#come get y'all JUICE

[strangersatellites]

It had all started in Photography 101. 

All he had needed was one more elective added to his schedule for the fall semester to be considered a full-time student. It was Robin who had suggested photography.

Steve had never had that great of a memory to begin with, the numerous blows to the head from juvenile high school fights certainly doing him no favors. Sometimes the amount of time it took to jog Steve’s memory surpassed the time it would’ve taken to simply tell him the story as if he hadn’t been there himself. 

He was always able to grasp the memory eventually, but sometimes they were slippery in his mind. 

He and Robin had found that his memory was ten times better if he had something to look at. Sometimes that was a souvenir from a trip, sometimes it was a takeout menu with his order circled in red pen, sometimes it was a physical scar on his skin from some silly injury. But most of the time it was pictures. 

Steve took to taking photos of everything. His friends, his food, the landscape, a book with a pretty cover, anything he wanted to be able to remember.

The walls of his room grew to be covered with polaroids and prints, some staged, most not. Many blurry and out of focus, but in the moment just the same. 

So when Robin suggested Photography 101, Steve saw an opportunity to take something he did for his own benefit and turn it into something he really enjoyed, something he was good at. 

The semester was a breeze and Steve flourished under the attention of his professor. He was constantly drowning in compliments about the movement in his photos and his eye for composition. 

(Robin would tell him on several occasions that she had never seen him enjoy something this much.)

By the time the semester was coming to a close, he was left with one final project. The professor had been intentionally very vague in her description of it throughout the semester, so Steve was a little on edge. 

Sitting in the front row of the small classroom, he twirled the strap of his camera around his fingers while he daydreamed. The room slowly filled and the professor settled in behind her desk. 

About five minutes after class was supposed to have begun Steve noticed they were all still sitting in silence. Glancing at the professor he saw her brows furrow and a frustrated lilt to her lips as she looked at her watch.

What are we waiting for? 

She stood and dusted off her pants before clapping her hands together.

“Well,” she began, “I guess we can go ahead and get start–”

The door at the back of the room swung open and knocked against the wall with a resounding slam.

“Shit! Fuck! So sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch.”

Steve is so caught off guard by the man who just burst into the room that he barely even registers the words he’s saying. 

He’is tall and all lanky muscle, dark curls and jewelry, tattoos and the smell of smoke, chains and leather and everything Steve’s not. Everything nobody in this class is.

He’s even more caught off guard when his professor laughs and pulls the man into a tight hug. There are only five other students in this class, surely he’s not the only person confused.

He keeps an arm around her shoulders as she introduces him to the group.

“Guys, this is Eddie. He’s a family friend and he’s going to be your subject for your final project.”

Steve’s own eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand how this was the project she has been keeping under wraps. They’ve had plenty of portrait sessions this semester, with models and subjects of their choice alike.

The guy, Eddie, claps a hand to his chest in a dramatic show of faux humility. 

“Thank you for having me, Joyce. It's such an honor to be here.”

She smacks at his arm and carries on.

“So, Eddie is your subject and you have no parameters. The only requirement is that he is the inspiration for your shoot. This can look like a standard portrait session, this can be contemporary urban street photography, whatever you like. Eddie does not even have to be in the photo! He just has to be the inspiration for it.”

Steve's brain is already running a mile a minute, conceptualizing shots faster than he can keep up. 

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But one idea sticks out from the rest. As Steve lifts his eyes to Eddie once more and meets his own twinkling with mirth and smirking back at him he makes his decision.

He’s going to take his mugshot.

*****

“I want to take your mugshot.”

They’re at the campus coffee shop. Joyce had scheduled a few hours for Eddie to meet with the other students during their class time so they could talk through their projects.

Eddie barks out a laugh. “What, man?”

Steve twirls his straw around his drink and tries not to bristle at the reaction.

“Look,” he starts, running a nervous hand through his hair, “I don’t really know where the idea originated but once I had it, it stuck. I just saw this vision of the shot in my head and it was sick, dude.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, one of his boots knocking into Steve’s foot under the table. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. 

“Thought this shoot was supposed to be inspired by moi,” he says, gesturing a hand towards himself. “You saying I look like I should be in jail?”

Steve groans and puts his head in his hands. “No. I already told you I don't know where i got the idea–”

But that’s a lie isn’t it. He knows exactly where he got the idea. It was somewhere between the chains dangling from Eddie’s jeans and the handcuff belt he was wearing the day they met.

He put his hands together on the table between them. “Okay. No, I’m not saying you look like a criminal, Eddie. I’m saying I think you want to look like one.”

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before his face breaks into a slow smirk. He huffs a quiet laugh and leans closer. “Guilty as charged, Stevie. Besides, I was arrested once actually.”

Steve gawks while Eddie laughs. He is unfairly attractive when his dimples pop and Steve is going to have such a hard time holding it together behind the camera. 

*****

Steve takes his shoots very seriously. Every detail has to be perfect, even the ones not relating to the subject of the photo.

So it is wildly convenient that his professor happens to be married to the chief of police back in Hawkins. 

One quick phone call from Joyce and Steve and Eddie were granted access to the booking room at the police station. You know, for the sake of realism. 

Steve’s setting up his tripod while Eddie takes a chalk marker to the placard and writes up his own booking ID, a long series of random numbers with E.M at the end. 

Steve would be lying if he said Eddie’s choice of clothing wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. 

He’s wearing a ratty, old band t-shirt for some group Steve’s never heard of. There’s his usual black leather jacket and the silver chain around his neck. His ripped black jeans and fingers covered in rings and black nail polish. 

It's perfect for the shoot. But Steve’s sanity is struggling.

He gets the camera and the lighting set up just as Eddie steps into place in front of the height measurement wall. 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and gives instructions.

“Okay, so I know you’ve done this before–”

“Hey! It was one time!”

“So you know how this goes. We’ll do one forward and then one to each side.”

Eddie shakes out his hair and rolls his shoulders back. He holds the placard up in front of him and levels the camera with a dead-eyed stare.

He looks good. 

Steve is less than shocked that he looks even better on camera.

He lines up his shot. Click.

Eddie turns to his left. Steve gets a little distracted by the line of his jaw.

Click.

He turns to the right and of course only now does Steve notice his ear piercings. 

Steve takes a deep breath and focuses.

Click.

Before he can even look through his shots Eddie is dropping the placard on the desk.

He’s halfway out the door before he grabs the frame and leans back in. “One second pretty boy, I have an idea.”

He’s back before Steve snaps out of his stupor at the nickname. This time, he has a pair of handcuffs swinging from his index finger.

Steve snatches them out of his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs. “I know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes. 

He’s already picking up the placard and setting up some detail shots when Eddie grabs his wrist and stops him. He freezes for more than one reason.

“Hey, uh. Not to step on your toes or anything, but I actually have another idea.”

Steve is about to start on his spiel about ‘not messing up his flow’ when Eddie rubs his thumb over the inside of his wrist. Gentle and reassuring. 

“Do you trust me?”

Honestly Steve has no reason to trust him, he’s basically a stranger.

A pretty one. His brain supplies.

But he does. Trusts him enough to let him take Steve’s creative liberties and throw them out the window apparently.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Eddie’s smile is blinding. He turns Steve’s hand over and drops the handcuff key into it.

“Don’t lose this big boy,” he says as he snaps the cuffs around each of his own wrists.

Steve laughs, loud and shocked. He waggles his eyebrows at Eddie. 

“Well, now didn’t this take a turn.”

Eddie rolls his eyes this time and lifts his hands as much as he can.

“Don’t try to sexualize my creative prowess, Steve. I am a professional.”

He nearly trips on his way back to his place in front of the wall and Steve has to hide his laugh into a cough.

Steve’s back behind the camera, hands back on his hips when he asks, “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Eddie smiles and says, “You just shoot, Harrington. I’ll do the rest.”

He leans down to finalize his camera settings and line up his shot. When he finally looks through the viewfinder his jaw drops. Because while Eddie was clearly joking about being a professional, if Steve didn’t know any better, this shot would have him believing it.

Eddie’s got both of his pinky fingers tucked in the corners of his smile, tongue bitten between his teeth. His thumbs are raised along with his middle fingers, while he’s got his nose scrunched and one eye squeezed shut. The cuffs hang right under his chin and accentuate his silver jewelry in a way Steve never would have anticipated.

Click.

Click. 

Click.

The next is a close-up of the booking placard between his teeth.

His hands twisting to unlock his own cuffs.

He’s a natural, and Steve’s camera roll can attest to the fact.

It wouldn’t be until Steve was reviewing and editing the shots that he caught on. The booking ID on the placard looked long because it was. It was Eddie’s number.

*****

Steve got an A. 

He got an A, an endless stream of compliments from Joyce and a dorky hot boyfriend. 

The rest of the class went the route Steve expected them to.

Dingy bars, backseats of cars, details of his eclectic style.

But Steve’s mugshot series stood leagues above the rest.

Later in their lives, when one of their friends would see the photo in Steve’s wallet they would ask when Eddie got arrested and why.

It quickly became a game between the two.

He’s been arrested in high school for selling drugs (True.)

When he was twenty for public indecency.

At twenty-two for arson.

Thirty for contract killing. This one was followed up with the claim that he was in witsec and was now going to have to change his identity and flee the country.

But the real when and why Eddie got arrested is because when he was twenty-one Joyce told him there was a nice boy in her class that she thought he should meet.

[naffeclipse]

Apex Polarity

Chapter 8: Whiteout

Orca!Eclipse x Y/N (SFW)

A quiet night leads to learning more from a book not meant for your eyes and a small confession from your bunkmate. When you return to the siren to look over his wounds, he warns you to stay inside—a storm is coming.

Word Count: ~12,400 Warnings: Manhandling, nonconsensual touching, threats of violence, threats of death, fear, anxiety, violence, blood, and hypothermia.

If you know my other works, you know I love a good storm. Hope you're bundled up and cozy for this one! Happy reading!

[joostpauze]

Go, Acid!

He's too fine in this music video

[ohwolfling]

the undone and the divine

this was originally an ask prompt and now it is 11 pages long. please enjoy soft dom Gale, light bondage, mage hand, invented spells, and face sitting. :)

His eyes darken with an increasingly familiar ache. It makes her want him more. She knows it won’t make him stray from this path of driving her wild. No matter how badly he wants her, he wants to see her out of her mind for him more. The conjured hand slides a finger on either side of her, spreading her open, and Gale licks his lips but makes no move towards her. "You know, no one would believe me if I told them how much of a tease you are,” Tav laughs, half desperate, half thrilled. “Oh, there’s so much I still mean to do to you.”

this fic expanded as I stated it would be if I made rent last month!thank you to everyone who was kind enough to give to my ko-fi, twitch, or directly through Venmo (MirandaBrave). I'm leaving this open for ANOTHER CHAPTER if I we crowd fund a delicate $200 betwixt those places between now and next Saturday-ish. I will smut for my supper. Anyone who gives $25+ on Venmo/Ko-fi can use the notes to recommend something for that chapter or perhaps a future smut (I love to be a heaux but I gotta serve the story and vibe appropriately, you feel?)

[strawberryamanita]

The gay devils in my brain: Wilford in a Sally Finkelstein costume with that pink and yellow patchwork dress

Me: Bet

[thewitchoftheweed]

Narinder’s face flushes, a barely perceptible change underneath all that dark fur. At the same time the corner of his mouth quirks upward. He’s trying very hard not to smile. “You know what I meant.” “And you know you were definitely flirting with me,” Hamal says. They’d already fallen in love with him, even then, and so they were always searching for any scrap of affection. In reality, they doubt Narinder could think of little else beyond escaping his prison— but it’s still fun to tease him. “It’s ok. We’re getting married; you can admit you like me.” Narinder snorts. “I’m only after your gold.” Hamal grins and plays along. “Just waiting till I die so you can collect my massive fortune?” “Precisely,” Narinder says. “You’ll be waiting a while.” “I’m good at waiting.”

[ao3soidade]

Neither Here nor There Chapter 9

“Is it just about being apart, or are you worried about who he might be seeing there?”

Charles looked up at her in alarm. “ Now I am. You think he’s meeting up with someone?” 

“I have no idea. I just saw how you were when he was hanging out with Monty, and when the Cat King kept showing up to talk to him.” 

“I wasn’t jealous,” Charles said quickly. “I was concerned about him. And I was right to be, wasn’t I?” 

“Whoa, okay.” Crystal held up her hands. “I didn’t say jealous.”

“Didn’t you?” Charles looked down again, embarrassed. “You said it before, didn't you?" He was suddenly unsure if the word jealous had come from Crystal at all.

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Songbird

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, Dom!Terzo, jealousy, facefucking, hair pulling, tiny tiny bit of angst at the end

No real plot, Terzo walks in on Reader singing one of Secondo's songs and he must remind her who she belongs to.

Word Count: 2.0k

Terzo strolls back to his chambers, sneaking away early from a meeting; surely, you weren't there anymore, but a man could hope. You were becoming more than the usual plaything in his eyes. Maybe he would just be forced to summon you out of whatever task you were in the middle of...

His scheming comes to a halt when he presses his ear to the door, listening to the beautiful lilt of your voice.

"...progeny of beast of woe 🎶

And I am the son who comes into the daughters of men 🎵

Destroying all and make them want it again..."

Without a sound, he sneaks in and spots you dusting some of his things on the fireplace mantle. He quickly glues himself to you with hands on your hips and a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"AH!!" The duster you'd had in your hand falls to the floor; luckily it hadn't been one of his pictures or a vase. "Terzo! You scared me..." your protest isn't very strong as you melt back into the feeling of him; his cologne quiet strong today.

"What have I told you about cleaning, gattina?" he mumbles into your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly with his fingertips digging into you a little bit.

"Well... I know it's not my job, but I feel like I should leave your place better than I found it," you explain.

"Sì, and you always do. You put your Papa in an exceptional mood every time you visit," he compliments you.

It's absolutely intoxicating getting showered in affection by this man. His hands know just where to touch to get the reaction he wants from you. His lips press the softest kisses to your temple, your cheek, your neck, turning you to putty in his hands. And again... the cologne. You can always tell when he's nearby, and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter madly.

Softly Terzo asks, "So you like mio fratello's songs more than mine? You don't like my album, sì?"

"Hmm?" you're pulled from your trance, "No, Terzo, that song was just stuck in my head!"

"Mio fratello was stuck in your head?"

"No-"

"That simply won't do, Sorella," he clicks his tongue at you, "we will have to change this. I should be the only Papa in your pretty little head..." He spins you around to face him, putting his hands firmly on your hips again, "I'll make my songbird sing for me and me alone."

It was a promise that sent heat straight to your core as his scowling eyes bore into you. Biting your lip as you stare up at him, you fight back a whimper at the way his demeanor has affected you.

"Not so noisy, now, eh, little songbird?" He brushes his gloved knuckles across your soft cheek. "However fair and pure... 🎶 You crave the wand," he sings before his lips tug into a devious grin.

"Papa," you whisper, leaning your head back to kiss him.

"Ah, ah, ah..." he stops you with a thumb pressed tight against your bottom lip. "We'll have to put that mouth of yours to good use before I should even think of forgiving you."

With that, your knees find the floor and your gentle hands caress his thighs through his nice black dress pants.

"Mmm... So eager to please, so responsive to her Papa..." Terzo lifts your chin to look up at him as he unbuttons his trousers.

Nuzzling against the fabric at his crotch, you beat him to the zipper, pulling it down with your teeth. He lets out a groan of anticipation at that move, his cock, already heavy with lust, falling from behind the cloth. Eager to please, just as he said, you don't keep him waiting as you leave a slow trail of open mouthed kisses from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip.

Lapping at the slit, you look up at him, already losing his composure as he takes off his gloves to tangle those digits in your hair. He lets out another groan, sounding more like a growl as you take his length in your mouth, working at a relaxed pace, but making sure to flatten your tongue against the underside just the way he likes.

"S-sì, ...sss much better use of your mouth than- than for singing Secondo's s-songs," he stutters out, eyes screwed shut. Terzo would never admit it, but he's capable of being turned into putty in the palm of someone's hand too.

When you hollow out your cheeks, putting that exquisite pressure around his favorite appendage, he can't help but buck his hips, lunging forward to brace himself with one hand against the mantle behind you. Relaxing your throat to prepare for the onslaught, you take it well when he bucks again, one hand still firmly planted in your hair to keep you in place.

It takes some effort not to gag the first couple of times he hits the back of your throat, but you dig your nails into his thighs and let him have his way with you. When your nose tickles against his well groomed pelvis, your lover lets out a loud, "Ah! Sorella... Satanas, la mia dea lasciva..." as he continues to fuck into your face.

Letting out something like a whine around his length, Terzo recognizes your need for him, and he did promise to make you sing after all...

Albeit reluctant to pull out of your sinfully skilled mouth, he does, and he immediately pulls you up from your spot on the floor, helping you right yourself and swiping the tears from your cheeks. "You are okay, bella mia?" He's such a gentleman to check on you.

Your heart swells a little as you place your hand over his that cups your cheek; you give a small nod and he gives you a quick peck before it's back on again. With some force, he pulls you across the living room, sitting you on the arm of the chair he likes to read in. Gripping the skirt of your habit, he pulls it up and over your head, revealing nothing underneath.

"Mmm, Sorella..." He looks you over like a meal he's about to devour, as he kicks off his own pants and works on the buttons of his shirt. "You should dress like this always," he gives you a wink.

Letting out a giggle, you softly reply, "I didn't have any clean undies here."

"We'll have to change that," he smiles warmly, disposing of the last articles of his outfit, "although you won't need them when I'm around." His hands slip into place on your sides, and it feels electric feeling his skin on yours. Almost carefully, he kisses you, tasting traces of himself on your tongue. He moves so delicately, ghosting over your breasts, pinching at your nipples, it drives you crazy.

You're well aware of what he's capable of and you want more. Hooking a leg around his, you try to pull him closer to you, and he obliges, but not without breaking your kiss. Desperately, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingertips tracing over the lovebites left from the night before. "Please, Papa," you beg.

He chuckles darkly and places a hand on the top of your thigh. "I'm not quite sure you've learned your lesson, mia cattiva ragazza..." That hand moves to find your core, one finger starting to circle your bud. "You're not still thinking of Papa Secondo, are you, cara mia?"

"No, Papa. I wasn't- hnghhh..." you breathe out, "I promise, I wasn't thinking of anyone but you!"

"Then why would you sing for him," he slips two fingers past your folds up into your sweet spot, "and not for me?"

Letting out a gasp, you grip onto his shoulders as he curls his digits over and over again. "I-I wasn't, Papa... Please..."

"Ahhh, but you were-"

"Papa," you say with some urgency, "Terzo, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. Make me sing- Make me 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 for you, just- please."

He straightens up, fingers slipping out of you. "Only for me, sì?" he asks, popping the slicked up fingers into his mouth.

"Only you, Papa," you look up at him, both sets of eyes equally blown wide with lust, and you practically shaking with need.

"Show me, then, my songbird," he commands, pulling you up off the chair and flipping you around; in an instant, he's behind you, propping your knee up on the arm of the chair and slicking himself up in your folds. Instinctively, you arch your back and brace your hands on the back of the piece of furniture.

He enters you more gingerly than he'd been with your face, but it still leaves you whining and squirming back on him for more. Receiving a small pop on the ass, you let out a squeak, before Terzo grabs your hips and sets a leisurely pace. "Mm, mm- Papa," you moan for him, feeling that delightful stretch.

"Ah, tesoro, sì, sing for me," a smile spreads across Terzo's face as he throws his head back, fucking into you in earnest, "Let everyone know how good your Papa feels inside you!"

Feeling cheeky, and perhaps a glutton for punishment, you throw a look over your shoulder at the antipope, "Give me something to sing about then, Papa."

Terzo's usual scowl returns to his face, this time with a fire in his eyes. You're met with a harsh 𝘚𝘔𝘈𝘊𝘒! to the ass followed by the sound of skin slapping skin as he moves harder in and out of you. His fingers wrap around your hair, ponytailing it and wrapping it around his wrist. With a rough tug, he forces you upright until your head nearly rests on his shoulder. "Bold of you to test your Papa while il mio cazzo stuffs your tight cunt full," he growls in your ear. With the change in angle, he rams into your sweet spot with ease, hips snapping at a dangerous tempo.

You try to stifle the high-pitched whine that threatens to spill from you, but your lover takes you by the jaw, forcing your mouth open and stealing your noises of pleasure from you. And he gets exactly what he wants as your moans pour out of you, sounding more and more like screams with every thrust.

As his hand slides down the front of your stomach to find your core, he whispers softly in your ear, a sharp contrast to your loud cries, "Sì, sì, little songbird, you always give your Papa what he wants, even if I must take it from you." His hips stutter as his middle finger starts to circle your clit. "Give your Papa just a little bit more, amore... Vieni per me, per favore. Vieni per me..."

And who are you to deny him? A few more flicks of his wrist and you're howling his name so loud that you just 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 your lover is grinning at the thought of his brother hearing you in the next suite.

Riding you through your orgasm, he chases his own release; he'd staved himself off just to hear how helpless you could become by his hand. You gave yourself over to him like no other ever had, and it makes him want to do the same to you. Terzo presses his body firmly to yours, hips slowing to shallow thrusts as he spills within you. Eyes shut tight, he nuzzles into your shoulder, biting down and grunting through the climax.

Once out of the haze of pleasure, attentively, he checks on you, making sure he hadn't been too rough, too domineering, too careless with your precious body.

"I don't think you're capable of being careless with your lover, Terzo," you giggle, now sitting on his lap in the chair he'd just fucked you against.

"Sì, but one can never be too sure, vero?" He cups your cheek, giving you a soft peck on the opposite side.

"Dolce ragazzo, I never feel more taken care of than when I'm in your arms," you press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

While your aftercare came in the form of shoulder rubs and kisses, his comes in the form of reminding him that he isn't the monster he sees himself as. Yet another type of song he longed to hear from you, always.

[badmoodbatflowers]

Sweet like honey

chapter xv: he's gentle when he wants to be

Rating: explicit

Pairing: Wednesday/Tyler

Summary:

Despite being made to talk about her feelings, Wednesday is in no rush to cut her time with Tyler short.

[coruscanti-arabi]

Imagine...

Babysitting for Hera was always a difficult task, with a force sensitive Jacen who was usually accompanied by a very opinionated Chopper. It was made marginally easier by your - albeit brief - training from the small Jedi temple on your homeworld of Naboo that called to you before you joined the Rebellion.

But babysitting with Ezra was a whole different story. After years of missing Jacen's growth and development, he was determined to be the designated 'fun' uncle that everyone adored, which left you to be 'Bad Cop'.

Today, you sat on the floor of his Lothal home, relishing the peace as you meditate. A soft voice from the Jedi of old begins to speak but before you can decipher any more, a loud crash resounds.

Chopper whizzes past. Followed by a screaming Jacen and a cackling Ezra.

The latter halts once he notices your glare.

"Wait, What did I do?"

Before you can respond, he's dashed off again after Jacen, leaving you to sprint after him too, cursing him under your breath.

Later, you find Jacen curled up on Ezra's chest, collapsed in a pillow fort. The soft snores being a relief since the chaos of the morning, you silently snap a photo on your holopad, sending it off to 'The Ghost Chat'.

At that, Ezra opens his eyes - probably from the vibration of the holo on his wrist - and beckons you to lay next to him. You sink into the pillows as his free arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in close. The warmth radiates off of him as you rest your head in the space between his neck and shoulder. Ezra presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering an 'I love you'.

You just smiled with a mumbled 'I know' and buried your face into his shirt, listening to his heartbeat as you both slowly drift back into sleep.

[strangersatellites]

somebody somewhere shared my fic I've got this burning desire to set you on fire recently and the kudos on it jumped so fast!! so I wrote part two as a treat!! thanks to whoever that was lmao

this can be read as a standalone or as a companion ficlet to the original fic linked above!

Steve’s students sit with rapt attention under the dimmed lights and Eddie’s theatrical storytelling. While Eddie sits in Steve’s desk chair, his arms gesticulate wildly with a flair like no other. Steve props against the arm of his chair and drags his hand softly up and down Eddie’s back while he lets himself fall into the memory. 

Last October

Corroded Coffin’s show at The Venue at Fourth and West is the biggest they’ve played yet.

Seven thousand people and Steve and Robin, as always, take their rightful place on the front and center barricade. 

Eddie’s on stage, adrenaline pumping and energy high as they play through their last song before the encore. 

From his vantage point he’s got a perfect view of Steve singing his heart out and dancing with Robin, wearing a smile so bright it puts the spotlights to shame. 

If Eddie’s heart wasn’t already pounding at the sight it would be as he holds out the last chord of the final song on their set. 

As the noise in the room swells with the crowd’s cheers and applause, the lights dim and Eddie sees the other three guys slip off stage.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Eddie meets the stagehand to his left and switches his Warlock for an acoustic. 

Where he stood centerstage previously, there now sits a stool and a mic stand. He makes himself comfortable, sat far back with one foot anchored to the ground and the other braced on the stool’s cross-rod. 

A single spotlight beams down directly on him as he leans over to speak into his mic.

“Alright, alright. I’ve got one last song for you today and it’s pretty special. Now I’m saying this once and I don’t want to hear shit about it again, got it? I do not care if you do not like this song because it's not for any of you motherfuckers!” 

Laughter ripples through the crowd and a few people in the audience yell back. 

Eddie scans his eyes across the crowd and they land on his boy once more. He can only imagine his smile mirrors the one he sees on Steve’s face.

“Hey baby,” he starts and lets out a breathy laugh when Steve rolls his eyes and hides his face in his hands. “Don’t hide sunshine, I’ve got a song for you.” He snaps and waves at the security guards and waves them Steve’s way. “Come on up Stevie, you know the drill.”

Know the drill he does. While Steve hops the barricade and is led to the stage, Eddie addresses the crowd once more.

“Like I said, this song is not for any of you so I do not want to hear shit from any of you, okay?” He sets to loosening the strap on his guitar when Steve makes it to center stage with him.

Just out of earshot of the mic Steve props his hands on his hips and grins. Asks, “Okay, what’re we doing this time?”

Eddie smirks and holds his guitar out to his right and pats the front of the stool for Steve to sit.

Steve snorts as he makes his way over. “If you think my ass is going to fit there you’ve got another thing coming.”

Eddie barks out a laugh and shifts further onto his stool as Steve sits, his back pressed tight to Eddie’s chest. He smacks a kiss to Steve’s cheek and waggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

He swings his guitar back over his own shoulder and across Steve’s chest, hooks his chin over his shoulder and adjusts his grip.

Steve giggles down at the action and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“How many times did you make Gareth practice this with you?” He laughs.

“Too fucking many!” Gareth yells from his place in the wings.

Eddie shushes them both and kicks his mic stand a little closer as he starts to strum. He leans in close to Steve’s ear and whispers “Love you Stevie,” before he starts humming into the mic.

Realistically he knows he has approximately seven seconds before Steve catches on. He savors the brief moments where Steve just smiles and sways along.

At second six the recognition flutters across his features and he snaps his head towards Eddie.

“Is this fucking Taylor Swift?”

Eddie laughs and says “Eddie’s Version.”.

Steve laughs and rubs a hand down his face. Eddie hears a muffled “Oh my god” just before he begins to sing. 

Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceiving

But I know I saw a light in you

And as we walked we would talk

And I didn't say half the things I wanted to

Robin, god love her, Eddie sees has taken her role in this whole shenanigan very seriously. Having rounded up every photographer and videographer right up in front of center stage. Her own smile is barely contained where she covers her mouth with her hands.

Of all the guys tossing rocks at your window

I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold

Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing

I don't always have to be alone

Just before he makes it to the chorus Steve’s laughter has calmed down and he’s left with a pleased smile as he sways to the music braced against Eddie’s chest. 

Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He swings his guitar up and over Steve’s head and tugs him back onto the stool as he steps off. Steve looks at him with a confused smile but he doesn't go too far. He props a foot up on the cross-rod and leans in close when he starts again.

Hey Stephen, I've been holding back this feeling

So I've got some things to say to you 

I've seen it all, so I thought

But I never seen nobody shine the way you do

He spins around with a flourish and props on Steve’s other side and flutters his eyelashes to make Steve laugh again.

The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name

It's beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change

Hey Stephen, why are people always leaving?

I think you and I should stay the same

Before the second chorus he breaks out of his Steve induced trance and looks back to the crowd and laughs when he’s met with a sea of flashlight beams swaying back and forth. When he looks back at his boy he finds him giggling with a look of awe on his face.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He leans in close and says “Alright we’re gonna switch it up here Stevie, you ready?”

Steve smiles as bright as the sun. “For anything.”

Eddie takes his guitar off and hands it off to someone, he doesn’t know who to be honest. Doesn’t really care. 

Gareth and Jeff take up playing the song while Eddie takes the mic off its stand.

They're dimming the stage lights

You're perfect for me

Why aren't you here tonight?

I'm waiting alone now

So come on and come out

And pull me near

And shine, shine, shine

The boys keep playing as Eddie’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He looks at Steve one more time, sees him smiling and happy. 

He reaches a hand into his back pocket and feels the box he’d snuck in when he switched guitars.

Takes a deep breath and drops down to one knee.

If he could hear over the blood in his ears he’d hear the crowd go crazy and the incessant sound of camera shutters.

But as it is he swears he can hear Steve’s sharp intake of breath when he realizes what’s happening.

Hey Stephen, I could give you fifty reasons

Why I should be the one you choose

All those other girls, well, they're beautiful

But would they sing this song for you?

Steve’s got his hand covering his mouth and tears in his eyes and he’s nodding. He’s nodding even though Eddie hasn’t asked yet and he loves Steve so much.

I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't help it if there's no one else

Mmm, I can't help myself

He doesn’t even get to finish the rest of the lyrics because Steve is up and off the stool and has both hands pressed to his cheeks dragging him into a fierce kiss before he can even think. 

Eddie’s smiling and laughing so much that it's all teeth. But he’s so happy it's all teeth, it's all love, it's all Steve.

His arms are around Steve’s waist and the mic is somewhere, he doesn’t know or care.

“Stevie, baby. Baby I haven’t asked,” he laughs onto Steve’s lips.

Steve wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face in his shoulder.

“Yes. A hundred times yes. Don’t care. Yes!”

Eddie pulls Steve to face him with two hands on either side of his face, one still holding the box.

“Stevie, will you marry me?”

Steve's laugh resembles a sob but he’s smiling and nodding again and Eddie’s never been happier. 

“Yes.”

~~~~~

“You proposed with a Taylor Swift song?!” The curly-headed kid in the front row screeches.

Eddie uses his context clues to assume this is Dustin. 

Steve pipes up from his spot beside him. “He used to sing me that song when we were dating and it always made me laugh. I especially liked it when he would sing it in a Metallica shirt.”

Several of the other kids snort.

The door swings open in a flourish and Robin comes barreling in.

“Dude, are you holding your kids hostage? What’s goin– Oh hey Eds!” She waves.

“Hey Birdie.”

Steve looks at his watch and swears under his breath. “Alright guys, who’s going to Miss Buckley’s class next? Get out of here. I’ll sort the rest of you out.”

Eddie waves him off. “Don’t worry about it Stevie. I told Ms. Loretta in the office to let Nance and Jon know they’d be late to next period.”

Steve scoffs in shock. “Loretta likes you too much. I don’t know how you got in her good graces. Why would you do that though?”

“Well I thought your kiddos,” he gives the students a pointed glance,” would have figured me out by now and I wanted to bug them about their super cool, hot teacher.”

Steve claps his hands together in exasperation. “Okay, that’s enough. Everybody out!”

Students zip up their bags and filter out of the room and Robin knocks them on the back of the head as they walk out the door.

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulders. “You too! Go talk to Ms. Loretta, I have assignments to grade!”

Eddie laughs and ambles towards the door. He stops in the door frame and looks back at Steve who has his hands on his hips behind his desk. He wolf whistles and smiles back at him.

“See you at home big boy,” he winks. 

“Out!”

[papaemeritusiiiownsmyass]

Minou, Tobias, and Morris Forge at the Grammys 2023

[zhellers]

Do you share your NSFW account?

It's @/zhellersdark on twitter

[toodrunktofindaurl]

🔞 N/S/F/W « sketch » reward: Short Comic (2/?) is up for all $5+ Patrons!

> Click here to read <

[twinkinspector]

you know what???? i'm just gonna post it and format it later!!! megumi hand moodboard

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics), Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roy Harper Characters: Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Ollie and Connor show up in supporting roles, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Roy Harper Gets a Hug, Hospitals, Illnesses, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, Mentioned radiation poisoning, Surgery, Established Dick/Roy, offscreen vomiting Summary:

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, and aimlessly scrolled to Ollie’s contact. It was dumb. He was probably overreacting - getting sick was a normal part of life. Still, his stomach twisted in knots. He couldn’t brace himself for what was coming because he just didn’t know. He never knew with Dick, and that was fine, life and love were supposed to be unpredictable, but he didn’t want to watch everything go up in flames. Again. The past repeated itself, and Roy was just a baby the first time he narrowly escaped a wildfire.

Or, Roy hates hospitals, but he'll do anything for Dick.