt, he realised that you were crying.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking his hands down your arms. “Was that too much? That was too much, right?”

You shook your head and pulled him back into a hug. The two of you stayed like that until an awkward cough from the doorway made you pull back from him.

Steve looked incredibly awkward, one hand on his hip, the other leaning on the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt. The guest room is made up. We should all get some sleep. I need to call Dustin first thing in the morning. He’ll be upset if he’s the last to know that you’re alive.”

Eddie grimaced. Dustin was a great kid. It pained Eddie to think about how all this must’ve affected him. “Of course. Right. And I need to call my uncle Wayne.” A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he turned to you. “Does he know about-”

“He knows I’m pregnant,” you said. “I told him about it. I figured that he had a right to know that he was gonna have a little grand-niece. He’s been good to me. We met up for lunch a few times, before...”

“Before?” Eddie’s heart gave a little squeeze.

You grimaced at him. “He moved away from Hawkins, Eds. He couldn’t bear it here anymore, not with you being gone and everyone calling you a murderer. He almost didn’t, though. When I told him I was pregnant he wanted to cancel his plans and stay to support me. But he was clearly devastated. I didn’t want him sticking around on my account. So I told him that he should move if it would help, and he made me promise that I would call him if I needed anything.”  

Eddie squeezed you. “He’s a good man.” If he couldn’t raise his own kid, then he knew that Wayne would step up and do everything he could. He was more of a father to him than his own father.

You stifled a yawn. “Come on. It’s bedtime. I’ll show you to your room.”

Eddie glanced around, but saw that Steve had already gone. Part of him hoped that, no longer under your brother’s watchful eye, you might invite him into your room so you could talk some more, but instead, you walked him to the guest room and bid him goodnight.

Maybe it had been a foolish hope, but he thought that after everything, this would be the start of a new phase in your relationship. But maybe you didn’t feel the way he did. Maybe that one night at Reefer Rick’s had been just that: one night.

If that was true, then it was a memory he’d cherish forever. The taste of your lips, of your skin, and of other things. The way you felt wrapped around him. The way your pretty mouth formed an ‘o’ as you came. If that was all he got, then he was luckier than most.

Next Chapter

[goldenpunk-week]

Mod Info | Rules | Archive

Next event:: "Golden-Punk Week 2024" . Jan 1st - 7th

"Man-like Pav, Big stepper!"

Welcome to the officially unofficial Golden-Punk Week blog! This blog will serve as a sort of main hub for "Golden-Punk Week", a week-long fan content event for the shipping of Hobie Brown and Pavitr Prabhakar!

Please read the rules and ask any questions you may have!

And if the links here or in our bio aren't working for whatever reason there are mini versions of each section under the cut!

-Mod Info::

- Mod Gwen (They/Them | @/avi17)

- Mod Pav (Any Pronouns | @/redcookies-bestcookies)

- Mod Hobie (He/She | @/jeane-doe)

-Rules::

Any type of media content is allowed! This includes fanfic, fanart, crafts, edits or photomanips, cosplay photos or any other kind of content you can think of! But... any art, fic, or other media you post must be made by you! This means no AI art or writing (including AI “assisted” fic), and no art theft or edits made with others’ art without their permission. However, collaborative works made with other creators are welcome! You can use the movie or comic versions of Hobie and Pavitr, in canon-verse or any AU you want! Poly ships such as goldenpunksong are allowed! As long as goldenpunk is included.

NSFW submissions must be correctly tagged and cut! NSFW works are allowed for this event, as long as they depict the characters at least 18 years of age and do not depict explicit noncon. However, they must be tagged appropriately both on tumblr and AO3, both as general #nsfw and with any more specific content warnings. This includes not only sexual content, but also gore, alcohol/drug use, and any other adult themes. If NSFW fics or art are posted directly on tumblr, please put them under a readmore cut!

Use the #goldenpunkweek tag! Please tag all works for the ship week with #goldenpunkweek! All works with the ship week tag will be reblogged, provided that they abide by the rules! If we miss yours, please message the blog and let us know. We understand that life happens, so this blog will still reblog content for prompts posted early or late, and will continue to reblog anything with the #goldenpunkweek tag even after the event is over. We also have an AO3 collection set up for the week, found here- [add this later.] Instructions for how to add your works created for this event to the collection can be found here.

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[awakenthemusic]

Inspired

Summary:

Tags: Short fic, ~1,600 words, Destiel, Fluff

For Suptober 2023 Day 3 - Inspired

Under the cut or on Ao3

Dean grit his teeth as the bunker door once again screeched shut behind Cas.

Everything was fine.

Cas was just going… somewhere he wouldn’t say, to do... something he wouldn’t talk about, for several hours while Dean was left at home wondering what the hell was going on… again.

Dean had thought they were doing well. They’d cleared the air after Cas came back, everyone said what they needed to say, and the two of them had been… dating, or whatever you want to call it... ever since.

Then, a couple of months ago, everything had changed.

Well, not everything. He and Cas still shared a bed, Cas was just as affectionate as ever, and they still snuggled up close enough to make Sam roll his eyes during movie nights. But twice a week, every week, Cas walked out the bunker door for hours at a shot, alone, and refused to talk about where he went or what he was doing.

Dean had tried not to let it worry him, he really had.

After all, there was zero chance that Cas was fooling around on him. Dean trusted Cas completely, he just didn’t like being left out of the loop.

Sam was no help at all. When Dean had tried to talk to him about it, Sam had just shrugged and said, “Dude’s got his own life, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

And it was. Of course it was. Cas should feel free to leave whenever he wanted and go into town. Hell, now that he’d got his wings back, he could go pretty much anywhere in the world in the blink of an eye.

Dean tried not to think about that option too often; it made him break out in a cold sweat. He shook his head and started pulling out the ingredients for burgers, absolutely refusing to examine the need to make Cas’ favorite food nearly every time Cas went on one of his mystery jaunts.

Dean stabbed his fingers into the raw beef chuck harder than necessary, viciously tearing into it and working the spices deeper. Just focus on makin’ dinner, He told himself. Cas is always back in time for dinner.

—————

Cas wasn’t back in time for dinner.

Dean sat alone in the library, whiskey tumbler held loosely in one hand and his phone in the other. One, lone text from about 10pm glowed up at him from the screen.

Running late. Don’t wait up.

The words mocked him now, over three hours later, as he sat in the dim light and tried not to feel like an idiot. Everything is fine. Cas is an adult. Better than that, he’s an angel, he can take care of himself. He’ll come home when he damn well wants to…

A few minutes later, the bunker door finally screeched open and the wave of relief that washed over Dean at the sound highlighted exactly how little he’d believed his own bullshit.

Dean stepped into the war room just in time to see Cas sneaking down the stairs, a large wooden box clasped tight in his hands. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas jerked, nearly losing hold of the box, then met Dean’s eyes with a guilty look. “Dean! You um… You waited up, you really didn’t have to do that.”

Cas shuffled awkwardly, moving like he was trying to hide the box, which, considering the thing was at least two feet square and Cas was trapped without cover in the middle of the iron work stairs, would have been comical in any other circumstances.

Dean’s heart sank. First, Cas was staying out later and later; now, he was hiding things? He said, “Look, man, I know you’ve got your…” he gestured vaguely at the box and the door Cas kept walking out of, “Stuff you’ve got going on, and if you don’t want to tell me about where you’re going, or whatever the hell’s in that box you don’t want me to see, that’s fine. Well, it’s not really... it’s whatever, I guess.”

Cas opened his mouth to say something, but Dean steamrolled right over him.

“I’m doing my best to give you your ‘space’ or whatever, but if you’re going to be six hours late for dinner, I’m gonna need more than a five-word text message.”

Cas stared blankly at Dean for a long moment before light dawned. “Oh no, that’s not…” He rushed down the stairs and set the box down on the map table. “That’s… I don’t want space, Dean, I just…” He glanced at the box as though arguing with himself about something. “I do not want space,” He said firmly, turning back to Dean.

Dean nodded, some of the tension draining from his aching shoulders at the certainty in Cas’ voice. “Okay, then whatever this is, we can work through it, but you gotta talk to me, man.”

Cas abruptly stilled. Some emotion crinkled up the corners of his eyes and he said softly, “Oh, my love. I had no idea I was worrying you so much.”

Dean squirmed. On the one hand, he loved when Cas called him that, the one word that Dean had struggled to say for so long tripping from Cas’ mouth like Dean was its purest embodiment. On the other hand, an entire lifetime of instincts screamed at him that he was being too demanding, a burden, and he should have hidden his feelings better. He ducked his head, fighting the need to make a joke and pretend nothing was wrong.

Cas, who knew him too damn well, was having none of it. He crooked a finger under Dean’s chin and gently lifted until he could stare straight through Dean’s eyes down to his soul. “Dean,” Cas said, quietly enough that Dean had to lean in a little to make sure he didn’t miss anything Cas said. “I love you more than words can ever express. If I could, I would spend every moment by your side for all eternity. I did not mean to worry you, but I see that I have, and for that I’m sorry.”

Dean fought the urge to hide his face again as his cheeks burned red.

Cas said, “I wanted so badly to make you something special for tomorrow, I didn’t think about how it would appear from your point of view.”

Dean frowned, doing the mental math on the date and coming up dry. It wasn’t his birthday, wasn’t Valentine’s or any other sappy made-up holiday for people who were… it wasn’t Valentine’s. It wasn’t their anniversary… and fuck if Dean wasn’t still getting used to the fact that they had a fucking anniversary. Biting the bullet and ready to admit he was a terrible person for not remembering, he cleared his throat and asked, “What’s tomorrow?”

Now Cas was the one who looked nervous. “Well, it’s not anything really. I just wanted… you said I should find a hobby now that we’re not hunting so much anymore, and I…” Cas turned back around, one hand playing with the clasps holding the lid on the box he’d brought home, cleared his throat, and said, “I made you something for our six-month anniversary.”

Warmth flowed into Dean’s chest, both at the realization that Cas cared enough about their relationship that he was tracking their anniversary by month and at Cas’ clear nerves explaining that he was tracking it that closely. “Six whole months, huh?” A huge grin took over his face and he bumped Cas’ shoulder as he teased, “You big sap.”

Cas relaxed into a matching grin before he said knowingly, “Well, if you don’t want it—”

“Shut up, ‘course I do.” Dean grinned even wider. “You know, Cas, it’s after midnight already so… technically…”

Cas’ smirk didn’t do much to hide his excitement. “Alright, let me just…” Cas glanced around the room with his strategizing face on. “Okay, close your eyes for a minute.”

Dean nodded, scrunching his eyes closed. He listened intently to the sounds of Cas opening the box and pulling out a truly impressive amount of what sounded like crumpled-up newspaper, before something landed on top of the map table with a heavy thunk.

There was a bit more shuffling around, then Cas said, “Alright, open your eyes.”

There, glowing on top of the map table’s bright light stood a blown-glass sculpture. The center of the sculpture was human-shaped, with a cloud of delicate, twisting strands of glass twirling around it like translucent cotton candy. It seemed almost like it was a living, breathing thing as its mesmerizing swirls of colored glass shot through with gold dust caught and reflected the glow from the table.

Dean stared, completely transfixed.

“It’s not perfect,” Cas said, nervously fiddling with the remains of the packing materials. “The color’s not quite right, and I would have liked to get the outer strands thinner, but glass is an imperfect medium—”

Dean cut Cas off with an awed, “It’s beautiful.”

Cas let out a relieved breath and smiled down at the sculpture. “Yes. It’s you.”

Dean stared at Cas, dumbfounded.

Cas continued, “It’s your soul. As I said, it’s not perfect, there’s no way to truly capture the magnificence of your soul in any crude materials of the earthly plane, but, it’s close.” He darted a shy look at Dean. “I wanted you to see how beautiful you are to me, just in case you ever doubt… well, just in case.”

“Shut up,” Dean whispered reflexively, his cheeks so hot you could fry an egg on them, Looney Tunes style. He grabbed Cas, yanking him in for a kiss, mumbling a quick, “Love you,” against Cas’ lips.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

“Blanket Fort Fluff” by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: Teen Word Count: 1788 words Summary: When Emma realizes Killian's never made a blanket fort before, she sets up a blanket fort for their next night-in together. Author’s notes: A few months ago, we were watching my cousin's young son, and I asked the lad if he wanted me to make him a blanket fort. He seemed confused by this question, and I realized his parents and uncle and aunts had all failed him, in that he had never had a blanket fort before. He was delighted when I made him his "very own room" with some tray tables and blankets. Always on the lookout for fanfiction ideas, I realized that our favorite pirate has probably never had a blanket fort before either, so I decided to write a fic to remedy that. Taglist:@zahara@kmomof4@jonesfandomfanatic@booksteaandtoomuchtv@jrob64@tiganasummertree@anmylica@teamhook@undercaffinatednightmare@gingerchangeling@lonelyspectator@caught-in-the-filter  @ultraluckycatnd  @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart  [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Killian sat on the couch next to Emma, his arm wrapped around her as she scrolled through the pin-interesting application on her talking phone. How Emma and Henry were able to focus on watching a moving picture show while also focusing on their phone screens was still a mystery to Killian.

 Emma's talking phone buzzed- a digital message from Henry, one with a picture.

 "You do realize your mother is actually right here in the room with you?" Killian asked Henry, who sat in his own chair a few feet away. "Why don't you just get up and show her whatever it is you want her to see?"

 "It's just easier to send a text message," Henry said, "Less work."

 "Makes sense," Killian said, secretly wondering how any step that involved using more technology was something someone could consider less work.

 He saw Emma smile at whatever it was Henry'd sent, then reply with a picture of a face that was laughing while crying. She showed the message to Killian; it was an image of text that said: "I've decided to no longer be an adult. If you need me I'll be in my blanket fort- coloring and eating fruit loops."

 "A fortress made of blankets?" Killian asked.

 "You guys didn't have blanket forts back in our world?" Emma asked.

 "Of course not," Killian said, "we had fortresses made of practical materials, like wood and stone. What's a blanket fort supposed to protect against?"

 "Bad days," Emma shrugged, "sadness, I guess?"

 "And adulthood," Henry tacked on.

 "Ain't that the truth, kid."

 "So kids in this realm just build forts out of blankets," Killian asked, "for fun?"

 "All the time," Emma said.

 "Fascinating." Killian said.

 He didn't bother trying to continue the conversation, as the movie was just getting to what Emma and Henry referred to as "the good part," the final confrontation between good and evil, and Killian wanted to give it his full attention.

💕🦢💕🏴‍☠️💕

 That conversation was all but forgotten after a week, when Killian took Henry sailing to give Emma a day to herself. He then dropped Henry off at Regina's- and now Emma and Killian could have a night to themselves.

 "Emma, love," he called as he entered, "I'm home!"

 He was in for a bit of a shock when he entered the living room. It looked like someone had set up a tent over the couch. It was made of blankets, hung on a clothesline strung across the room, fairy lights from last Christmas strung along the blankets' edges.

 One of the blankets lowest to the ground moved, opening like a flap to reveal Emma peeking out underneath.

 "Surprise!" Emma said.

 "Indeed I am," Killian said, "what's all this?"

 "Remember when I told you about blanket forts?" Emma crawled out from under the blankets, wearing a robe and pajama pants.

 "Aye," he smiled as she walked over to him, "I take it this is one of them,"

 "Not too shabby, if I do say so myself." Emma placed her hands on his shoulders and gave him a kiss. "I figured it might be fun to do something special tonight."

 "Every night with you is special, love," Killian kissed her cheek, "I'll join you in the fort as soon as I've washed up."

 "Don't be long."

 "Wouldn't dream of it."

💕🦢💕🏴‍☠️💕

 He'd noticed when he went upstairs that Emma had laid out his own fluffy robe and pajamas pants for him, as well as his slippers, so after a quick shower he changed into those, then hurried downstairs, not about to keep his Swan waiting too long.

 Emma was waiting for him at the entrance to their blanket hideout, holding a bag of microwaved popcorn

 "That was quick," Emma remarked, "I almost didn't have enough time to make popcorn."

 Killian smiled. "You'd be surprised at how motivated a pirate can be when he's got a blanket fort and the most beautiful woman in all the realms waiting for him."

 He gave his wife a kiss on her now blushing cheek. Ever looking for a chance to be a gentleman, he took the bowl of popcorn from her so she wouldn't have to carry it herself.

 She smiled and pulled back the "door" to their fortresses and gestured for him to enter first. He did so, and she followed after him.

 He hadn't expected it to feel so much cozier than the blanket fort than it usually did in the living room- and yet, something that felt like home hit him as he walked into the blanket walled room, which contained the couch, a pile of pillows and blankets in front of it, and more fairy lights around the inside.

 "In the spirit of nostalgia," Emma said, taking his hook in her hands and dragging him across the fort by it, "we'll sit on the floor."

 "And color in a coloring book while eating fruit loops?" Killian joked as he followed Emma to the pile of pillows and blankets in front of the couch

 "I was thinking I could pull up a movie on my laptop, and maybe we could have popcorn and snuggle instead," Emma said.

 "Aye, I like that plan," Killian smiled.

 Emma took a seat on the floor, and Killian followed her down. He found a comfortable position reclining against the back of the couch, and it soon became a lot more comfortable, as Emma sat down next to him, nestling into his arms like they were the only place she could possibly belong.

 Emma pulled out her laptop.

 "What movie are we gonna watch tonight, love?" Killian asked.

 "I don't know," Emma said, "picking which movie we watch every time is such a huge responsibility."

 Killian could tell she was being sarcastic, but he still understood the sentiment. As much as he wished he could be more helpful in picking movies, he really knew nothing about the topic in question at all.

 "In the name of nostalgia," Killian offered, "maybe a movie you liked as a kid?"

 "That narrows it down," Emma rolled her eyes, then looked at him and smiled as she added, "but I appreciate the suggestion."

 "I just wish I could be more help."

 "You're all the help I need," Emma said, patting him on the leg.

 Killian pressed his forehead against the side of her head and took her hand. "And you're all that I need." he whispered.

 A slightly flustered smile crept across her face, just as Killian had calculated would happen, and she set her laptop down and turned towards him, so their noses brushed against each other.

 "You're all I need too," Emma said.

 "The most incredible woman in all the realms needs an old washout like me?" Killain thought, shaking his head and smiling.

 "What?' Emma asked.

 "Have I told you recently that your eyes sparkle like the morning dew on the grass?" Killian asked, brushing his hair out of her face with his hook, "Or that your smile is like the silver lining in the clouds after a week of storms? Or that your hair shines like the sun in winter, and that flush of red creeping across your cheeks right now is the most beautiful color I've ever laid eyes on?"

 Emma placed her hand on his neck.

 "I don't know," she replied, "have I told you recently that your eyes are like a dip in the lake in the summer? That your hair's like a field of flowers that I just wanna run through," and she slid her hand back and her fingers charted their courses already through his hair, "and that your lips are like a ship, like a home I want to fall into?"

 Now he was blushing too, trying as he may to keep his cool.

 "I believe you have, love," he said.

 "Have I?"

 "At least once or twice- but about that last line," he then tapped her lips, then his, with the flat of his hook, "something about falling into my lips?"

 "Oh?" Emma leaned forward, her smiling lips hovering next to his, just close enough to drive him mad. "And what was that?"

 Killian smiled, "I think you know," he raised an eyebrow.

 "Do I?" she raised an eyebrow in return. "Do I really?"

 "Now you're just toying with me," he said, "you know how it gets to me when you play coy with me."

 Emma's smile widened, "You wanna kiss me so badly it's almost pathetic."

 "I don't want to kiss you badly," he said, letting go of her hand so he could cradle the back of her neck instead, "I want to kiss you well- oh so very well."

 Her breath spiraled across his lips like a hurricane, and her fingers twirled around his hair and twisted across his neck like they'd gotten caught in the storm. She smiled, then whispered, "Go for it."

 She didn't have to tell him twice. He pulled her lips into his like the tide draws a ship to her home port, less like he was pulling her and more like he was leading her exactly where she wanted to be anyways.

 And it was right where he wanted to be too. Half a decade ago, he wouldn't've dreamt of a moment like this one- holding Emma Swan- his wife, Emma Swan- in his own two arms, in the living room of their house, her lips on his, her hands on his neck, wanting to be here, wanting to kiss him, to hold him, to love him! In two centuries spent trying to get what he wanted, he never would've guessed that what he wanted was as simple and beautiful as this.

 She slid her hands down to the edges of his robe, pulling him even closer than he already was, curling her lips even tighter around his.

 He shifted her ever so slightly, Emma giggling a little as he laid her down, her head now resting on the couch, himself almost laughing as well as he wrapped himself around her. His lips stayed on top of hers, his face on hers, his chest on hers- his heart on hers.

 "Oh," she sighed. She let go of his robe, only so she could run her hands underneath it, all along his chest and back, tracing out routes she was well acquainted with. "Thanks for the help."

 "Help with what?" he asked, with a low voice, and with messy kisses as his lips danced across hers.

 Emma wrapped her arms around him tighter, pulling him even further onto her, then left his lips so she could plant a field of kisses just below his ear, before whispering a response into it.

 "I don't think I'll have to worry about picking a movie tonight."

💕🦢💕🏴‍☠️💕

[shipskicksandgiggles]

45 or 49 for the prompt lists. Idk about characters except Eddie has to be involved for 49 lol

LMAO of course Eddie would need to be involved with the nipple piercing prompt, it's too good. I hope you love this as much as I do

prompt: “What is the purpose of nipple rings?” “Decoration.” “Like a Christmas tree!” (from this list)

Family Video Paradise also on ao3

Thursdays were, without fail, the slowest day of the week at Family Video. 

It took about a month of working there for Robin to notice the pattern. 

Fridays were the busiest. Families having movie nights, teenagers going on dates, adults eager to unwind from the work week. 

Saturdays and Sundays passed in a similar fashion, with more people wanting breaks from reality before work and school started up again on Monday. 

This is where the pattern diverted from where she expected it to lead. Instead of Mondays being slow, Mondays were busy with the people returning their movies from Friday. 

Then Tuesday with the returns from Saturday. 

And Wednesday with the returns from Sunday. 

There weren’t many checkouts that happened on those days, maybe a few here and there for sick days and vacations, but by and large, those first three days of the work week were for returns. 

This left Thursday as the odd one out. The reset day. Hardly anyone came in because most everything had been returned, and the public would be back the following day to check out something new.  

It was quiet. Peaceful even. Keith wasn’t as strict about the movies she and Steve put on in the store because no one else was likely to see them. 

Steve would flip through the magazines the store got in the mail, usually some pop culture, borderline tabloid thing that he found entertaining, and she would pick up a film she probably wouldn’t watch on her own time. 

Because as much as the store had a pattern, they had a pattern too. 

A pattern that started to involve Eddie Munson a little under a year after it had cemented itself into their lives. 

Eddie had also picked up on this pattern, and would choose that day to come in and bother them about something or other, which did add a bit of variety to their day, so neither of them seriously wanted to kick him out, even if they threatened to do so. 

That’s just how it was. 

So this particular Thursday wasn’t out of the ordinary whatsoever when Eddie walked in the door, already making noise like he was going to be a nuisance. 

Steve was flipping through his magazine. Robin hadn’t seen which it was that day, but she heard the glossy pages turn as if he hadn’t registered Eddie’s presence. 

Not that she had stopped in her task either. She had two movies she was trying to decide between, although one of them was an action movie thrown into the ring for Steve’s sake since she never let him pick. 

She probably wasn’t going to pick that one, but she was trying to be fair. 

The sound of Eddie picking up a VHS almost made her break. He checked out movies with the kids on Fridays, but maybe he was checking something out for himself. 

He set the case down in front of her. Only then did she look up. 

“Munson,” she greeted. 

“Buckley. Have you considered the merits of-” he glanced at the tape “-Cinema Paradiso.”

“I speak French and Russian, not Italian.”

“You don’t have to speak a language to appreciate art, birdie.”

Robin glared at him for a moment before adding it to her pile. Without her asking, he took the generic action movie she’d grabbed for Steve. 

Before she could protest, he interrupted her. 

“Don’t give me that, we both know you weren’t going to pick it. Humoring Steve is nice but don’t hurt yourself.”

Steve let out a quiet huff that Eddie probably couldn’t even hear, and she suppressed a smile. 

She rolled her eyes instead. “Whatever. Put it on the cart so it gets reshelved correctly this time.”

“As you wish, Bluejay.”

He did as she asked, and before he could go back to bothering her, Steve tapped on the counter. 

They both looked over at him, giving him their full attention. 

“What is the purpose of nipple rings?”

That wasn’t at all what she was expecting him to say.

Robin choked on nothing.

Eddie had yet to make a sound. 

She realized that this was because Steve had asked the question while staring directly at Eddie, as if he was asking him the question, rather than just throwing it out to the room. 

“Decoration,” Eddie answered easily as if this wasn’t the most exciting thing to happen in the store on a Thursday. 

“Like a Christmas tree!” Robin chimed in helpfully. She’d gotten her voice back, and was curious to see what would happen next. 

Steve nodded and went back to reading as if nothing had happened. 

“Not so fast, Harrington. I want to see what you’re reading that made that particular question occur to you.” Eddie swiped at his magazine, blocking Steve’s attempt to get it back. 

He angled it towards Robin, who was grateful to have an ally in these kinds of situations. 

“Hmm. Rolling Stones. I guess that sort of makes sense,” Robin said. “Some of those musicians make eccentric style decisions.” She looked at Eddie pointedly. 

He ignored her. “So, there’s a perfectly plausible explanation for why he asked the question. I do have a follow up question though,” he stage whispered conspiratorially.

“Which is?” Robin stage whispered back.

“Why did he ask me?”

Steve, to his credit, looked a bit embarrassed, but remained silent in favor of glaring at them. 

“Do you have a theory, Munson?”

“Well,” he had a look on his face as if he was trying to contemplate the state of the universe, “perhaps he thinks it’s the sort of thing I would be attracted to.”

“Could be.” Robin tried to look equally as contemplative. “Or maybe that you know someone with them and might have some knowledge on the subject?”

“Ah yes, stereotyping the metalhead, I see how it is.” 

Steve let out an irritated sound which Eddie finally cracked and directed the question at him. “Which is it Stevie?”

“Neither,” Steve retorted.

“Then why did you ask me?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, staring Eddie down as if he would drop it. 

Eddie however, refused to do such a thing. 

After another minute, Steve gave in. “I thought you might have them and wanted to know why,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

Robin burst out laughing while Eddie’s jaw dropped. 

“You’ve seen me shirtless!”

“A while ago, you’ve gotten more tattoos since then.”

“A tattoo is not on par with a piercing, you weirdo. Anyways, the government never gave me my one nipple back and it wouldn’t be worth it unless I could get both pierced.”

“The bats took your nipple, not the government,” Steve reminded. 

“Tomato, potato.”

“That’s not the saying-”

“You could get a tattoo of a nipple with a piercing to even it out,” Robin interrupted.

“Not helping,” the guys said in unison. 

“It was just a suggestion, geez.”

“There are easier ways to ask if someone has a piercing, Harrington.”

“I was just thinking about it! No better time like the present.”

“You’re thinking about me shirtless? Damn, Stevie, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

This was another thing that had become routine. The flirting. 

Robin could have done without that.

Steve flushed a light pink, and Robin gave up. 

“My god,” she muttered, throwing her hands up. “I’m going on break. By the time I get back, whatever this is needs to be sorted out. You have 15 minutes.”

And with that, she walked back into the break room. She was glad she’d packed a book and a snack today, so she settled into the beat up couch she was sure upper management found at a thrift store, and glanced at the clock so she knew when she had to go back out. 

She gave them a few extra minutes while she finished her chapter, but they probably didn’t really need it. 

When she walked back out, Steve was smiling at Eddie like he was the only person in the world, and Eddie’s face was so red it was almost purple. 

It took her a second to realize why, and then Steve pulled him closer to kiss him on the cheek before shoving him away with promises of picking him up at the trailer park later that day. 

Eddie nodded and stumbled out of the door, groping a few times at the handle before he was able to push it open since he wouldn’t stop staring at Steve. 

Robin let Steve keep watching out the door until Eddie’s can tore out of the parking lot before she finally made her presence known. 

“Jesus Christ, finally!”

Steve smacked her with the magazine, and she squawked. 

“Shut up or I won’t tell you a single detail of that conversation.”

She just gave him a look. 

He seemed to genuinely resist for a moment, but then his facade cracked. “I’ll tell you everything, just put whatever movie you’re going to pick into the player so if anyone comes in there’s actually something on the screen.”

Robin looked down at the two movies she had to pick from. She didn’t remember why there had been such a debate in the first place. She chose Cinema Paradiso.

[bobateaboo]

saw this post by @feralmoonlight and it gave me a bunch of inspiration!! I'm also posting it here on ao3 if you'd rather look at it there! Enjoy!!

It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize that your new roommate wasn’t human.

Like, ok, how freakishly tall and thin he was and with the amount he covered up, you’d think it’d be obvious, but when you’d asked he’d explained he had a few genetic conditions and wasn’t exactly comfortable going more in depth about them. And what kind of asshole roommate would push him on that??

It did mean, though, that last night you had strolled into his room to ask if he wanted to do a movie night, to find him hunched up over his own arm, muttering, exposed wires and circuitboards visible through a panel of removed metal, making him twitch in what looked like pain as he sautered a broken wire back together.

You had left before he had seen you.

Which may have been a mistake because now you’re really not sure how to bring it up.

I mean, how do you start that conversation?? “Hey, I saw you broke your arm and not in the normal way”? “Hey I keep finding loose screws in the living room and I think you need them”? “I kind of know how to fix a stalled engine if you need help”???

You sighed, gently bonking your forehead to the countertop. You had finished the dishes an hour ago, but you were still here in the kitchen, having an internal debate as rain battered against the windows.

Do you handle it like you do when you know someone’s gay?? Can you safely “Not to say you’re a robot but I would still care about and love you the same if you were” without giving yourself away??

By that analogy, maybe it was better to let him come out on his own terms probably? But oh no, what if he’s doing something super uncomfortable to hide because he thinks you’ll be mad at him?

You groan, sliding back across the cupboards. You were never made to make adult descisions. At least the thunder was comforting. You’d be lucky if the power didn’t go out.

“Um, Sunshine? I can’t help but notice you’ve been in here for a while, are you feeling ok…?”

You resist the urge to climb into the cabinet under the sink at the sound of Sun’s voice, instead dragging one hand over your face and giving an exhausted thumbs up. “Mhmmmmmmnnnn”

In hindsight, with Sun’s mama bird tendencies, it probably would have been smarter to go for the cabinet. In less time than would be possible in anything other than his long strides, Sun was in front of you, lifting you up by the armpits to set you on your feet, checking your forehead.

“Oh dear! Do you have a headache? Fever? Migraine? Do you need me to make you soup??”

“Sun- Sun, I’m Fine-” you bat at his hands as he tries to check your face over like you’re an injured little kid or something. “Seriously, I-”

The lights flicker.

Underneath his hood and the scarf wrapped around his head, you can see Sun’s eyes shrink to pinpricks. 

All of a sudden he’s gone from filling your sphere of vision to stumbling back as if he’d been burnt, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

“Sun? What-”

Thunder crashed.

And the lights went out.

With the dim streetlights filtering through the windows, there logically had to have been enough light to see by, if not just barely. But in that moment your senses were swarmed by the clang of metal on metal as Sun backed into the trash can, the clunking of gears, and most of all the scream that pierced through the air as Sun clutched his face as if it was scalding him, lowering in pitch and dying out as you stepped back, red light filling your vision.

And zeroing in on you.

“Hidey… Hide Away…..”

Layers of fabric you’d never seen Sun without were pulled free, dropping to the floor like discarded toys. You could barely make out the silhouette, but it was too thin. Almost skeletal, if you ignored the blatant space in the torso where ribs would not have covered. You could hear the cricking as whatever was in Sun’s place moved its fingers, almost experimentally. Red irises focused in on you, like a camera lens focusing.

And then they were closer.

You yelped, tumbling back. The thing bending at odd angles to crouch around you, encompassing you, one hand on the ground above your head, the other held closer to his chest with metallic claws clinting in the dim light.

“It’s past your bedtime…”

The free hand was starting to reach for you. You were panicking. This thing was Sun, or at least it was in Sun’s place. What would get through to Sun??

“Myheadhurts!!!”

The thing paused.

A metallic crik crik crik filled the air as it flexed its fingers, otherwise frozen in place, head spinning around like a dinner plate.

“M-my head hurts. I don’t feel well.” you spoke more slowly this time, a shake plaguing your voice. “I-I need to get rest.”

And suddenly you were up, much higher off the ground than you’d prefer to be, held in the arms of Not-Sun as it whisked to your room, swiftly tucking you in so tight you could barely move.

It chuckled as it left your room, scuttling backwards like some sort of demented spider.

“Nighty Night….”

….

…You weren’t going to get any sleep tonight.

[tossertozier]

ao3 literally didn’t let me put my thoughts into my end notes at the end of my new chapter of rewriting it. i’ve been CENSORED i’ve been SILENCED i will SHARE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY!!! (it was just too long.)

i hate the sequences that occur after the restaurant in the movie. i’m not even going to get into why it’s stupid. the introduction of the artefact thing is when i went from “this isn’t going to be a very faithful characterization adaptation of a character gold-mine book” to “this is going to be a bad movie.” what in the goosebumps was that. do we also need to find the map to treasure island. i don’t feel like explaining why i feel like if you get it you get it.

i am stoned as hell there is so much i wanted to tackle in this it is insane. how to hold a mirror to the first chapter, as the book does, without directly or senselessly repeating it. i find the sequel bizarre in its choices. i really do. why do we spend SO long retconning the clubhouse. what the fuck are we doing. why are we doing this. the kids are adorable, and i understand the desire to shove em back in there. but i genuinely think it lacks confidence in the adult cast. a film that doesn’t trust its ability to win the audience over with just the story they have to tell is a narrative that hasn’t been well thought through. because genuinely. the entire sequence added absolutely nothing of narrative value. also. it’s a retcon. just didn’t happen, and i guess they regretted it?

also i love my sweet little guy ben but how the FUCK did he build that.

he didn’t, he just didn’t. even “reinforcing the walls” those walls are at least 6 ft tall. there’s… there’s just no fucking way… by himself?? if we were gonna do this why not be like… plausible about it and be like “oh yeah this is what we did Together after the events for the sake of ~healing~ energy and we still had plenty of people in town that don’t like us” that would have been fine? i guess bc bill moves away at the end of the movie. maybe they did it in like the three days they had till bill moved? i don’t know. it was dumb. all around.

also.i feel characterizations are off in this entire sequence. stan and the kids with the bonnets felt like an unnecessary attempt at being wholesome. forced? maybe? i really want to stress i think the kids acting abilities shined with the material given.

the inclusion of eddie breaking the toy? weird. out of character. wonder why it was included. wonder if they were looking to recreate that improv magic that made that first movie so special.

i, obviously was absolutely taken with the storytelling of chapter 1, and i wanted to know everything. i did as much research back in the day as i could on the topic. i was fascinated by that these sent those kids to camp. i hadn’t heard of something similar in a project in a while, and i thought it was genius. (obvious nod to child actor ethics, hope they were being observed, etc etc etc) but i went to camp as a kid. camp is fucking magical for friendships. i’ve tried and failed many many times to write camp based fics because like the friendships and the feelings and experiences you have when suddenly untethered from your home base is crazyyyy. i had some of my deepest feelings of trust during my friendships at camp… like to this day. genuinely

the young cast chemistry in the first film is insane and it is what makes that movie and it is heartbreaking to accept that it was… literally never coming back. even if you mimiced the process however long later. a lot had to have happened to, around, between those kids in that time elapsed. that’s going to change whatever dynamic they had before. that’s perfectly fine, but when you literally coattailed that script on JDG and FW’s backs (i still laugh at “suck the wound!! get in there!!” in my head sometimes) and let dialogue come naturally as a result of the experience and the environment… you should accept you cannot script its continuation. love love love the kids. still think giving them the scene like that was a mistake. it was time that should have been utilized to fall in love with the adult losers before we start scaring the shit out of them.

gonna say it… not a huge fan of the scripting of richie. we’ll get into it later. the book makes it a point to say that richie as an adult is not a cruel man. the apology moment is IN the book over a joke that surprises him. being in derry brings him back to a part of himself he’s deeply uncomfortable with. having his dialogue have a bit of a mean streak with zero exploration of it bums me out.

now to the second part of this: shitting on the book, which of course i do reference several times in this now literal fucking essay as of course… ultimately it’s the holy book. it is canon, to me. IT is the book. these movies are adaptations. i’m going to be real here: i respect stephen king as an author. though my jokes may suggest otherwise. etc. it is his story and that has to be commended. these are his characters and plot and original ideas and that’s a fact.

the second act of the book is a mess. in order to kill an entity, you have to explain what it is. that’s… that’s just da rulez. you cannot end existence without at least ?? rationalizing it ?? i suppose ?? to your audience.

i think that’s why king won’t touch this book with a ten foot pole. i’ve seen him show a lot more interest in projects around some of his other books. his general regard seems to be like “go nuts don’t ask me to write a script” because he knows. i don’t want to bring drugs and shame into all of this but like let’s be real… the book doesn’t really make sense when it comes to what pennywise actually is, and it doesn’t even really seem like he tries that .. hard to make sense. yes yes shapeshifter… get it. but he also makes balloons and shit appear from thin air. fact of the matter is he bends not only his own form but the reality around it.

and yes : i get it. i understand that if you’re a fan of stephen king, and you understand his universe, it all becomes less convoluted. i genuinely understand that.

but the task at hand is to write a horror movie for mass-appeal. i’m gonna take a crack at explaining what it is, why it’s so fucking powerful, and how it can be killed.

(honestly the ending of the movie, i know i know we’ll get there, but i was literally holding a hand to my mouth trying not to laugh. remember kids, if you’re ever being bullied, get more people than your bully and bully them.) we also didn’t do any of the metaphysical stuff in the first movie… so… sending bev to the deadlights instead of bill was interesting… obviously i think the interpretation of what she saw was weak as hell idk just see where i’m going with this. i’m trying to do a lot all at one time for no reason!

but really king created a BEAR of a villain to try and make sensible in two hours. i’ m gonna try

[dynamic-power]

The Happiness We Deserve

Chapter 2

Read it on ao3 here

Ship: Gallavich

Rated: E

CW: mature content, language.

Lip has news

Read part 1 here

Jay was long gone by the time Mickey woke up. The side of the bed he slept on when he stayed over was cold and there was a note left on the night stand. Jay had scribbled down the name of the hotel he’d be staying at as well as details about his flight back to Chicago in a week.

As Mickey read the end of the note a third time - I’m going to miss you, Querido - he was reminded yet again about how decent a man Jay really was. He was good, and what they had was good.

Mickey wasn’t in love with him - they’d only been together a few months - but he cared about Jay more than he had any of his last few boyfriends. Jay seemed to genuinely like him, too, southside-sharpened edges and all.

Jay had grown up northside. He had a college degree and a house in a nice neighborhood and a job that paid six figures. He didn’t have so much as a parking ticket on his record, had smoked pot exactly twice before meeting Mickey, and had looked positively horrified the first time he’d seen the unregistered, very illegal gun Mickey kept in his apartment. When they’d first been getting to know each other, Mickey took a sort of sick joy in shocking Jay with stories about his past.

And yet, Jay had stuck around. Jay said it was because he liked Mickey for his hidden soft side, but Mickey suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Mickey lived on the ege of danger, and something about that was intoxicating to straight-laced Jay.

Whatever the reason was, what they had was good . Mickey should be happy. There was no reason he shouldn’t be falling in love with Jay.

Except.

Except it was all so safe, comfortable, tame . Mickey didn’t always want safe and tame.

Jay’s idea of a good Friday night was dinner and drinks followed by a night on the couch, watching a movie. He rarely ever got properly drunk or high and never really understood Mickey’s occasional desire to release extra energy through violence. To him, spicing up their sex life meant fucking somewhere other than bed.

It was fine. But part of Mickey wanted more than just fine. He wanted nice nights in, but he also wanted to go out, get trashed, pick fights, fuck dirty. He wanted someone who was just as willing to find trouble, who wouldn’t hesitate to throw a punch for him. He wanted rough housing instead of foreplay and hard, filthy, kinky sex. He wanted the pain that came from making out with a split lip and the gross thrill of tasting his own blood and cum mixing on his partners tongue. He wanted to be thrown around, shoved into furniture and walls, properly railed -

Sex with Jay was great. Jay had become good at determining when Mickey needed to be taken apart slowly and when he just needed a quick, hard fuck. But even when they were in the middle of those quick, hard fucks, there was still a gentleness in Jay that made Mickey crave something different.

He needed that feeling of single-minded desire, needed that fire that would burn him from the inside if it wasn’t sated. He never felt that with Jay.

It was the sort of passion he hadn’t felt since Ian.

He shook himself from his thoughts before he could slip down that rabbit hole. He rolled out of bed despite the relatively early hour, cringing as dried cum and lube pulled at the skin of his thighs. He dragged himself to the shower and scrubbed away the stentch of the bar and sex and resolutely ignored the flashes of memories, of red hair and green eyes and big hands. He also ignored his aching cock.

This was why he couldn’t think about him. He was happy with Jay, satisfied, stable. He couldn’t compare Ian and Jay; it was like comparing apples to oranges.

I never did like oranges all that much, was his last thought before he slammed off the water and snatched his towel off the rack.

-----

It took a little while to gather all of the adults into the living room of the Gallagher house after dinner on Monday night. Parly because it wasn’t exactly easy to get all five kids upstairs and settled with Franny, and partly because none of the Gallagher adults or their partners knew when it was time to shut up.

“What’s your news?” Mickey finally asked once they were all present, raising his voice to be heard over all of the side conversations going on.

“Right,” Lip said, clearing his throat and wringing his hands in front of him. “Uh, it’s about Ian.” That got everyone’s attention immediately. As far as Mickey was aware, Ian hadn’t reached out to any of them since he’d left Chicago more than a decade ago. “He’s, uh, he’s coming to visit.”

Mickey was glad he was already sitting; with the way his entire body reacted, he was sure his knees would have given out if he’d been standing. His stomach was in knots, his heart was racing, he felt his whole face heat up. He knew that more than one person was now staring at him. He picked out a spot on the floor between his feet and refused to look up from it.

There were a few tense moments where no one said anything before all hell broke loose.

“Ian’s coming?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d heard from him?”

“Wait, isn’t Ian your brother?”

“Shut up. One at a fuckin’ time,” Lip snapped. “Yes, Ian is our brother. I only just heard from him on Thursday, and we wanted to iron out the details before telling you.”

“When is he coming?” Debbie asked, sounding much more excited than Mickey felt.

“He’ll be here Sunday,” Lip said.

Mickey’s stomach lurched. It was real, he realized, it was happening. He managed to push himself to his feet. “I need a cigarette,” he said as he stumbled towards the door.

-----

He was lighting his third cigarette when the door behind him opened and closed again. Mickey was expecting Carl, so he was a little startled when Lip sat down beside him.

“How are you doing?”

Micke shrugged. He offered the pack of smokes to Lip, who took it with a nod. “I dunno. I’m surprised, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Lip said with a nod as he lit up. “I was, too.”

“Why now? What changed?”

Lip didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to be debating how to answer and it set Mickey on edge. “He’s met someone,” Lip finally said, “and he wants us to meet him.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said without meaning to. It shouldn’t matter; they hadn’t seen each other in almost 15 years. He was with Jay now. He was-

He was happy.

Right?

He and Lip sat and smoked in silence for a few more minutes, soaking up the clear, cool April night.

“How is he?”

Lip shrugged, stubbing out his smoke. “He sounded good. Sounded healthy, y’know? He ended up in New York, I guess. He’s a paramedic. Rides around in an ambulance and saves life and that shit.”

“Fuck,” Mickey repeated. “Bet he loves that shit.”

Lip snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, sounded like it.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mickey braced himself again for whatever unpleasant thing Lip needed to say. “Look, Mick, you don’t have to see him if you don’t want. They are staying in a hotel so I can let you know when he’s here and I can make sure we avoid the Alibi while-”

“Nah, man,” Mickey said, feeling a wave of appreciation for Lip, but also feeling a little stupid that Lip was offering to run interference for him. They were all adults; they could handle this. “It’s okay, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He took the last drag off his cigarette. “Is it weird if I kinda wanna see him?”

“Nah,” Lip answered immediately. “You two have a lot of fuckin’ history. Honestly, it makes sense that you maybe want to see how he is. Rub your boyfriend in his face, too.”

“Fuck, Jay.” Mickey scrubbed at his face. “I need to talk to him.”

“How much does he know about Ian?”

“Not fuckin’ enough to be meeting him on Sunday,” Mickey admitted. “He knows who he is. I’ve got his name tattooed on me, for fucks sake. But he assumed it was a drunken mistake, and I’ve just never corrected him. We’ve just… Fuck. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I mean, how do I explain to my current guy that the love of my fuckin’ life was-” Mickey cut himself off abruptly.

He’d never really said it outloud before, but part of him had always wondered if Ian was it for him; if that had been his one and only chance at love and happiness and every relationship after that had been a futile attempt to get that chance back. He didn’t want to have that conversation with Lip; he barely wanted to have that conversation with himself. He was grateful when Lip didn’t say anything about his near slip.

“The offer still stands,” he said instead. “Ian is only here for a couple weeks, so just let me know if you want to avoid him.”

“Thans, man.”

“Anytime, Mick.”

-----

Part 3

[kaitokrush]

My heart is chained to yours; a Junkrat and Roadhog fanfiction

Chapter 8

Preview

Running over as fast as possible, I slid just to the porch like how a race car drifts a corner, kicking up a cloud of dust behind me. Walking in I take off my shoes and just stand at the door awkwardly.

"Sit down Jamison, I'm just fixing you up a bowl"

The table is wide and tall with steep chairs to accommodate Mako’s big size. I’m practically a little kid who was finally allowed to sit at the adult table instead of the high chair.

"S-so um, Mako what's for grub?"

Pouring something into a bowl, his big hands handling everything with care. His expression focused, he must've put a shit ton of effort into this meal. When Mako is finished filling the bowl, he walks over to me and places the bowl down. With his big frame looming over me I can feel my mouth getting dry, my heart racing as he draws closer. My soul carnally craves every fiber of his being all over me.

"Want anything to drink?"

"U-uh yeah, water is fine."

I look into the bowl, stew? Swirling my finger into the mixture and taste it.

"O-oh fuck."

"What? Is something wrong?"

"THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD WHAT THE FUCK!!!!"

Standing from my oversized chair to look inside the bowl, eyes fixated, unable to comprehend the hot soothing sensation in my mouth. Mako slides over my cup of water while placing a bun in the stew.

"WHAT IS THIS!?"

"Use your inside voice and sit down then I'll tell you. Also, your spoon is right there, use it."

Seated in my chair, desperately needing the knowledge on why this stew is so good!!!

"Want me to get you some pillows to sit on or something? You look quite small."

"Yeah, sure."

Before I could say anything, he already got 2 pillows. Rinsing only my butt to let him put the pillows down, the smell of Mako’s cologne overwhelms my senses. Next thing I know my hand on his head, running my fingers through his soft silver hair.

"J-Jamison…you’re um…"

“...Mako!!! I-i um, I’m sorry!!! I was in a haze then suddenly-”

“Pfft it’s fine, just caught me by surprise. A warning next time would be nice.”

"Well um, your hair is soft. What hair products do you use?"

He stands up and looks away blushing under his mask.

"Just… whatever is on clearance."

Sitting across from each other, the table and chairs don't affect Mako’s size. Looks like an average person, he must've got these custom or something.

"So what's in the stew?"

"I had some leftover tofu and I made some stew out of it. Threw in celery, carrots, peas, basil, brown sugar and simmered it on low heat for the day."

"Wait, you're vegan?"

"Not exactly, just went through a vegan phase. B-but I try to find meat that is ethically sourced but sometimes I get some fast food or buy a steak from the grocery store that's on sale."

"Hmmm."

The need to keep devouring my stew is overtaking me, it's so fucking amazing!!! It's like how in the movies, mothers make heartwarming meals. My entire body feels warmed, has Mako always been such a good cook?

"So Jamison, how do you see our relationship?"

With a dazed expression, I perk up from my dinner.

Available on Wattpad and AO3

[penrose-quinn]

Green Light | Part Ten

“You’re not bad,” Izana told him, a mutter at first as if the sentiment was so delicate and important, but he didn’t bury it in his chest anymore that it gleamed in his gaze, looking up to him. 

“You’re my big brother. Of course, you’re not bad.”

Shinichiro should’ve corrected him. He’s only half his age. He didn’t know what he was doing, though he’d learn that most adults didn’t either and he just didn’t want to screw up so much for his words to no longer matter.

pairing: shinichiro sano/gn!reader

content tags: childhood friends. angst and hurt/comfort. slice of life ft. gangs. idiots to lovers. old friends trying to reconnect but are being dumbasses about it. they don't deserve the friends to lovers tag because they're stupid and pining. my sad attempt at writing shinichiro’s backstory. implied infidelity. implied death of a relative. underage smoking and other reckless shit kids shouldn’t do. tokrev manga spoilers.

a/n: happy belated birthday, shin! just gonna remind everyone that we start with his backstory at 17 years old and onwards to the present. this chapter and the next one are special to me, poured all my heart and soul and tears into every word just for this guy, so i very much appreciate every like/reblog/comment this receives!  

m.list ❁ read on ao3

Shinichiro trudged back home late with a tired grimace.

On another day, he'd think he's lucky because his grandfather – who had zero tolerance over a sink stacked high with grimy dishes – was asleep, though he's still a bit injured after a recent fight. Don't I get a break from this?

Manjiro and Emma were watching cartoons in the living room after hauling out a bunch of VHS tapes stored in the TV cabinet. Their third watch was a Ghibli film and it'd probably be their last when it's late in the night.  

Raising his voice a bit, he asked one of them to come over and clear out the crockery from the dish rack. This, however, set off an argument between them that his request went ignored and he had to remind them about it again when he finally padded in the room with a sigh.

Emma piped up that she already did the first batch of dishes this morning while complaining about how Manjiro neglected his chores today, which had him cross his arms adamantly, excusing himself that he'd been occupied with karate training.

He was caught in the lie when she ratted on him that he actually snuck out to meet-up with Keisuke and Haruchiyo. He didn’t speak up to defend himself this time, acting all huffy and disgruntled, cheeks puffed up from the accusation. 

Then Shinichiro cleared his throat, voice pitched low and stern. "Well, Manjiro . . ."  

"Whatever. I'm not watching with you anymore."

"Fine," shot back Emma, pressing play on the remote.

Before Shinichiro could mediate between them, Manjiro slid off the couch and made a beeline to the kitchen sink. True to his word, he went to bed sooner.

After washing the dishes and wiping the counter spotless, Shinichiro joined Emma a little later on. He already knew how it ended before the credits rolled.

A part of him was bothered after belatedly realizing that the movie was too mature for her, even though he’d been close to her age when he first watched it himself; curious, confused, and a bit horrified but morose to all of these hideous concepts about war and loss, death and desolate youth, the poverty of children.

Siblings striving, he thought. From the brutality of a world no different from what he had seen and would rather keep her safe from. 

His little sister was brave, though.

Shinichiro often wondered whoever taught her to be, sitting through the film as if she understood what had happened in it anyway. He likened the quiet between them to something almost forlorn before moving on from the sentiment and stating that it was a really sad story.

Emma blinked at him, slow and drowsy, misty-eyed. He didn't ask her if she cried.

Ever since one of the kids from the dojo called her a crybaby, she'd clench herself and refuse to acknowledge her tears. She felt more inclined to do this after Manjiro scared off the boy. This didn’t register to his brother yet, even when his honest intentions were to protect her. Shinichiro didn't want anyone to hurt. He didn’t want her to cry, but he told her that it's okay to let it out. We need to cry, sometimes.

Still, he had to be delicate with her. His mother always reminded him to be more sensitive to girls. He didn't tease her, though he did confess that he bawled from a scene – see, it's the one where all the fireflies died and she had to bury them – and when Emma asked why, he said he forgot the reason, just that he could still recall his emotions so vividly.

Grave of the Fireflies wasn’t even one of his favorites and a lot of it didn't make much sense to him at the time, but he sobbed so much that day, grieving before he could understand what would be lost to him.

Emma listened, but she didn't comment after that. Then her nose wrinkled at the damp spot on his shirt; his sloppiness. He lazily waved it off. Eyes poring over his arm, she asked him if she could doodle on his plasters and he would’ve said yes though she let out a yawn, making him recall that it's time he got her ready for bed.

Teeth brushed and frocked into her cotton pajamas, she was tucked in her covers. Before Shinichiro closed the door of her room, he overheard her murmur longingly for her big brother that he knew was neither addressed to Manjiro nor him.

When Emma hadn't eased up to him yet, she told him that she already had Izana and that he'd never replace him.

When Shinichiro asked her why he wasn’t with her, he didn’t expect that his words would unintentionally hurt her feelings, and you shook your head in disapproval when he recounted the tale after he begged you to talk to her instead. C’mon. Just help me out, please?

You did, and you still would when you explained to him how adoptions worked, all that complicated, jargony stuff.

Then you asked him what was all of this for. The better question was for who.

On his next visit, Izana got himself a nice guitar. Someone lent it to him, but he didn't elaborate more about that or the scratch on its side when he began playing him a verse of Sweet Child O' Mine. He sulked a bit, deeming his attempt amateur, though Shinichiro assured him that he recognized the song – from heart, he’d even proclaim with a pat to his chest, and Izana always knew but he’d still roll his eyes – and he improved by a mile, knowing he'd been self-taught from his letters.

Shinichiro could barely even pull off the basic chords, believing the F chord actually stood for Fucking Hard in English. Izana agreed but he told him that he should just practice and quit messing up the tuners.

Shinichiro hadn’t mastered playing the guitar months later. Even so, Izana would approach him, asking if he could teach him how to ride a motorcycle. He’d rather teach him how to talk to girls, though he still guided him through the clutch, the throttle and brake, the steering for a bike to roll smoothly, but he wouldn’t actually let him drive until Izana would rush ahead and do it by himself at thirteen.

Shinichiro was there in all of Manjiro and Emma’s milestones. He wanted to be there for Izana’s too.

Ueno Park almost felt bare on July.   

Perhaps, there was melancholy in prolonged misplacement.

That there weren’t any cherry blossoms abloom in the park and his mother wouldn't be celebrating Hanami next spring.

His immersion of the surroundings seemed to change after a long stroll to Hanazono Inari Shrine, bedecked with torii gates that couldn't grant wishes, carmine stippled with green shadows overhead. The heat swayed with the trees that it could make a bug curl under a rock and nestle itself there with dreams of the coming season. There’s a zoo nearby, though Izana would rather glance at the fishes from the pond. A smile bent his lips when the fat, red-bellied carps swam under his feet once he fed them morsels of his taiyaki. One of them jokingly brought up cannibalism or if carp liked sweets as much as people do.

His mother would probably say something as absurd, like that time she claimed she was his best friend on this same bridge, a sprig of transient flowers clutched between her fingers. Manjiro was two, but he wouldn’t have memories of her outside the hospital as much as he did. Shinichiro wasn’t sure what kind of child he would be without his mother always holding his hand, though he still threw a fit that what she insisted was downright embarrassing.

Shinichiro reflected over her words, if she had only told him that so he wouldn’t feel as lonesome as she did.

It made him wonder if it was inherited. If Izana had it too, averting his eyes after lingering for too long at the crowd from the distance, couples with strollers and children with parents. 

Parks were spaces meant for big, normal families. The shape of which had been hollowed out of them, and through each other’s pensive gaps, Shinichiro just knew he had to take him anywhere but here.  

They spent most of the time around the city, going to a corner store where he bought himself a pack of smokes without being asked for an ID; to Okubo-Dori and had Korean corn dogs slathered with too much mustard and sugar; to JB’s Music Store, owned by an Aussie who wore John Lennon tea shades everyday. You tipped him about it because this was the place where you usually purchased CD albums at a cheaper price, though this wasn’t where he got Izana’s Walkman. It’s secondhand, but one could never go wrong finding the best kind in Akihabara.

The both of them gawked at 70s band posters and memorabilia, listening to some random, garbling song by Led Zeppelin, then T. Rex, The Doors, Kiss, Queen. Izana had quick hands when he stuffed a cassette tape inside his hoodie, though the owner had sharper eyes beneath those pitch-black shades and chased them out of the store, making them scram three blocks ahead like their lives depended on it.

Shinichiro would’ve paid the man if he wasn’t low on cash today. He still reprimanded Izana for stealing, panting shallow breaths that gradually heaved out a wild laugh, because the cassette tape was worth the trouble when he eyed the track listings, a collection of the all-time greatest rock hits.

You’re insane. Don’t ever lose it, Shinichiro told him, tousling his hair. Izana didn’t have much back at the orphanage anyway, and there’s really something alive in his eyes that warmed his chest.

They wandered around graffiti walls and railroad ways, neon-signed establishments, scraps of Tokyoite urbanity that smoldered at dusk. There’s the arcade near the pachinko parlor, and there’s the oceanside park at the edge of the city, where the sand stretched for miles that their footprints had been lost to the sea, to the smoke and asphalt on the highway towards the horizon.

There’s a lot of places his brother still hadn’t known yet and some could span far and wide as long as the road could take them together.

Izana didn't like to talk about his mother so he pondered over the father that he never had the chance to know. Or perhaps, was fortunate enough to have never known more about because that meant his father could be anyone; someone who could've been the pillar of his life; someone who he would be proud of being called as his father's son.

"You and Emma have the same father," recalled Izana. "What's he like?"

"He worked hard. When he was around, we watched TV sometimes. Hm, he’d get me out of trouble when Grandpa's about to give me an earful. Always had an excuse," Shinichiro let out a clipped chuckle, then stopped, blank and bleak, when he recounted that his father didn’t discipline him as much as Takeomi’s did and maybe that’s the case because he’s almost never home.

He wondered if fathers were lost creatures. Or if his had only gone astray.

Shinichiro grinned roguishly. “Look at how I turned out to be.”

“You’re not bad,” Izana told him, a mutter at first as if the sentiment was so delicate and important, but he didn’t bury it in his chest anymore that it gleamed in his gaze, looking up to him. “You’re my big brother. Of course, you’re not bad.”

Shinichiro should’ve corrected him. He’s only half his age. He didn’t know what he was doing, though he’d learn that most adults didn’t either and he just didn’t want to screw up so much for his words to no longer matter, blooming with something like love and fond admiration.

He hoped to cradle them forever, reminded of the same, fulgent feeling from years ago when Manjiro had first babbled his name and the world around him changed ever since, brighter.

There was a time Izana made a strange promise that he'd break the leg of the guy who got him hospitalized someday, which ought to be raising his concern with how little it sounded like a joke. Shinichiro wrote to him that he reminded him of Manjiro for that and what he drew out of it was a stranger reply. He’s serious apparently, though no word on the comparison.

Even if Shinichiro recounted about Emma getting along with Manjiro in his letters, Izana would dismiss him in favor of his sister. Oftentimes, he wouldn’t acknowledge them together at all.

He penned back that he should stop getting into brawls so much, recollecting how he had to rewrap the bandage on his ankle in his last visit. It’s one thing to fight in self-defense, and another to rampantly commit violence.

His lenience would then provide him that he was only defending a friend. The name kept eluding him.

He searched for one, but his eyes found conviction in a sentence instead.

I just want to be more like you.

Shinichiro almost read that in Manjiro’s voice, but he knew better than to mention it.

At sixteen, Shinichiro thought his biggest hurdle was approaching his grandfather into adopting Izana in the same vein he attempted talking the caretaker to just let him adopt him because they were related anyway—so what if he was still in high school? A delinquent? He led the Black Dragons a year younger and raised his siblings when he’s barely even a teenager.

You’d refute him that he’d only stop being a child at eighteen and would legally be an adult by twenty. Besides, his grandfather was at a certain age wherein he shouldn’t be taking care of another kid anymore. Then you would nag him about the process, the long duration, the qualifications of a guardian. The statistics were slim. There’s a reason why adoptions were so rare and difficult.

At seventeen, he had to accept that the truth was harder to swallow.

Did you ever look back and think why his mother didn’t abandon him with his little sister in your house?

Shinichiro stopped wondering how he could keep a terrible secret for over a year when he'd already been good at keeping them far longer, just so his mother's smile would endure. Izana deserved a kinder life.

They could’ve been listening to records in the vinyl shop downtown or marveling at fiery zelkovas on the route to Omotesando.

But they’re out here lounging around a deserted basketball court, chain-wire fence on their backs, squatted under the late-autumn sun.

"All this legal stuff is stupid. I wish you never had to wait." Shinichiro sighed. "I wish I could bring you home."

Izana was so quiet. His breaths were even, muffled in the wool of his scarf, though he couldn’t seem to scream out his disappointment; he stared. The distance was indistinct, almost leaving no trail but the despair in his eyes. Shinichiro couldn’t help but feel as if he let go of his hand in a crowd, making him crumple down to his knees.

"You,” murmured Izana. Then he glanced back at him, searching. Shinichiro had seen something like this before, so long ago. “You'll come back for me anyway, right?"

"Always," Shinichiro promised, ruffling his hair to shake him off it, as if to gently remind him he’s still here. "But you won't feel too lonely at the orphanage, will you?"

His shoulders trembled; his arms taut around his knees for something else to cling on because Izana looked like he’d been through it a hundred times, and Shinichiro reached, anchored him by the arm, though he couldn’t offer any more consolation than this. 

"Kakucho will," Izana realized wistfully, "if I just leave . . ."

"You won't leave him then." Shinichiro smiled, but the corners of his mouth ached. "'Cause you're a good friend."

His eyebrows pinched. "Kakucho's my servant."

Ah. His brother had to work on that.

"Okay. He's your friend," Shinichiro told him this as if he hadn't heard him, provoking a peeved reaction. He just reached forward and pulled at his cheeks to tug up his frown. "Jeez, who calls his friend a servant? You're so weird."

"You're so annoying, Shin," Izana countered defensively, twisting his face away from his hands. "You're the worst!"

Even after the both of them ended up jostling each other in a stutter of soft, exasperated laughter, Shinichiro knew that he really was.

Shinichiro was doing homework.

The book you chose was one of the older copies in your small collection. He's not good at deciphering stuff like this, finding himself not reading the prose but the history: indentions, lignin on paper edges, cracks on the spine like faults or broken lightning.

In Akutagawa's Life of a Stupid Man, you went on about how Death and Illness had two entries each that shared the same title. Perhaps, the meaning should be telling to both the author and the reader, though he couldn't help but be more invested on the singularity of his third entry, The House, highlighted with a faded, broad stroke of neon green as if to scream the passage in an adolescent voice:

He often wondered, in that suburban second story, if people who loved each had to cause each other pain.

Shinichiro ended up copying and paraphrasing your essay when you lent it to him with a shrug.

Sometimes, he pondered if you were the one that highlighted that sentence when the book, like the rest, had belonged to your big brother once.

The truth was he didn't know what to feel about his father.

Shinichiro wondered how could someone hurt another when they weren’t there anymore, and in some despondent way, he understood you a little better.

His father left him a house. His grandfather was too old and his brother was too young. He forgot that he was a child on the day he began to carry the roof of the household on his shoulders, make a pillar out of the boy, tall as ten years and growing.

His mother wept for him that time, spilling soup on the edge of her hospice bed, and he picked up the lacquer bowl as if to salvage something in the remains. There’s a dent on the lip of the bowl that he wouldn’t acknowledge, forcing a smile for the cracks not to show. He told her he’d be strong for all of them. Her tears still kept falling.

You called him unbreakable once. He often wondered if it was true.

The train was slow and swift at the same time when you're standing in the middle, hands clutching on the grab handle above you as if in white-knuckled prayer, but your face was passive, not peaceful. You were gazing at the window behind him and Shinichiro saw the setting sun reflect back in your eyes.

The stop to Meidaimae, then passengers flowing in and out once the doors opened; one of them was the old lady who sat next to him, wading through the crowd with a trolley bag full of canned goods. He still had the Pancan she meant to give to you on his hand.

"Can you sit with me?" Shinichiro asked.

It's just that you looked more content where you were, but it's like staring at a painting for too long and after you acquiesced, he's painfully aware of the distance between both of your shoulders lately, if the gap between them could measure to a fracture.

He defied the sentiment, deciding to rest his head on your shoulder, even though he wasn't tired. He was still heavy, so heavy these days, but he knew you – you were strong, safe in every single way no one understood you for.

You didn't groan out that he should get off you as he clasped to your warmth, hanging himself to the neckline of your sweater in a mutter, "what do you think about Izana?"

You shifted a bit. "I don't know. Fond of you, I guess."

There's a part of him that wanted to convince you that he's a good kid, a terribly lonely kid, but he needed to know your opinion of him first before imparting everything else.

"Is he really your little brother?"

"He is," it's not a lie.

"Then he is," you repeated. "He doesn't act like one, though."

"What do you mean?"

"He acts more like he's your only brother."

"He just hasn't met Manjiro yet." Shinichiro paused. Suddenly, everything mattered and the confidence of his previous statement wavered from a low, sullen, "do you think they'll get along?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Because he tried.

Stop talking about Manjiro.

When he couldn’t provide a clear answer, you did it for him, even though he’d probably dislike what it was.

“They’ll fight,” you sounded more somber and profound than you should. “Siblings always fight.”

Shinichiro remembered how you shed blood and tears in Chiba; the open wounds of your eyes, a wound for years.

“But you’ll know how to stop them. That’s actually one of your least annoying traits.”

“Then what’s my most annoying trait?”

“When you’re like this.”

A sigh rolled off your lips, and he held a breath as if to snatch the air between them.

"I can't help you when you're like this, Shin," you reminded him, exasperated and resigned and tender, but even when your sentences weren't knife-edged, he felt like he'd bleed from the truth regardless. "You can't just keep hiding things to yourself, you know that?"

"I know," Shinichiro murmured pensively. But you wouldn’t understand . . .

Maybe, he shouldn’t have made promises he couldn’t keep. Maybe, he should’ve let Izana and Emma meet earlier, but would it have made a difference if it wound up towards the same conclusion? Would he hate Manjiro? Would they hate each other?

They’ll fight. The words held a tremor of dread and frustration because the truth would be something Izana would hate most of all.

But Izana held so much hope on his throat, and what big brother was he to let it become his noose.

You wouldn’t understand.

The next two stops should be closer to your place and he counted the seconds like how he counted the passing months on a calendar and the snow-capped roofs of houses slanting under the evening sun. February was ending soon. 

"Can you walk me home too?"

You did with a sigh, not even protesting when Shinichiro persuaded you to stay there for awhile, and he's almost tempted to ask if you'd do anything for him. The words didn't quite spell out as he silently hoped when the both of you ended up bumming on a cigarette in the garden, coalesced over a waft of fragrant incense his grandfather lit from the house. He mentioned to you that Manjiro didn’t know how to properly pray to the butsudan and you shrugged because you never had a reason to pray either, offering smoke to no one but him.

He could've been more honest that night, though he didn't want to tell you that he's afraid he didn't know how long he could still have you like this.

A year after you left for Nagoya, Shinichiro told Takeomi about Izana.

You’re just trying to protect them, was his only reassurance.

Shinichiro wished he could do better at it. Months from now, it wouldn’t be enough.

It's like you have a little sister, Shinichiro announced on the day he first held a baby in his arms; a privilege, perhaps, that he should've reserved for Manjiro but he didn't know he'd have a little brother yet, and you furrowed your brows, denying his statement. No, Keiko's my niece.

You would repeat it whenever you were tasked to watch over her from the crib because your sister was grinding away in her second part-time job during the weekends.

Shinichiro hung around with you till his curfew. In fact, he had so much free time that he could play hide-and-seek at home by himself and still get bored for years while responsibility was thrust upon you earlier for him to misinterpret your petulant unwillingness for disaffection.

You scowled over changing diapers and looked like you're about to collapse into tears the moment you heard a piercing, infantile cry, though you would always know when Keiko was hungry. Permit her to grip your glasses like a toy when she's saddled on the hook of your arm, a hand rubbing her back. You're the same with your nephew too, a little boy named Yoichi, sucking his thumb when he followed you around everywhere.

Whenever Shinichiro saw this different side of you something inside him unfurled, about what it's like to hum some soft, lilting lullaby to put one to sleep or to grasp a toddler's hand, crossing the pedestrian lane.

What's it like to hear a baby burp out a laugh? You told him it was the weirdest sound Keiko ever made, revealing a warm liveliness to you behind the humor and a pang of jealousy in his grin.

Then Takeomi had Haruchiyo, and the feeling carved through him. 

Shinichiro didn't have anything like that. He didn't think he would want something so much until his mother rested a hand over her womb and then he called you over the phone, so overjoyed that he yelled at the top of his lungs that he's going to be a—

“Can I see you?”

“I can't exactly come back to Tokyo.”

“No, I'll come over to you.”

“Right now? Really?”

“Yeah . . .”

“All right. Hey, Shin,” a soft, concerned pause. “Did something happen—” Are you okay?

Shinichiro pretended to not hear you, pressing end call after lingering for a second.

Taking the bullet train to Nagoya hadn't really been the most impulsive thing Shinichiro had ever committed, and despite it being the most expensive ride he’d ever spent, he still got cold feet from meeting you.

A part of him was hollow, an ache between the space in his bones. It’s like he’s missing a rib, curved along your smile from the window of the café, a sigh ghosting through the glass as if to make the sentiment apparent in the longing. How it wasn’t the same without each other’s presence anymore.

You didn't appear like you changed all that much yet. He no longer wondered if he did.

Shinichiro asked for directions, burned the soles of his shoes across the city to find you, and once he did, he lost the half of him that you might’ve loved. Where did all of his courage go? Why did it feel selfish to barge back into your life and believe everything would be as it was?

He pulled out his phone and sent you a message that something urgent came up. I’m sorry.

In a way it kind of was.

Fearing the thought that it’s there in Nagoya; your resolve of wanting to search for yourself in a world without him.

Shinichiro dismissed it entirely as he bolted into a sprint, running through where he went wrong when Izana was thrown in juvie, and Manjiro scarred Haruchiyo, and he didn't really know where he hurtled himself into when the descent felt more real and harrowing than anything, spewing his guts out on the pavement from some alleyway.

It was Takeomi who found him and brought him home that night, half pitying and half responsible for him.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he told him this as if he’s been living in it, and Shinichiro wanted to ask if he’s okay.

But Takeomi would probably brush it off, something about having to prove he’s tougher than this, and he shouldered the weight of him, even if he did look brittle himself. He’s unshaven too. The both of them used to joke about stuff like that, growing beards and pubic hair.

“Something like that,” offered Shinichiro, thinking maybe they could meet somewhere in the anguish. “Hey, I really missed you.”

There’s a stiffness to his shoulders. Sometimes, affection to Takeomi was a scar, callousing a little more over time, and he didn’t say the words but it’s still there, on the firm grip of his hand. The silence between them was scuffed with footfalls, like coming out of a war again. He never had to do it with blood or bravado, though he only had to be the boy he remembered from a lifetime ago.

“Please don't let Manjiro and Emma see me like this.”

Shinichiro figured he'd understand, ignoring the kaleidoscope of wicked, blinding lights from Kabukicho, the scent of tobacco and another woman's perfume on his best friend’s clothes like his father's . . .

If someone were to ask him about his father, Shinichiro would always tell you that he couldn’t recall much of his face. There were photo albums and picture frames on the walls, but somehow, all he saw was a stranger. Then he’d glance on the mirror and trace out the lie.

All the unlikely bright spots of his memory resurfacing, like the fresh smarting of a bruise.

How his father compensated by giving him that Nintendo console he'd been begging his parents to buy for him on his eighth birthday; how he smoked more than his grandfather, but unlike him, he's mindful enough to tamp his cigarette under the heel of his shoe when Shinichiro was around him; how he loved him very much, perhaps in all the poignant ways absent fathers could for their children that he had to wonder for the longest time why his father couldn't return all of this love to his mother.

Shinichiro had contemplated about it for a decade and locked it so close to his chest that it had long since lost a voice from every secret he had kept for him.

He just didn't want anyone to hurt – never again.

Shinichiro wasn’t alone in his room.

Manjiro had been playing his Gameboy.

Shinichiro was a little disoriented, a little ready to reproach him to not play games all day, though once he stirred from the bed, he woke feverish with a cooling pad plastered on his forehead. Swaddled in his comforter, his body ached and shuddered; throat parched.

Manjiro was attentive beside him, putting down the Gameboy and reaching him a sweaty glass of water. The condensation trickled along the line of his wrist, but it's nice and cold on the pads of his fingers, tilting up the glass to his mouth. His mind was still muddled. 

“Grandpa called Yoneda-jiji that you were sick today.” Then Manjiro pointed at the plastic container from his nightstand; warm clumps of onigiri inside. “Emma made you those. Sorry, I ate one,” he added, flicking the grain of rice on his t-shirt.

The hem tag at the back of his collar poked out. It’s thoughtlessly childish, endearing really, and Shinichiro was about to mention it until Manjiro spoke for Emma’s behalf. “She wanted to stay behind too, but I told her that she should go to school.”

Then Shinichiro craned his head at him. Cleared his throat again. “Why aren’t you in school?”

There’s resolution in his dark eyes. 

“I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t skip school, dummy,” dismissed Shinichiro, but he didn’t mean to sound mildly annoyed about it. He wasn't exactly the model of good health, but his body had endured the worst so he searched for all the cuts and scabs that weren’t there because he never had a fever since he was about his brother’s age and he'd rather be annoyed than admit how much he felt like a burden. 

Manjiro was unyielding in his concern. “Promise me you’ll get better first,” he demanded with a clench to his fist, like he’s looking for a fight. “Then I’ll go back tomorrow.”

Shinichiro just tucked the hem tag back inside his t-shirt and gave him a pat on the head, his hair soft and unkempt under his hand, seeking comfort. Gentleness wasn't new to Manjiro, but it's a language he struggled at conveying so he dropped his gaze, uncertain and a bit lost.

There's a heaviness to his eyes that made him slouch on the bed and the both of them were reminiscing of a simpler, more vulnerable time. 

"You never get sick," Manjiro told him with an edge to his voice that's close to trembling. "You just never do, Shinichiro." 

Shinichiro sighed under his breath. “I’ll be okay, all right? I’ll be better.”

His throat ached. He sounded so much like their mother. 

Shinichiro didn't quite realize how his reticence could hurt his brother when the both of them knew that there's something profoundly wrong. 

They really were related. They're Sanos. Awful with words, awful with feelings; a shared helplessness. 

Manjiro feared the weakness of it more than Shinichiro had withstood for all his life, but he didn't mind. He could learn from his big brother's failures, know when to not step on the cracks from his path, rise up again if he did so that the fall wouldn't wound him as much.

Manjiro could even kill a person right now and Shinichiro would still do anything for him. He'd do the same for Izana. 

Terrible and twisted, his brothers, but Shinichiro loved them anyway. Emma and Grandpa did too. 

They're all what's left. 

They're a family. 

Later in the afternoon, Shinichiro would be faced with dishes on the sink with a stab of betrayal, and be bombarded with errands from his job tomorrow, and be attending Manjiro and Emma's PTA meetings right after work. He still had to make amends with Nitta-san for Manjiro's aggression towards her son. There's so much laundry to do . . . 

But then he’d also recall how Emma beamed when he complimented her that her onigiri was perfect after laboring on it for hours just to get the shape and taste right; her fingers slightly burned from a clumsy attempt at molding hot rice. Manjiro was the one who suggested grilled salmon flakes as a filling because he knew it’s his favorite and dashed towards the grocery store to buy the ingredients himself.

His grandfather was always the stoic one. He'd scold him a lot, but they never argued and no one had the real temper to combust. Nothing was deeper; every response was delayed and every conversation was either terse, ruminating ones or complete silence like in Mokuso. Even in the kitchen table where they sat together for years, he brought the austerity of the dojo with him.

Shinichiro wouldn’t inherit the family dojo. He had no interest in pursuing martial arts. Had other plans.

His grandfather asked if he was doing well anyway, and Shinichiro was close to saying that he's sorry for being a disappointment but he bit it off at the last second before telling him that he was good.

That's good. He nodded and nothing much else.

Perhaps, Shinichiro could never get more from this, but it's all right. They would drink tea in silence and fall back to the same, mundane talks in circles until he turned twenty, not feeling older than he should, because he was still his grandfather and he was still his grandson. It was good.

Exposition corner:

[1] “his father's son”: a reference to the names of Shinichiro and his father, Makoto, from the Sano Family Tree; Makoto [真] and Shinichiro [真一郎], [真] being the kanji for ‘truth’ or ‘sincerity’ and [一郎] for ‘first son.’ Another reading of [真一郎] could be Makoto’s First Son. Full credits to Yoko for this one! If you see this, you my friend are amazing for picking this up!

[2] Hanami: The Japanese traditional custom of viewing cherry blossoms when they are in full bloom, usually accompanied with family and/or friends. On the topic of Hanami, Ueno Park is popularly known as one of the best cherry blossom viewing spots in Tokyo.

[3] "[...] torii gates that couldn't grant wishes”: Shinichiro was referencing the Fushimi Inari Shrine from Kyoto, in which the Senbon Torii there are believed to grant wishes.

[4] “[…] he’d only stop being a child at eighteen and would legally be an adult by twenty”: According to the Child Welfare Law, a person under 18 is considered a child while under the Civil Law Act, the age of adulthood is 20 in Japan. In context of the story, Izana could leave the orphanage when he’s 18. If Shinichiro wanted to adopt Izana, he would have to be 20 because he wouldn’t be considered an adult if he’s still 18-19. Sadly, even if he was already an adult, adoption in Japan is a whole can of worms. It is rare and difficult. It’s known that orphans are likely to grow and move out from their orphanages than to be adopted.  

[5] Life of a Stupid Man: It’s an autobiographical short story by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. It’s his last written work before he committed suicide right after. 

[6] House: In Japanese, [家] translates to ‘house’, but it could also mean family, household, and family’s lineage. Hell, Family [家族] is one part a character for the term. I don’t want to bore anyone with the subtle distinctions between [いえ] and [うち], but my main point is ‘house’ carries the same weight as ‘family’ to Shinichiro specifically. If I were writing this in Japanese, this would’ve made more sense, but I’m just playing with my words in English (^_^)

[7] Butsudan: It is a shrine commonly found in temples and homes in Japanese Buddhist cultures. Its primary use is for paying respects to the Buddha, as well as to family members who have died.

[8] Mokuso: It is a type of martial arts meditation practiced in Japanese martial arts like Karate and Kendo.

a massive shoutout to ObsidianMoonstones's Tone of Things to Come and As long as I’m dreaming, I’m alive – they told me the dead don’t dream. his characterization of izana is the best i've ever come across in any site. heck, how he writes izana is my main source of inspiration! i highly recommend everyone to check out his works!!

a/n: next chapter is the second part of his backstory so we're still going to suffer a bit. sorry, if it feels a bit incomplete for now, but i swear if i didn't cut this in half, all of you wouldn't get the chance to breathe because I'm pretty sure yall know what's coming next :')

part nine ❁ m.list ❁ part eleven 

[mirrorscoveredwithflowers]

im rising from the dead for one last time just to say

I award the "most pathetic fandom on tumblr and ao3" award toooooooooooooo

*drumroll pls*

TLM!

(slander time)

ANYWAYS MOST OF YALL ARE OLDER TEENS/ADULTS RIGHT?

WHY ARE YOU ALL SO BAD AT ACTING LIKE IT THEN??

Like y'all can't handle a single bit of drama in a healthy way that an adult or older teen should be able to

I bet the mha fandom could do better

I know you all probably can't take me seriously because I'm 13 but like

I know people younger in this fandom and they deal with smaller controversies against them better then y'all can lmfao.

I've been meaning to say this for like a month

But

This fandom didn't change my life for the better

It ruined my life in a way

I have no self confidence because of 90% of you all

And don't even try and cancel me for this because I don't care.

I'm going to say the facts you all just can't admit for some gosh darn reason.

All of you who have become popular out of nowhere in the past few months...y'all don't seem very grateful.

This is my biggest pet peeve

I can't stand it when people come out of nowhere and just take the spotlight bc of some stupid sketch

And I know you can't control how popular you are

BUT CMON MAN? IVE BEEN IN THIS FANDOM FOR 2 YEARS, THE MOST IVE GOTTEN IS LIKE 18 NOTES AND 20 KUDOS AND YALL GET LIKE 100 AND YOU ARE LIKE

"awwwwwwww tyyy!1!1!1!1!1!1!1"

LIKE BESTIE TRY HARDER TO SOUND LIKE U ACTUALLY CARE

And you wanna know the worst bit??

There are people who get no notes and no kudos at all and that's because practically everyone here is so self centered and think their whole status in their fandom revolves around them and whatever popular people are 'friends' with them

Also most of the 'friendships' I've had here were literally the worst decision I've made- like I think people care about me then they just move on bc I'm "not well known" is that my fault???

I just wanted friends who liked the same movie as me

I've got that but, it was way harder then it should've been.

Youre probably laughing cause nobody here takes me seriously

And you can say im selfish for saying all these things about my 'friends' but it dosent apply to everyone. There are some nice people here, but not enough

Just...tlm fandom, you're full of adults and "mature" teens, please, start acting like it.

[philsleftnut]

He Can’t Stand it, He Doesn’t Want to.

Chapter Summary: Steve and Eddie come out here to smoke with each other often. High as kites, breathing in nothing but weed and each other. It was routine. Yet why does Steve hate the way he feels when he thinks just a little too hard about the time their fingertips touched. Eyes meet. Laughs crossed. It was too much. And too little.

Notes: I was watching the absolutely lovely movie "As You Are" when I wrote most of this. So that would be what inspired it. Which has our Charlie Heaton in it! Amazing movie! Very sad.

The first chapter is written from the perspective of Steve, and the second Eddie. All still in third person.

Find me on Ao3!

Chapters: | ||

Word Count: 2797

Tags: Angst, hurt/little comfort, internalized homophobia, anxiety, recreational drug use.

The stars get really bright when he looks at them through clouded eyes. Eyes that have been open just a little too long, they start to dry around the edges and water collects. It feels like fire entering as warm tears cover his vision. He finally blinks and lets it go. Falls down his face, onto his chin, then down his neck. Suddenly the stars are gone. He doesn’t know if it was worth it.

His pupils are dilated, immediately drying again as they open. Smoke is all around him, sucking the moisture out of his body. It hurts, he needs something to drink, but he can’t get enough of feeling like this is it. He feels a fresh blow of it right against his cheek. “Man, are you crying?”

“Fuck,” he sniffs, wiping the tears off his face. “No, my eyes are just extremely dry because you keep doing shit like that.” Steve chuckles. He fumbles with his arms and tries to push Eddie away from him. Eddie laughs with him. He hates it. The gaudy little laugh Eddie only ever used when they were sitting right here. Because the second Eddie’s stupid mouth opens it plays on a loop. And he sleeps to the sounds of Eddie Munson laughing at his joke. Or the smell of his crappy weed blowing through his face and hair. And when he’s stoned just right, he sleeps on the small electrifying touch of their fingers when Eddie passes him the joint. Their thighs right next to each other because lord knows the shared space was not large enough for two adult men. The rocket across the Creel house, legs looped through the openings, sat on the platform. Smoking Eddie’s leftover supply. The roaches Eddie doesn’t finish throughout the week.

He can’t stand it. He doesn’t want to.

Steve carefully takes the joint out of Eddie’s hands. His life is on fire, he pulls away and puts it up to his mouth. The wet end is between his lips and he can taste the paper, it’s mushy with saliva. His and Eddie’s. He can taste his spit fresh on the end of the joint, he inhales it. Smoke fills his mouth, it burns down his lungs, seeping into his organs. It made his head ring. He turns his face slowly toward Eddie, joint still in his mouth, blowing the cloud out. His eyes hang low while he looks up at the sky taking another drag.

Eddie sputters, waving away the smoke. “Yeah, ok, I deserved that one.” swinging his legs back and forth, he leans back on his hands. Every movement his legs made, his chains clinked against the metal, fabric brushed on Steve’s. “But do that again and reap the consequences Harrington.”

“How come you can do whatever you want, but I have to have some weird limit on face blowing.” Steve flails his hands in front of him, pushing his body up against the bars. Joint in between his pointer and middle finger. Floating on the end. Eddie laughs again and Steve feels like he can’t breathe. He drops the joint on the ground below them. “Aaah, fuck.”

Eddie laughs through his words, “Well now no one is gonna be doing any face blowing.” he slips his legs back through metal bars, turning to slide through the opening. His voice groaning and straining as he works through the tight space. He hops on the ground to walk around the rocket and in front of Steve. His hanging legs and arms move with no direction, touching Eddie’s body ever so often as they swing.

Steve can’t help but stare at him. Staring with the top of his permed hair, down his broad shoulders, hips, legs, landing on his dirty Reeboks. In between his feet lies the half finished blunt, orange but slowly burning out. The tiny spec of fire is not nearly enough, though Steve feels as if it illuminates Eddie’s entire body. He can see him.

He’s a man. Just like Steve. Coiled leg hair sticking out of the rips on his knees. His shirt stretched over shoulders, and muscles instead of boobs and fat. Eddie hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he can tell. Steve’s hand wants to reach out and feel how rough the patch on his neck is, he almost does. His hand pulls back quickly when Eddie drops to the ground. He picks up the joint, shakes it and holds it out to Steve.

There is mulch and dried leaves sticking to the end. He takes it. He pinches it and brings it up to his eyes, squinting, raking them over every inch of the small thing.Inspects it like he does Eddie. An ant crawls down the top to his finger. Steve lets it roam freely, searching for food where there blatantly is none. It gets to his knuckle and he presses down on it with the opposite hand, crushing the bug. Crushing himself.

He flicks it away. “You know, if this thing wasn't a biohazard before, it definitely is now.”

Steve drops his hand, giving Eddie back the joint. He takes it. Touching. They have to. Otherwise it’ll drop again. He stares at his open hand, watching Eddie's fingers barely lace with his as he pulls away. And Steve tells himself it’s the high in his body that yells for him to take full hold. Except he can’t. Because his body feels like it’s on fire every time he touches him, and there isn’t a person in the world who could tell him if that’s good or bad.

“You can’t waste good ganga Steve.” Eddie says. Smoking.

“You always lie to the people you smoke with?”

Eddie raises his brow, flicking the ash in Steve’s direction. “Man what are you talking about?”

“Now-“ he flinches. Ash hits his jeans. He wonders if it will burn into them. Leaving him with a physical reminder of the nights with the man in front of him. Tiny dark spots only he would notice, wafting with the scent of marijuana. Falling asleep to the image of them disregarded on his bedroom floor, with a deeper meaning then he’s ever willing to understand. He smiles briefly, “that you have good shit.”

“Hey! My shit, is perfectly fine, thank you!” He defends, returning Steve’s smile. He walks closer, Steve’s thighs spreading slightly. Eddie flips the blunt around to give Steve the last remaining hits. “Gotta actually smoke it to know.”

Steve doesn’t want to smoke anymore. His head feels like it’s floating off his neck and Eddie is at his knees but Steve feels like he is chest to chest holding him down. Eddie wiggles it, raising both eyebrows. “I don’t wanna put that thing in my mouth.” Is what comes out. Instead of ‘no’, or ‘another time’, an excuse. Something Eddie has a rebuttal for.

“Well there’s an easy way around that.” There is a casual smirk laying on Eddie's face.

They’d done it before. Once. Steve went home and bored a hole into his bedroom ceiling.

“Ok.”

Is all Steve can say before Eddie is taking one of the longest drags of his life. He watches his lips wrap around the dirt coated paper, sucking in through his neck. Steve’s eyes can’t catch a single thing while Eddie holds it. Eddie is staring back. His eyes dark brown, filled with his dark pupils. They’re lighter than Steve’s. It’s unusual. But Eddie’s eyes aren’t full of fear.

Steve doesn’t lean in. He just closes his eyes with his face waiting in between the bars. His mouth ajar, waiting.

Eddie’s mouth moves to his. They are centimeters away. The tips of their noses graze one another. He doesn’t dare touch their lips. He doesn’t hold onto Steve’s thighs, or grip his hair. He does take the bottom of his chin lifting so the smoke goes into his mouth better. He tilts his head, opening his lips. Smoke flows out of him, finding the only other possible place to go.

The weed is suffocating him in the open air. His lungs fill with his nerves igniting on the very touch of Eddie. His face, his legs, the mere inches of their mouths.

He opens his eyes, Eddie is so close. His eyes are closed and his body is lax. Steve wants to crawl inside of him and learn how. His eyes draw upward in an attempt to stop tears he can feel coming, but his eyes were too dry. The smoke that can’t fill his mouth comes in between their faces. He can’t see anymore. Steve can’t breathe. He can’t stand it. It hurts.

Steve coughs it all out loudly, pushing Eddie away roughly with his hands. He trips backwards, falling flat onto the ground. “Shit,” continuing to cough “sorry.”

Eddie goes down completely onto his back, to Steve unexpectedly, laughing. “Dude, you could’ve just closed your mouth or pulled away. Didn’t have to fully accost me onto the ground.”

“Are you okay?” Steve chokes into his hand.

“Am I okay? Are you?” He comes up onto his forearms looking over his knees. “You sound like you just swallowed the biggest load and are definitely not enjoying it.”

“Don’t-'' Steve interrupts himself with a cough, but sounds more like a pitiful choked out whine. “Don’t make me laugh, you’re gonna make it worse.”

His throat is calming down and the smoke is disappearing above him. His body is flush, cheeks warmer than they should be, racing down his chest. His heartbeat is soaring. He kind of thinks that it’s going to send him and the rocket off into the sky.

He drops his head forward and presses his forehead into the cold metal in front of him. A coping method. He rolls his face back and forth spreading the sensation across himself. His high is spreading it further. Mixing his blushing heat, and the grounding coolness. He wishes that it would distract him but all he felt was nauseated. Small. Tight. He has to move.

Steve copies Eddie’s movements from earlier leaving the spaceship, it being easier without the extra body. He slips down and out of his metal jail. His legs hurt. His whole body is fatigued.

He wanders over to where Eddie lies on the ground. He doesn’t know what part of his brain tells him to do so but he sinks his body right next to his way to close. Instead of a couple of under the influence dudes committing to late night shenanigans, it’s two guys who can’t breathe touching every part of their skin. They’re pressing into each other, Steve’s shoulder is lying above Eddie’s, knees knocking together, hips colliding.

Looking over at Eddie, his nose almost touches his cheek. Eddie is watching the sky. He breathes in, smelling pieces of him. His face smells of his cheap aftershave even though his stubble from days past remains. Weed soaks his skin and Steve inhales it all so that it seeps into him.

Eddie turns. Their noses bump together scaring Eddie a bit. He laughs it away, their lips almost touch. If he just moved forward by the second, “You come onto all of the people you smoke with like this?”

Steve looks away, a blush rising through him. “Uh- I- no.”

“So just your girls then?”

Eddie is joking. He is just joking. Steve knows that Munson is poking fun at his past history throughout high school. His one with girls. Notorious history with girls. Girls he used to have sex with. Girls that he used to kiss. Dream about. Fall asleep too. Spike a fever over a simple touch. Girls.

“I wish you were a girl.” Steve says, staring into the black space above them.

It just happens. He doesn’t even think about it. There were words coming out of Eddie’s mouth, and then words coming out of his. Suddenly he can’t use his mouth any more to explain away the soul crushing things he’s just said. He doesn’t even want to imagine what Eddie’s face looks like. Wide eyes, shocked, horrified, maybe he thinks he’s joking. Steve shoots into a sitting position. He’s trying to breathe. But he can’t. His lungs fill with fire every time he breathes in. They fill with Eddie's weed that pours out of his skin. Fill with his hatred for himself. They fill and they simply just don’t exhale.

He’s blowing up. His head is floating off his neck and there is nothing holding him down this time.

Eddie touches his shoulder. It doesn’t bring him back. It sends him all the way up into the stars. Steve jerks away from him. “No.”

“Steve-”

“No.”

“Ok.”

Steve stands up. He’s shaking. His legs feel like they can’t keep him up on two feet. He looks down at his shoes, they’re puddled with tears, in another universe he could swim in them. Feel the water and float away. Maybe drown. His eyes have been crying. He doesn’t know when they started. Except they did. It stains down his face, dripping onto the tips of his shoes like they have every right to be there. His back is facing Eddie and he can’t see him. He doesn’t want to.

Steve walks toward the rocket and when he gets there, he grabs onto two metal bars and screams. He screams the fire out of his lungs. The tears out of his eyes. He screams the Eddie out of his body. Every sleepless night, thinking about Eddie Munson joins the clouds. Because who is Steve Harrington? To think about someone like him. To feel more than a molecule of energy for someone looking like Eddie. He doesn’t understand it. And he thinks if he screams until the possibility of understanding that comes he’ll be okay.

He hates himself. And he hates Eddie. He doesn’t know how Eddie gets it and he doesn’t. Why did he use all of his time sleeping to the sound of Nancy Wheeler in high school, and now he can’t sleep without Eddie? Who made that decision, and why wasn’t it Steve? He can’t stand it. He can’t breathe. It all hurts and burns and ignites a fire in him that refuses to be put out.

His voice is cracking. Already dry from the smoke. It’s pathetic and falling into a pit. In a minute his throat will be raw and Steve wont be able to speak at all. For the first time in a long while Steve knows what he wants. So he stops. Breathes. Opens his throat. Ripples out the last remaining voice he’s got left. For himself.

There is a sound behind him. He can’t quite make it out over the ringing in his ears. His whole body comes to an abrupt stops, interrupted by another clashing with him. Not hard. But Eddie comes up behind him and collides with him, hands on his shoulders, getting his attention.

“Steve! Jesus Christ, do you want us to get arrested?” he asks. He quickly moves away from Steve. Unsure if he even wanted to be within the same fifty feet at him right now. “Sorry, but you couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t think of another way to get your attention.

He’s bent over, white knuckling the metal spaceship, panting. His mind is gone. His thoughts are out in the air around him. He waves them away. “Alright.” He rasps, smiling weakly.

Steve lets go of the bars, flexing his fingers. Blood rushing back to his hands. He walks over to the spot onto the ground where Eddie had fallen when he pushed him. The last of his blunt laying in the dirt and mulch. He snatches it, dusting it off with his finger. With two pinched fingers he motions the joint toward Eddie. “Got a light?”

“I- uh, yeah here.” Eddie pulls a lighter out of his pocket, tossing it toward Steve. He catches it at his chest with a free hand.

“Thanks.” He says briefly. He puts the joint between his lips, cupping his mouth, and lighting the end. He shoves the lighter in his pocket, inhaling. The weed coats his throat, it heals the rubbed raw feeling from his screams. He spins in an absent-minded circle staring at the stars, before falling on his ass, laying, staring at the sky.

He blows the smoke at them. Hoping they catch it from him. “You know I alway thought the stars looked so bright from down here.”

Eddie comes over to him, lying in the spot next to Steve. He’s not as close. Never as close. He reaches over to take the roach from him. Eddie smokes the last drag. The cloud dissipates with his words. “Really? I always thought they looked quite dull.”

[bemusedlybespectacled]

so, I've noticed that some Discourse™ posts about adult content (and I am including my own in this) tend to have a kind of misery poker element to them. like, "well, when I was your age, I watched videos of people being literally set on fire, and I'm fine, so stop complaining about zutara!" or whatever, which just isn't really a good argument, considering that the response is going to be "no, you're not fine, you think it's okay to have porn of teenage characters on AO3!"

so, I want to tell a story about the opposite of that.

I think I've talked about this before on here, but my parents were extremely careful about the kind of media my siblings and I watched as kids. not for religious reasons; it was for the entirely secular reason of "screentime in general, but especially violent or sexual media of any kind, is bad for children's brains." I exclusively watched PBS (except for the news and Saturday morning cartoons on ABC) until I was eleven or twelve, because stuff like Power Rangers and The Power Puff Girls was too violent.

I started being allowed to branch out into "adult" media because I was considered old enough to self-screen for inappropriate content, and also pre-screen stuff for my younger siblings and, at least one time I remember, someone else's kids. this is why I started being allowed to watch police procedurals: I watched the first ten minutes or so of an episode of Numb3rs (it was Soft Target, I remember the imagery extremely clearly) and was able to convince my mom to let me watch it because a) it wasn't any more violent than Mystery, b) it had math in it and was therefore educational, and c) it came on at 9 PM on Fridays so it wouldn't keep me up too late on a school night.

the problem wasn't that I was incapable of filtering my own media. I was excellent at filtering my own media. the problem was that I was twelve years old and the most graphic thing I'd seen up to that point was Miss Marple, so my filter was wildly miscalibrated.

some things that I considered "inappropriate for children":

The Will Of The Empress by Tamora Pierce, both then and now my favorite author, not because of the two seconds of implied sexual content that flew directly over my head, but because one of the characters discovered she was a lesbian and kissed a girl onscreen a couple of times, and of course gay content meant something was automatically adult.

Eldest by Christopher Paolini, where I somehow completely missed all the nudity except for one scene where a pair of twin elves are described as dancing while naked, which to me made it basically porn.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, because of the scene where the Sheriff of Nottingham speeds through his wedding ceremony as quickly as possible so he can have sex with Maid Marian right there on the floor, not because it's a weirdly graphic almost-rape scene that's played for laughs for some reason, but because it had sex in it!

I think when someone talks about how X Show Is Problematic or Y Ship Is Morally Wrong, the response tends to sound like, "Suck it up and ignore any potential implications or problems it has, you big whiny baby!", which is not my point here.

my point is that when you haven't been exposed to a wide variety of content and/or life experiences, your Media Immune System is going to overreact to stuff that, in the grand scheme of things, is probably not that bad, because it's the first time you are experiencing it. it's also going to underreact to things that are so beyond your frame of reference that you can't even identify them as potential problems. your filter is going to be badly calibrated because you don't know what to calibrate it to.

I don't think being an adult is being able to handle The Most Viscerally Uncomfortable Movie or anything like that. I do think being an adult is, basically, microdosing on Problematic Content™ to expand your boundaries enough to even know what your boundaries are.

but if your response to anything potentially problematic is to completely avoid it because consuming it – or, horror of horrors, enjoying it – somehow taints you as a person, I can guarantee you that your filter is already wildly miscalibrated and you're doing your level best to keep it that way.