#fluff-ish

[lilykatelyn-blog]

it’s me again 😍 i love your oneshots, i was gonna do another one of riki but i would like to request CEO!jay who got into a argument and ended up making out in his office chair 😍 take your time!

❤︎ Down to Business ❤︎

pairing: CEO!Jay x reader

genre: suggestive, fluff

Warnings: grinding, making out, angry Jay, CEO!jay, Jay in suit, choking kink, hand kink

summary: your boyfriend had a bad day at work, having gotten into an argument during a meeting, so when you visited him, looking so pretty in your cute dress, he couldn’t resist pulling you onto his lap and making out with you.

“I don’t care, do whatever you can and get that company! No matter how much it costs, we have the money. End of discussion.” He yelled, walking out while rubbing his temples. God, when we’re people going to be competent? He thought he only hired the best of the best but all his best were seeming like cowards. He kicked the door closed as he got into his office, sitting down in his chair and taking a big sip of the fresh coffee his annoyingly flirty assistant had left for him.

Suddenly, his buzzer buzzed, annoyed he answered it. “What is it now Katelyn?” “Sorry to disturb you boss, but there’s some girl named y/n l/n who has requested to see you.”he heard the jealousy in her voice, making him smile a bit, also at the thought of you coming to visit him. “Let her in, and don’t disturb us or let anyone in. I don’t care how urgent it could be, it can wait.” Leaving her to answer with a small ‘yes sir’ and buzz you in. He saw you enter in your pretty (f/c) dress and smiled even more at the thought of fucking you in it. “Jeong! I brought you some lunch since I figured you haven’t eaten yet, and since you were in a meeting.” Oh how cute you looked rambling on with his favorite food in your hands.

“come here babe,” he patted his lap, watching you shyly walk over and sit sideways. “You’re so sweet, y’know that?” He asked, making you giggle and look away. He pulled you closer, putting the takeout on the table and making you straddle him. Instead of speaking, he gave you a kiss, one kiss turned into two, two turned into three, three turned into a make out session. There was tongue, there was moaning, there was grinding. He moaned in your mouth as he grinder against you. “Y’know what? Fuck this, we’re going home right now so I can fuck you dumb.” He left the takeout, walking off with you to his car. Needless to say, I don’t think Katelyn flirted with him again after finding the takeout and trying to bring it to him in the car, where you two continued the make out.

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

This self indulgent af because Corneo was a nasty ass bastard and I wish I could have castrated him the moment I met him. (It’s also nice and fluffy and a little hurt and comfort for cloud because that shit was nasty af)

Zack losing his absolute shit when he finds out about the sector 6 run. Over the dress, the dance, the arena battles, the people that hit on Cloud, the gassing on Cloud (and Tifa and Aerith but mostly Cloud)

Like I can imagine him desperately wanting to go to Sector 6 just to teach Corneo a lesson but Cloud being his usual exasperated self and just dragging the man away from that situation like, “I love you but you’re an idiot. If you really wanna go or see it I’ll take you but leave Corneo out of it.”

[cinnamons1999]

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy DADWC, can I get flufftober day 6 Candles, Lanterns, Fairy lights for any male ship with Anders (or an OT3?)

Happy Friday, though I suppose it's probably Saturday by now for you! Have some Kanders slightly bittersweet fluff for @dadrunkwriting

Karl being cagey.  It was unlike him, and everything he did to try to make himself less suspicious was just doing very much the opposite.  When he literally started whistling as a Templar passed, Anders had enough.  He caught him by the arm and dragged him to the back of the chapel.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he muttered.  “Whatever you’re cooking up, it’s not -”

Karl smiled and pressed a finger to his lips.  “Not worth it?  Funny, hearing that from you.”

“Not going to work if they throw you in the dungeons,” Anders hissed, then swallowed.  “Also I want in on it.”  That was the thing that bothered him most: that Karl, of all people, was planning something, something he didn’t want the Templars finding out about, and not including him.  Him!  Anders, the notorious runaway.

He shook his head as he patted Anders’ elbow.  “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”  He demanded.  “Damn it, I can -”

Karl covered his mouth.  “Too loud.”

Anders froze, straining his ears for the sound of Templar boots.  Karl slid his hand up to cup his jaw, then kissed him quickly before dashing off.  Well, not really dashing, because truly running was practically a capital offense here.  Or at least a few days locked in the dungeon while they tore apart your bed looking for proof of sowing discontent. Karl was simply moving quickly with purpose.  That, at least, looked normal: apprentices and the more junior mages were always rushing around on the orders of their instructors.  He twisted his fingers in the edges of his sleeves, willing himself to steadiness.  It stung that Karl wasn’t involving him, but even if he hated him (which he certainly didn't’), he’d never rat out a mage for anything less than actual murder.  And even then, it would depend on who’d they’d killed.

He went through the rest of his day as calmly as he could, trying to focus on lessons and duties instead of worrying about Karl.  He spent every spare moment listening for any sounds of a scuffle, heart jumping into his throat at every noise he couldn’t immediately identify.  The afternoon stretched on with no sign of Karl, but also no rumors of anyone being ‘detained.’  And it was perfectly normal for Karl to be absent so long.  Irving was always asking him for thises and thats, even had him help tutor that Amell kid he was so fond of.

Perfectly normal not to see him at mealtime.  Perfectly normal for him to be still missing from the dormitories in the evening.  Probably still seeing to the apprentices.  Perfectly normal for them to have to forego a kiss goodnight.

Perfectly normal.

Anders stared at the ceiling as his blood pounded in his ears.  What if it wasn’t though.  Void take this.

He got up quickly and quietly, skipping the shoes.  The stone floor was almost painfully cold, but it was better than making noise.  The right-side door always squeaked, so he climbed across two rows of chests and a few sleepy offended apprentices to get to the left one, then eased it open before creeping down the hall.  He was almost to the stairs when an arm snaked out of a fucking closet and grabbed his elbow as another hand covered his mouth to muffle his startled yelp.

“Sorry, sorry,” Karl whispered.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Anders leaned into him in relief as the tension of hours of worry vanished instantly.  He turned around awkwardly in the close confines, and pressed his face to Karl’s neck.  “Is this part of your plan?”

He chuckled as he tightened his arms around him.  “Hiding in a closet?  Not exactly.”  He pressed an ear to the door, then pushed it open.  “I wanted to find you sooner, but Torrin - doesn’t matter.  Come on.”

They snuck down the hallway together, hand in hand.  No reason to pretend right now.  Not when they were running around after hours.  “How are we getting out?”

“We’re not.”

“Druffalo balls, you’re planning something,” Anders muttered scornfully.

“Never said I wasn’t.”  Karl led him down to the main floor, and the storage caverns.  “Leorah gave me a key,” he said, answering the unspoken question.  “Apparently she’s afraid of spiders?  So I take care of them for her twice a week.”  As he pressed it into the lock, he paused and gave Anders a nervous look.  “Remember the story you told me?  About the firebugs?”

“Fireflies,” he corrected with a smile.  “I watched them in the fields from on top of the barn with my mother.”   

Karl nodded and turned the key.  “I know it’s not the same, but . . .” he trailed off and he pushed the door open.

Tiny paper lanterns.  Dozens of them, at least.  All filled with tiny flickering wisps.  Anders walked in, mesmerized, and touched one reverently.  “This?  This was what you were doing all day?  While I was -” he stopped.  Saying he was worried sick all day would be too close to the truth. He licked his lips.  “Why?”  Why do this?  Why care?  Why love me?  All questions he wouldn't dare ask any more than Karl would dare answer.

“To give you a little bit of home.”  Karl hadn’t moved from the doorway, and rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly.  “I - it made more sense when I -”

Anders threw himself into his arms.  “I love it,” he whispered.  It wasn’t I love you, but it was the next best thing.

[habitual-creatures]

(( just a lil bit o' Evan fluff-ish stuff because I put him through so much, he deserves a little sweetness too. ))

Pining over scraps of my past...

Maybe if I fall asleep naturally tonight, I can see her more...

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[vehrabells]

this looks messy but cjfkdkf

Lizzie with her babies<3 🤍

[lightseoul]

ALL OUT OF LUCK

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. you had the biggest, fattest crush on bakugou katsuki in high school, which granted you weird looks and judgment from those who found out, because why, when you could fawn over prince-like todoroki or manly kirishima instead? fast forward to 10 years later, though, and now the joke’s on them, because #2 pro-hero dynamight just got dubbed the hottest bachelor of the year. but that doesn’t matter, because you’re over him now. you’ve been over him, ever since that butchered attempt at confessing where he dismissed you as a gen ed extra before you could even get the words out. so why, all of a sudden—and an entire decade later—do you have to work with him on a top-secret mission?

status. ongoing!

working tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), a lot of cussing (bkg-typical), several mentions of bullying & discrimination (quirk supremacy), reader has a quirk :0, reader is alluded to being smaller than bkg, canon-typical violence, nsfw themes (is there gonna be eventual smut? we shall see)

links. ao3 (coming soon)

꩜ .ᐟ chapter one

꩜ .ᐟ chapter two

꩜ .ᐟ chapter three

꩜ .ᐟ chapter four

꩜ .ᐟ chapter five

꩜ .ᐟ chapter six

꩜ .ᐟ chapter seven

꩜ .ᐟ chapter eight

꩜ .ᐟ chapter nine

[stevebabey]

you're the only one for me, baby

1.7k, steddie, one of them getting so drunk that they don't recognise the other and telling them back off i've already got a boyfriend, it's all sweetness <3 likely a modern!au and actually just goobers in love

Eddie doesn't really drink. He's not against partying but he's much more attuned to smoking a little weed to take the edge off, sometimes a spliff if he wants to mix a little business and pleasure.

Eddie doesn't really drink—so when he does, it goes about as well as expected.

From zero to a hundred.

Steve had lost track of him after directing his stumbling feet towards the bathroom to take a leak. But apparently, as he's now found out, this bathroom has two doors.

What the fuck kind of bathroom has two doors, like some weird thoroughfare?

Regardless, it took all of five minutes with no noises coming from the inside before Steve had loudly announced he was coming in, no matter what, getting quite worried for his boyfriend.

He trusted Eddie to not be too sloshed to handle a piss, even if he was on the wilder side tonight, but still leaned up against the door to chase off anyone else looking to knock—because Eddie hilariously gets pee-shy.

The door had opened easily, apparently unlocked, and Steve had stepped into the empty bathroom. The other door across the room, the one he hadn't noticed until now, was wide open to the party.

So, now he's on the hunt for Eddie.

Which is a task that feels a little bit like herding cats because drunk Eddie isn't something Steve has a lot of experience with. But what he does know, is this: it's the opposite of high Eddie.

Stoned, Eddie likes to find the comfiest place he can (usually Steve's lap, or so he proclaims) and sink into it, like melting wax. Then, given he has access to adequate snacks, he doesn't move for quite some time.

Drunken Eddie cannot even fathom the concept of sitting still.

Either way, looking where there's food is a good as a place to start as any.

Steve ambles out the strange two-doored bathroom and flips his head back and forth, trying to remember the direction of the kitchen. He hasn't been here before—one of Eddie's band connections—and Steve's still had a couple beers himself.

He shakes his head and takes a left, relieved when it leads to the stairs. Okay, he sort of knows where he's going now. They had only come upstairs to find the quieter bathroom for Eddie.

As Steve reaches the bottom of the stairs, a faint stir of irritation flashes through him. Eddie just left him behind? That wasn't that nice, even if he was incredibly drunk.

He can hear the din of people chattering just above the music and he follows it, leading him into the half-full kitchen, people dotted around. There's a few pizza boxes scattered around and Steve eyes each of them specifically, looking for the tell-tale wipe of Eddie's greasy fingers. No dice.

Steve wrinkles his nose, spinning around and double checking before he moves on.

If not by the food, then... where?

Steve takes a few steps forward into the living room, his heart beginning to sink and shrivel all at once. There was a miserable feeling attached to looking for his partners at a party, a wallowing and awful memory tied to the feeling.

Steve pushes a hand across his chest roughly, as if trying to shove the feeling away.

Eddie wasn't... her. Eddie wouldn't do that.

But the moment he's thought it, it's stuck in his head. Steve's feet begin to speed up, checking a little more carelessly as he starts to stick his head in different rooms, his hazel eyes jumping around. Not Eddie, not Eddie, not Eddie—so many people and none of them are Eddie.

Until—there. Steve spots a very familiar looking behind as it leans over the back of the couch, the owner of said-behind talking to someone sitting on the couch.

He blinks, just to be sure, but the details come into better focus. There's chains on his belt loops and when he shakes his head, Steve can see the curls he loves to bury his hands into.

Eddie.

Steve's relief pulls him forward, his feet almost stumbling, his mouth pulling into a relieved smile. He puts a hand out, fingers spread, across the leather-clad back.

"Eds," Steve says, relief colouring his voice.

Eddie swings up abruptly, pushing himself off the couch. When he turns, a bit of liquid sloshes out of the beer bottle he's holding.

"Heyyy," The words come out a bit slurred and when he finally stands straight, he doesn't look right at Steve. "Handsssss off the merchandise, buddy."

Steve chuckles, reaching out and plucking the bottle from his boyfriend's grasp. Eddie gawps, an adorable little hiccup interrupting his shocked expression.

"Hey," He says loudly, reaching forward for it fruitlessly as Steve pulls it out reach. "That's mine." Eddie whines.

"You've had more than enough, I think." Steve says. He steals just one gulp of it before he turns at puts it on a nearby table. When he turns back, Eddie is frowning at him, brows pulled together tightly and bottom lip jutting out.

"Listen—" Eddie leans forward, jabbing a finger into Steve's chest. "I dunnowhoyouthinkyouare," The words come out in a one big jumble and Steve frowns.

What? Something sour claws into Steve's chest at the frosty greeting.

"Eddie," Steve says, his hazel eyes wide and worried as his gaze darts between Eddie's squinted face and swaying form.

Steve reaches out to put a hand on his waist, aiming to steady him, but Eddie sees it coming and widens his eyes comically. He swerves back to avoid it, his boots tilting dangerously on the wooden floors. If he was still holding his beer, Steve bets half of it would be on the floor by now.

"Wo-oah," Eddie exaggerates, waving a hand out and batting Steve's outstretched arm away. The rottenness in Steve's chest blooms, rancid and freezing. He sucks in a sharp breath.

"Ed—"

"I—" Eddie says, holding up his hand and waggling one finger at Steve, like he's a naughty schoolboy. His words still have that drunken slur to them.

"—already have a boyfriend, thank you very much. He's much too pretty to be throwing it away for the likes of you, you weasel of a man..." His ludicrous and nonsensical insult trails off under his breath as Eddie's attention is drawn away by a shout across the room.

As he watches Eddie drape himself back over the couch, the sourness between Steve's ribs shifts, transforming into something infinitely sweeter. He lets out a dazed laugh, a wild smile spreading on his face before he can smother it beneath his hand.

I'm dating a lunatic, Steve thinks happily.

He reaches out and steals Eddie's beer once more, taking another large swig before giving it another go.

This time, he sidles up beside Eddie who's engaged back in conversation with one of the guys on the couch, and just waits. It only takes a minute before the dude on the couch seems to realise who Steve's waiting for and he nudges Eddie, gesturing behind him.

Eddie, still bent over the back of the couch, twists only his head to look. This time, the recognition is immediate.

He springs up, pushing the couch forward an inch in his excitement and leaps forward, his hands clawing into Steve's shoulder with a fierce delight.

"Steeeeve," Eddie croons, crowding in close. His hands start moving, fingers searching like curious spiders, fingertips dancing along the sensitive skin of Steve's neck til he's squirming back, laughter betraying him.

"Stop it." He laughs. Steve arrests Eddie's wrists in his hand and Eddie cackles, using the pause to surge forward, kissing him square on the mouth.

Eddie tastes like the beer he's been drinking and Steve barely gets a moment to enjoy it before Eddie's pulling back, leaning forward so they're forehead to forehead.

"I was looking for you." Eddie says, his doe eyes wide. His pupils grow larger the longer he stares at Steve.

Steve grins. "Uh huh. Looking for me between the couch cushions, were you?"

Eddie rears back, his head flipping as he stares back at the couch and then back at Steve. "Nuh uh. I came out the bathroom and you were goooone."

That explains it. Eddie must have left out the other door — and then thought Steve had left him behind and gone hunting for him. Something else settles in Steve's chest, relieved.

"And—" Eddie hiccups. "—and some guy tried to- to freakin' flirt with me. Can you believeee?"

Steve's grin widens by a mile. "Is that so? What you'd tell him?"

"No, of course!" Eddie says, head pulled back as if he's appalled Steve would think otherwise. He shakes his hands out of Steve's grip and drops them, fumbling for a moment to get his fingers into Steve's belt loops.

When he does, he yanks Steve forward a tad too forcefully, their bodies colliding in a way that's more sore than sexy. Eddie continues on as if he doesn't notice. "Even if he was particularly tasty," He murmurs, his lips tracing the column of Steve's throat.

"I let him know, baby." Eddie all but purrs.

And perhaps if the competition Eddie was beating off was literally anyone other than himself, Steve would be right there with him.

Instead, he can't contain his snort of laughter. Eddie was perfect; he was a possessive and drunken dog, barking up the wrong damn tree. Steve loves him.

"You're laughing," Eddie states plainly, even as his doe eyes manage to grow even more round. Steve can't help it, it just makes him laugh more.

"Treason." Eddie declares. Then using the belt loops to keep Steve captive, he leans in and blows a raspberry on his neck.

Steve lets out an unattractive squawk, his laughter melting into Eddie's as he pushes his boyfriend's face away — to which Eddie simply lets himself go limp, his face cradled and held up solely by Steve's hands.

"Christ," Steve says between his laughs, shifting his hand to hold him more tenderly. Eddie smiles dopely, then puckers his lips and closes his eyes.

Steve rolls his eyes, entirely too endeared. "Alright, c'mere," He gives in, leaning and kissing Eddie, short and sweet. When he pulls back, Eddie's eyes are open, starry and gazing up at him. He gives a dreamy sounding sigh. Steve's heart fizzles, like it's full of pop-rocks.

"Ready to go?"

"As long as it's with you, baby." Eddie says, sounding every bit like he means it.

[luveline]

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k] 

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision. 

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice. 

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick." 

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?" 

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?" 

"What?" 

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound. 

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges." 

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer. 

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you." 

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you." 

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you." 

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool. 

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that." 

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?" 

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too. 

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?" 

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?" 

"Did you?" 

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely. 

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time." 

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to. 

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm. 

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt." 

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second. 

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight. 

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours. 

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks. 

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it. 

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like." 

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"It doesn't hurt?" 

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign." 

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do. 

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out. 

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap." 

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke. 

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though." 

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you. 

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies. 

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks. 

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively. 

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too." 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest. 

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please." 

"I'm really warm." 

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there. 

You take a deep breath. 

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone. 

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls. 

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side. 

"Look up," he murmurs. 

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes. 

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.  

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake. 

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair. 

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore. 

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight. 

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters. 

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face. 

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask. 

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?" 

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch. 

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please." 

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs. 

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?" 

"What for?" 

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him. 

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel. 

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?" 

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it. 

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?" 

"I didn't know they weren't real." 

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up." 

Your mind blanks. 

"Make sure I can hide it," you say. 

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole. 

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking. 

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return. 

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't. 

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be. 

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?" 

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light. 

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens. 

"Was that so hard?" he asks. 

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness. 

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have." 

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you." 

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself. 

"I'm not good?" you ask. 

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders. 

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face. 

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks. 

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped. 

Wiped, but good. Lax. 

"That was nice," you say breathlessly. 

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile. 

"You're like a dead fish." 

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over." 

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started." 

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth. 

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug. 

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked." 

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened. 

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea." 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

[rinnstars]

(cherish) my love!

treasuring how youre always there for him

itoshi rin x reader: sugary-sweet fluff, slight insecurity on his part, rins pov, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated! <3

maybe, he’s getting to used to this - your hands brushing through his hair as he lies on your chest humming to the rhythm of your heartbeat that syncs with him, his bed that no longer fits just him with a dent reminding him of your constant presence in his life as you constantly orbit around his world, his bag that changed from a plain black bag to one that featured silly keychains that hung your favourite character’s plushie and whatnot that matched perfectly with yours.

sure, he can barely remember the days you weren’t here, having being friends with him since you two were kids with you having been assigned as the so-called “good kid” to deal with him who was deemed the “troublemaker”. sitting with you during playtime felt natural, chatting about strange topics as you smile and laughed at his weird phrasings that soon transitioned to sitting right beside him again for years straight in school, and now right beside him on his bed - it must be fate he thinks. the world has dictated you to be with him for the rest of yours and his life, he thinks, the one good thing that has came out of this life. you were here when those kids at the playground shunned him and outcasted him for being a little (very) destructive to their toys choosing to sit down and chat with him at the swings, you were there in his room during that winter where he could barely look at you through his swollen and red eyes as you visit him everyday without fail despite the heavy snow that flooded his windows, you were there when he lost to isagi in that match as tears streamed down that shined underneath the moonlight into the milk tea you bought him as you two walked back home slowly with yours and his playlist in the background that strangely calmed him. youre the only constant in his life, even more than his brother that he swore would be a permanent in his life with a naive pinkie promise, even more than his parents that seem to come home less and less as each competition passes by, even more than his teammates that whispers about him behind his back that he pretends to ignore as he leaves to meet you at the bus stop.

he doesn’t know what he would do if you one day leave - whether that is leaving japan to go overseas to study that he knows logically would be beneficial to you, whether that is by time and distance that people say is inevitable and unpreventable, or worst simply because you fell out of love with him. hes selfish, but not stupid - he knows hes not exactly the best boyfriend, sometimes he gets too engrossed in his passion and loses touch with reality and neglect you even with your head on his shoulder, he knows hes not exactly the best at expressing himself even despite you being here since the very beginning, and he knows you can do better than him.

but for now, he thinks he’ll treasure every sign of presence of you. he’ll keep those silly trinkets you pass to him, each a sign of love that he cherishes no matter how small - paper hearts and rings you fold right next to him during class whenever you get bored of listening as he sits beside you playing another game underneath his desk, keychains you and him get from claw machines or as rewards from the arcade that he puts in a special little box placed right on his table that is his real treasure, sweets that you introduced to him that got him addicted to the flavourful and sugary-sweet burst as he can’t help but bite into it every time that resemble the burst of butterflies in his stomach and burst in his heart whenever he sees you at the bus stop every morning. he’ll treasure every single non-physical sign of love too - playlist on spotify that he downloaded and play every day in his ear piece that he is practically addicted to, kisses that he can still feel the touch of your lips on his every morning that leaves a invisible mark on his lips and his heart, time you take out of your life to be with him, lunch with him in class rather than with your other friends, waiting for him to finish football practice that could have been used to sleep soundly in your room rather than the old seats in the school that leaves your back sore. he’ll memorise every single moment with you - your first kiss right at the bus stop you still meet at every morning at the place he religiously stands at as he waits for you to reach running as you “woke up late again”, every lunch break with you right beside him eating food you and him respectively brought from home from biscuits to packed bento boxes or just a sweet treat of sugary buttery bread respectively talking about everything and anything that he feels like his true self, every date no matter where: arcade as you two play game whilst he tries his best to impress, in his or your room just basking in your presence, at the playground with convenience store food, cafes that you somehow know, library as he stare at your focused face whilst studying as he resist the urge to kiss you again. and he’ll keep you in his heart for the rest of eternity - each bite and kiss on his neck and lips transfer right onto his secretly glass-like heart that yearns for a little more, each merging of hands that gets his heart pumping at how your hands fit perfectly with his like two puzzle piece matching, and each time your heart syncs with him as he listens to your heart whether in class or right in his room where no one else is here but you and him.

the future is uncertain - glancing at the suitcase that is still messy and open from his recent visit back home from blue lock with his pxg jersey right on you that fits you strangely well he thinks with bright red ears and cheeks, glancing at your changing self with different hair and glasses than the last time he saw you that he wished to experience with you, but he hopes no matter what, that necklace you share with him with a heart, no, his very own heart hanging right onto your neck will stay there forever.

and now, all he can do is to show you back the same dedication, to stay right beside you, to be yours until the end of time as you had always been. he’ll be your supporting figure in your life - staying right beside you until late in the library and walk you right back home, helping you carry groceries and your school bag as you go wherever, walk with you until the end of the earth if you simply asked him to without asking why. he’ll show it to the best he can - wearing and hanging every single gift you give him: keychains, silly bracelets, and every kiss that litters on him that leaves a purple blue mark. and he’ll tell it to you - through love letters in sticky notes or right on the school foolscap paper that reads the words hes too shy and afraid to say that translates his deep unspoken devotion and love to you, through compliments and i love yous that he promises doesn’t reveal the true extent of his feelings for you either seeming too shallow and superficial to underscore the grip you have on his heart and lungs, with his actions: dropping to his knees to tie your shoe lace, letting you do whatever to him from hair clips in his hair to painting his nails to piggy back rides he doesn’t want to admit sends him practically into cardiac arrest. he might not be perfect, far from it in his insecurity mind that creeps and bites away at every sweet moment, criticising his every move - but for you, he’ll keep trying as much as he does for football to be the only one for you. he’ll memorise every bit of you - your favourite food and orders at shops you frequent with him kept in the notes app in his phone that is underneath a layer of password, the exact shape and mould of your body that he melts his hand right into on afternoons like this where you’re within arms range as he embraces you, each and every of your small quirk - from the way your voice leaves your mouth so sweetly and perfectly as though youre carved and made y god himself, from the way you move that has him hypnotised, from the way you look at him that dries his mouth and practically sends him right into heaven. he’ll serve you as a knight would - carry all your things without hesitation as you two walk out of class on top of the strangely heavy school bag on his shoulder, shield you with an umbrella from the cold and harsh rain that leaves the other him completely drenched as you reach completely dry, hell, he’ll ride his bicycle. with you right beside him hugging him that practically could leave his nose bleeding.

he may not be the best boyfriend, but he’ll do whatever it takes to be the only one you’ll ever have - your name practically tattooed right inside his heart and brain with not a single spot for anyone else in his life that he built a wall sky high to protect his heart, the key to his world given right to you and several others just in case you lose it, and your face in his mind every single second on the field with only a wish to do it for you with every step and every kick that lands right into the goalpost. now that he knows what loneliness is like, the days in blue lock where he can only see you through photos you so kindly send him, he doesn’t ever want this to change no matter how selfish it is - he thinks he might simply die from heartbreak alone with you being his real heart compared to his biological one, he thinks he’ll practically be left a shell of his previous ambitious self practically wasting his life away in his room listening to that playlist as he lies right with his own blood pooling around him with his guts and organs strewn a haphazardly around him as though hes back on that field that winter, he’ll no longer be itoshi rin, anyone but his true self that he can be only with you.

but for now, he’ll bury his head right into your chest, your hands still ruffling with his hair, ignoring the thoughts in his mind in favour of your heartbeat that still syncs up with his, melting right into this moment.

[juniper-clan]

Moon 14: Birth of Venus

(AKA the twins!)

PREVIOUS l NEXT

[hanafubukki]

Summary: You never expected your cute bunny costume to elicit this type of reaction from Lilia Vanrouge.

After returning from Deuce’s hometown, you and Silver decided to show off your costumes to Lilia and the others.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the time. Lilia commented how cute the outfits were while taking a bunch of pictures.

But you knew something was off as you spoke to Malleus, seeing those magenta eyes watching your every move.

A shiver went up your spine.

You swore you saw a fanged smirk from the corner of your eye.

Breath in.

Breathe out.

Melodic laughter fill the air as you ran.

You remember how Lilia cornered you right before this game of his.

Hand cupping your face as he leaned into you, “Run, my cute rabbit, run as fast as you can.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You knew he was playing with you.

Could catch you any minute.

The light touch at your back or your ears teased how close he is to you this whole time.

How it was his choice to allow you to run.

But if you turned this corner…

A stream of water came to view.

“Oh?”

You flung yourself into the water as quick as you could.

The air stilled.

Before laughter broke out.

“Clever little prey. I went too easy on you.”

“I caught you~”

Fuck.

You were so close.

Gasps filled the air.

Clawed fingers wipes the tears clinging to your lashes.

Your outfit in tatters around you.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle escape him.

You were such a cunning prey.

And now? Such a delicious one.

He wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.

You had his blood pumping during the hunt and he planned on using this extra energy on you.

“Lilia…”

“Hm?”

“Plea- Ah!”

“Not yet Beloved, I’m far from done.”

His hunger was far from satisfied.

Oh Bunny event, how you entice me so with bunnies💞💞💚💚

[wikiangela]

I'll be spending all Christmases with you

written for @bucktommywinterfest

prompt: first [insert winter holiday/tradition] together

rated: G

word count: 3.1k

[also on Ao3]

Buck shows up at Tommy’s house right after his shift ends, comes in without knocking – Tommy doesn’t seem to mind, always just smiling fondly in response – kicks off his shoes and drops his duffel bag next to them, and goes straight to the kitchen, two full grocery bags in hands. “You’re off on Christmas, right?” Buck asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks into the kitchen, where he knows Tommy is, based on the amazing smells and the sounds of cooking and music playing quietly.  “Hey, honey, how was your day?” Tommy answers, amused, from where he’s stirring in a pot on the stove. He eyes the bags Buck brought and put on the counter, but doesn’t say anything yet. “Mine was fine, a little boring, I missed you.”  “Yeah, yeah, okay, hi, I missed you, too.” Buck rolls his eyes as he walks over to Tommy to kiss him sweetly. “So, you’re not working on Christmas?” “No, for once I’m not.” Tommy turns towards Buck, holding up a spoon with sauce on it to his lips. “Try it?” “Mmmm.” Buck exclaims when he takes the spoon into his lips. “So good.” Tommy smiles in response, turns to put the spoon away and lower the heat. “I was thinking of taking overtime, though.” “What? When?” “On Christmas.” Tommy shrugs, but he’s not looking at Buck, apparently deciding it’s time to start cleaning the mess he made while cooking. “Why?” Buck frowns. “Well, I don’t have plans. When I’m off on Christmas, I usually take overtime so someone who actually has a family can take a day off.” His tone is carefully neutral, and if Buck didn’t know him any better, he might've missed the note of sadness. He tries to turn away to the sink, which is full of dishes he’s used. But before he can fully turn, Buck grabs his waist and brings him closer to himself, Tommy’s back against Buck’s chest. “Baby, you do have plans.” Buck whispers in his ear, pressing a kiss to his jaw. It breaks his heart to think that this amazing man has been spending all his holidays working, because he didn’t have someone to spend it with. That’s about to change. If Buck has it his way, Tommy will always have a family to celebrate any and all holidays with. Buck is his family now, and he needs Tommy to finally believe that. “We’re spending our first Christmas together, I thought that was obvious.” “Oh. I thought- I know I got an invite for Christmas Eve dinner at your firehouse, but I thought the actual holiday-” “You thought wrong.” Buck interrupts, easily turning Tommy to face him. “Maddie invited us for dinner at their place on Christmas.”

“As in, us both?” Tommy asks, skeptical. Whoever hurt him in his life to make him think he’s so undeserving of love and affection and people actually wanting him around and to spend time with him – Buck wants to kick their asses.

“Yes, us both,” he rolls his eyes. “What, you think I’m gonna drag you along uninvited?”

“And you- you want me to go?” Tommy asks, frowning, as if confused. Buck really is about to ask for a list of everyone who ever wronged him. He’s never seen his boyfriend this doubtful and insecure, not this outwardly before. 

“Tommy. Why on earth wouldn’t I want you to go?” He asks incredulously.

“I don’t know. It’s a family thing, right?” Tommy looks down, cheeks pink. 

“Yeah. And you’re a part of this family now. You know that, right?” Buck asks, reaches out to grab Tommy’s chin and make him look him in the eyes. There’s a panicked look in his eyes when he does. “It’s important to me that you know that. The 118, Maddie and Chim and Jee, me. I’m your family, if you let me. And you’re gonna let me, too late to back out now,” he adds teasingly, mostly a joke, and it does get Tommy to chuckle. But he’s more serious than he’s letting on. Tommy has his whole heart by now. Buck wants him forever, wants everything with him, wants to move in together, wants to get married, have kids, get a dog – just everything. He wants to grow old together, wants to- he wants to share Christmas traditions and start new ones, just theirs, and continue them for years and years and years. He thinks it’s too much to say just yet, too scary even for him sometimes, the intensity and enormousness of those feelings almost overwhelming at times. 

“Oh.” Tommy blinks. “I- Okay. I mean, if they won’t mind me joining-”

“Again,” Buck interrupts, ���we all want you there. So, are you coming with me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He breathes out, as if he still has trouble believing he’s being included. “God, sorry.” Tommy groans, buries his face in Buck’s neck. “I just- I’ve never spent Christmas with a partner before. It feels- big. And I guess I’m panicking a little bit.” His voice is muffled by Buck’s skin, his arms clinging to Buck’s back. 

“That’s okay. I get it, it does feel big. We can panic together,” he runs a soothing hand down Tommy’s back, and feels him chuckle, and then press a soft kiss to the side of Buck’s neck. He’s just glad Tommy’s not running away, that Buck didn’t scare him off with all the family talk. He tends to go all in too soon, and sometimes, usually, it doesn’t work out well. But Tommy’s still here, telling him he’s panicking, communicating, so they can get through any freak outs together. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Tommy pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Just took me off guard. I’d love to spend Christmas with you and the Hans.”

“Great.” Buck grins.

“So, what’s that?” Tommy nods his head in the direction of the grocery bags.

“Oh!” Buck lets Tommy go and goes to start unpacking the bags, pulling out all the ingredients he bought. There are too many kinds of flour, a lot of chocolate chips, sprinkles, sugar – to name a few. “We’re gonna make Christmas cookies.”

“It’s a month until Christmas, sweetheart.” Tommy chuckles.

“I know that. We need to try out different recipes, though. I found a few and I’m not sure which one we’ll like best.” He says, feeling Tommy’s gaze on him as he pulls out everything out of the bag. “I used to always bake cookies with Maddie on Christmas Eve. My parents weren’t really in the holiday spirit, like, ever, and it makes sense now, but, you know.” He shrugs. He told Tommy his family history, his family secret, they shared bits and pieces about their lives by now. Tommy gets it. “Anyway, I figured, since it’s our first Christmas, of many,” he adds, looking back at Tommy expecting panic in his face, and there are traces of it still, but mostly he looks fond, hopeful, “we could share some traditions, and maybe do something new. I wanted a new recipe, though, something that we choose together.”

“Really? We’re gonna bake a crazy amount of cookies just so we can decide on a recipe together?” Tommy asks, and when Buck turns towards him, he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“I know it’s silly, okay?” Buck rolls his eyes. “But I want it to be perfect, and I want it to be our thing.”

“Okay.” Tommy smiles, that fond smile of his on his face. “You’re adorable.” He adds, and Buck grins, feeling heat in his cheeks. He’ll never get used to compliments from Tommy, they always make him feel so giddy inside. Tommy makes him feel that way. Like he’s floating in the clouds. And at the same time, like he’s the most grounded he’s ever been, like he can finally put down his roots somewhere. He can really finally see himself doing that. He sees forever in Tommy’s eyes, in his crinkling smile. “When do you wanna start?”

“We can make the first batch after dinner.” Buck shrugs. “If you’re not tired."

“I’m not the one who just finished a shift an hour ago.” Tommy chuckles. “If you’re not tired, sure, let’s do it.” Tommy says, then turns to check on dinner, while Buck starts putting all the groceries away exactly in places they should be – well, he’s rearranged some things since they started dating, but Tommy says he got used to it and likes it better this way. One time he said he likes his space being so full of Buck. It was so sweet Buck kissed him about it, and then had to suck him off about it right there in the kitchen. 

“So,” Buck starts after a moment of silence, only quiet music playing, “you got any traditions you wanna do?” He asks, not wanting to do just his own traditions. It’s supposed to be their first holiday together, he wants to incorporate both of their traditions, and merge them, and maybe one day they’ll transform into something else or get replaced by things they come up with together. But that’s years down the line, and they gotta start somewhere.

“Uh, we didn’t actually do much for Christmas.” Tommy says, and when Buck looks at him, he sees a sad smile on his face, as he starts to plate their food. “When I was little, maybe. I remember having a tree, but not much more.” He pauses, thinking. “I mean, one thing I do remember, pretty vividly, is this thing I used to do with my mom, before she died,” he sighs, turns to Buck, but doesn’t look him in the eye, gaze somewhere on the floor. “We used to take those walks around the neighborhood and watch how people decorated their houses. We used to compare and judge them like it’s some kind of competition.” He laughs, a faraway look on his face, like he’s back in time, with his mom, in those happy memories. “It was so much fun, those are some of my favorite Christmas memories,” he admits.

“That sounds nice.” Buck says quietly, abandoning the groceries to walk closer to Tommy, leans against the counter next to him.

“It really was. But then after she died-” his face drops, he swallows hard and audibly, “we stopped doing Christmas at all. My dad- he was never the same without her. He was never particularly great, but after she was gone, it all became worse.” He shakes his head. Buck’s heard some stories already, he has a pretty good idea of what Tommy means. “One year I got some old Christmas lights from the attic and put them in my room. I just wanted some Christmas spirit, you know? Feel closer to my mom again, in a way, she loved Christmas. But I got chewed out for that. So I just- I stopped celebrating as well.” He shrugs, looks up at Buck. “Anyway, sorry, my point is, watching people’s decorations was one of my favorite things to do during the holidays,” he cracks a smile, trying to shrug off all the sadness in his face, not show how it’s still affecting him. Buck can’t help himself, he wraps his arms around Tommy and just holds him. Tommy sighs, slumps against him.

“Okay,” Buck whispers, “so we’ll do that this year, if you want to. We’ll go for a walk and judge people’s houses after dinner,” he says and hears Tommy laugh. 

“Sounds good,” Tommy pulls away, a grateful smile on his face.

“And we need to decorate the house, too. And we need a tree!” Buck exclaims, already doing mental inventory of every piece of decorations he has, and everything they need to buy. “We can put it in the corner next to the TV. Or move the armchair and-” He tries to move away to walk to the living room and start planning, but Tommy grabs his hand and stops him. He vaguely registers that he’s talking about Tommy’s house like it’s theirs, but when he looks at Tommy, he doesn’t see the panic anymore. There’s a fond smile on his face. 

“Let’s eat dinner first, okay? And then we can start planning.”

“Okay.” Buck smiles sheepishly. They each grab a plate and go to sit down at the small table by the wall.

They get to eating, talking about their days, their ankles intertwined under the table. It’s always so easy with Tommy, getting lost in conversation, topics never ending. Tommy always gives him his undivided attention, listening intently with the fondest smile, even when Buck goes on a tangent about something totally silly and unrelated. Also, Buck just loves this part of the day, he doesn’t think he’s had that in a while. This – coming home to a person he loves, talking about their day, having them genuinely interested and truly get it – and hear about their day, their job, everything they’ve done on their day off. Just having someone to come home to. He loves this part.

“So, here’s the plan,” Buck starts about halfway through dinner, getting back on topic, “we’re gonna make cookies a few days before, and then on Christmas we’re gonna have dinner at Maddie’s, watch Jee open presents. We’re gonna be the coolest uncles and spoil her by getting her every single thing she asked for, by the way.” He adds casually, noting Tommy’s eyes widen at the mention of ‘uncles’ plural. One day Buck will make him believe he’s a part of this family now. He’s an uncle now, whether he likes it or not. It’s not even because of Buck – last time he was at Maddie’s, Jee asked him, verbatim, where uncle Tommy is. “I have a list, and I’m gonna need your help.”

“Okay.” Tommy whispers, an awed expression on his face. Like he still can’t quite believe Buck means it. 

“We’re also gonna kiss under every mistletoe branch in Maddie and Chim’s house,” Buck continues, “and trust me, there’s gonna be a lot.” He grins. He always finds it ridiculous and kind of sweet how Chim goes overboard on mistletoe just to have a cute excuse to kiss his wife at any opportunity, as if he couldn’t do that anyway. “And then we’ll go for a walk together and judge people’s houses. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect.” Tommy says, that fond smile back on his face. “I can’t wait.”

“And-” Buck hesitates, but then decides to just go for it, hoping he won’t scare Tommy away. “Maybe next year, or whenever we move in together, we can host.” 

“Next year?” Tommy raises his eyebrows, his voice shaking slightly. God, maybe that was too much, Buck just freaked him out. “Move in?”

“Sorry.” Buck shakes his head. “I know this is a lot and too fast, but- but I’m sure of this, of us, of my feelings for you. And I know I want us to spend the next Christmas together. And the next, and the next, and all the holidays after that.” He says, confident and sure, watching Tommy’s face shift between panic and affection. “But we can talk about it when time comes. Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“No, no, I’m not- okay, maybe I am a little bit.” Tommy chuckles, raises his arm to scratch at the nape of his neck, like he does when he’s nervous. “I’m just surprised. And I- I want that so bad, Evan, I’ve never wanted anything more. It’s just- let’s take it one day at a time for now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck smiles. “Whatever you want.” He swallows the three little words that have been threatening to spill for weeks now. He’ll say it soon. It’s not time yet, he’s already scaring Tommy enough with his plans for the future. They have time. Buck’s not going anywhere, he’ll be here and he’ll make it work. Maybe he needs to slow down a little, match Tommy’s pace better, he can do that. But there’s no doubt in his mind that Tommy is his forever. 

It’s a few days before Christmas that they make cookies in Tommy’s kitchen, having settled on a recipe after a few tries. Tommy puts on some Christmas music and sings off-key and sways a little as he kneads the dough. Buck stands beside him, watches him with a soft smile, as he’s cutting out cookies from the first portion of dough. Tommy has flour on his nose and cheek, a happy smile on his face, and that sparkle in his eye that Buck’s not sure he’s seen before. He thinks Tommy’s getting his love for Christmas back. There’s a huge tree in the living room, dressed up in so many decorations and lights, a mountain of presents already under it, most for his niece. The entire front yard is brightly lit by lights around the trees, along the fence, a big, lit up Santa, and some other knicknacks they accumulated in the past few weeks. There’s hot cocoa in mugs on the counter, a Christmas movie waiting for them to finish the cookies, and cosy blankets spread out on the couch. It feels festive and warm, and like home and family. Buck’s never been happier, and he’s never seen Tommy happier, either. 

In a few days they’ll go spend Christmas with Buck’s sister and brother-in-law and niece, and a few days after that he’ll welcome the new year by kissing Tommy, ensuring that he’ll spend the next year kissing him, too – if someone believes in superstitions and sometimes Buck really does. He thinks the holidays this year are the best in his life. And he can’t wait to see how much better it’s gonna get each year he gets to do this with Tommy. 

But for now, they bake cookies, and once they’re in the oven, Buck grabs Tommy's hand and turns up the music, and they dance in the kitchen, among the mess, covered in flour and dough, badly singing along to Christmas music and stepping on each other’s toes, and laughing, and it’s absolutely perfect.

They dance to Christmas songs and make a mess while baking cookies, followed by a Christmas movie marathon with hot cocoa for years to come – when they move in together, when two matching rings show up on their fingers, when a set of tiny footsteps and helper hands joins them a few years later, and then another one. It becomes Buck’s favorite thing about the holidays – his family, warmth, laughter, love. His heart is so full. It can’t get better than this.

[also on Ao3]

[fallbhind]

i found obx themed perfumes so umm guess whos on that waitlist for the next drop!!! also for the crybaby thing uhh idk have a stuffed animal get decapitated or smth 💀

CRYBABY.ᐟREADER crying over a stuffed animal . . .

all rafe heard was the sniffles coming from the bedroom, automatically making him think the worse. but no, when he got into the bedroom, it was just a chunky bear with it's head decapitated, and honestly. it was very.. taunting. the beady eyes just staring. "what happened?" he questioned, walking over to you after breathing a breath of relief you weren't hurt. physically, at least.

"i tried washin' my bear 'n when i got it out the fabric caught and the head came off." you cried, letting out a soft whimper. "i didn't mean to." you shook your head as your bottom lip trembled. rafe was no seamstress, but he was sure you could just sew it back. you held the bears body. and it's head.

he patted your back gently, "we can sew it later once your calmed down." he rubbed your back, pulling you in the bed beside him. he messaged your scalp to bring you to a state of relaxation, but carefully enough so he didn't overstimulate you.

[pipwritesoccasionally]

midnight emotions (two little lines pt. 2)

in which your stepson has a bad dream and you feel guilty.

this one has less to do with your pregnancy but it is still relevant!

toji x reader (same stuff from last time applies, technically AFAB because of pregnancy but it's also a world with sorcery so I am not here to stop AMAB people. kept it pretty gender neutral, but let me know if it doesn't seem like it.)

wc: 850

pt. 1 pt.3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the darkness floods your eyes as you blink awake for the second time that night. body aching, you roll over, feet fluffing the carpet of you and toji’s bedroom. your arms reach up, exposing your growing stomach to the cold air. 

as you stand, the bed creaks, and you hear your husband groan. 

“doll?” his voice is low from sleep, and you place your hand on his arm. 

“i’m good. i just have to pee.” 

“again? you went two hours ago,” you’d never think that toji could be so whiny, but it sure was a very cute surprise. 

“babe, a whole human is growing next to my bladder. i’m going to be peeing all the time for the next few months,” you chuckle, and you hear him roll over on the bed. 

“fine. see you soon.” 

with that, you begin your walk to the bathroom, able to navigate the dark hallways perfectly after following this routine for weeks. after doing your business, you walk back down the hall, but this time you find that it’s much easier. 

in fact, there’s a light on in one of the bedrooms, which you quickly discern to be megumi’s. you knock, hearing a little “come in” on the other side. 

“megumi? what are you doing up?” you whisper, seeing him sitting up in bed. he furiously rubs his hands with his face, and the sight brings tears to your eyes. 

“i…had a bad dream.” he says, his little voice full of sadness. you move to kneel next to his bed, hoping to reassure him. 

“what happened? you can talk to me about it, if you want. or i can get your dad if you’d prefer.” he shakes his head, but still seems to hesitate. 

“dad’s not going to…leave us, will he?” worry strikes through you. 

“never. what would make you think that?”

“i don’t know, i guess i just wish we could see him more. he’s always pretty busy and only comes home for dinner.” another tear falls down his little face, and you can feel one mirror on your own. curse your hormones. 

“he’s busy, yes, but it’s because he’s trying to provide for you as best as he can. he just wants you to be happy,” megumi nods, but you can see that there’s still something on his mind. 

“it’s just that…when the baby comes, will he still have time for us?” your heart brakes at his statement, guilt shattering you. 

“of course he will. i promise you that he will always have time for you. he can be gruff, but he loves you.” 

“pinky promise?” he holds his little pinky out, and you immediately hook your much larger one around it. 

“pinky promise. now go back to bed. if you’re tired in the morning, let me know and i’ll call you out of school.” he nods, and you walk to the door, turning his light off. 

“sleep tight kiddo.” the door closes with a soft click!, and you immediately head back to your shared bedroom. your face feels wet, and you realize belatedly that you’d been crying. 

the bed is comforting, but you feel your breaths come out shakily. 

“doll? what’s wrong?” you jump, not realizing your husband’s still awake, and scoot in closer. 

“megumi’s worried that you won’t have time for him once the baby comes, and i feel so guilty. i didn’t even think about how this would affect them.” you’re hiccuping now, and his large hand comes to rest on your back. 

“you didn’t do anything wrong, i should be here more for them.” he whispers, and you shake your head. 

“no, you’re just doing what you can to help us.” he sighs, and you place your head on his chest. 

“yeah, but maybe it’s not enough. i’ll try to cut back on how many jobs i take weekly so i can be here more. we make more than enough money between the two of us anyways.” 

you hum, remembering exactly why you fell in love with him all those years ago. he isn’t exactly the most open person, but he does love his kids in his own way. 

“you need to stop being so cute. this isn’t good for my blood pressure,” he snorts, squeezing you lightly. 

“cute, huh? never thought someone would call me cute,” you laugh at him, wrapping your arms around his body. 

“why wouldn’t they? you just ooze cuteness, from your thick biceps and rippling abs-” 

“i’m starting to think you might be in love with me.” you can just hear the grin in his voice, and you move to roll away before one of his strong arms stops you. 

“ah-ah,” he tuts, “need my doll next to me so i can protect her.” 

“you sure you’re not the one in love with me?” his chest is firm as you run your fingers across it. 

“you wish,” he presses a kiss against your temple, and your body heats up. you huff, feigning annoyance, and his hand comes to cup your face. 

“fine. i might be in love with you. just a little bit."

[mcdynamite]

When everything settles down after Vecnapocalypse, Steve gets a call from the athletic director at Hawkins High School, and a day later, he accepts a part-time position as the assistant coach of the Hawkins High varsity basketball team.

Lucas is obviously stoked, and the other kids concede (after a few minutes of bemoaning Steve's return to the Dark Side) that it's a perfect job for him. Robin screeches with delight, and Nancy tells him she's proud of him, and Jonathan thumps him on the back with a quiet, "Congrats, man," and Eddie?

Well, Eddie just rolls his eyes and makes a joke about the Return of the King that goes right over Steve's head (but has the kids and, wouldn't ya know it, Nancy, grinning) and doesn't say much else.

It's probably stupid, but Eddie has actually (horrifyingly) grown to like hanging out with Steve. Sure, he knows next to nothing about D&D or Lord of the Rings or metal music, but that doesn't seem to matter all that much. He still listens to Eddie rant about all of those aforementioned interests and does his best to understand, even if he doesn't particularly care about the content of Eddie's latest campaign. He lets Eddie play Dio and Metallica and Black Sabbath for him, and even though Eddie can tell he's not really into most of their music, at the end of his "Musication" he gives Eddie a list of the songs he actually liked, so they have some stuff to listen to when they hang out that won't make one of them want to puncture their own eardrums.

He even looks genuinely apologetic (and, dare Eddie say, disappointed?) when he tells Eddie that it's not that he doesn't want to read Lord of the Rings. It's just that he can't, because reading is really fucking hard when the letters won't stop jumping all over the damn place.

The point is: Eddie likes Steve. He likes Steve's sarcastic quips and his attentiveness, and his hilarious but well-meaning and frighteningly successful mothering of the teenagers they apparently co-parent. Eddie likes Steve, and he likes being his friend, and he's afraid that this stupid Assistant Coach job will end up dragging Steve headfirst back into his King Steve days, and Steve will forget all about being friends with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

It's so, so stupid, because while Eddie likes Steve, he also knows Steve, and he knows that Steve isn't the guy who used to hang around the Tommy Hagans of the world anymore. But the fear is there, and it's still there by the time the school year starts and Steve starts getting busy "prepping" for his new job, which... what? The basketball season doesn't start until January, so what the hell kind of prep would Steve be starting in August?

Eddie wonders, but he doesn't ask. He just anxiously waits to see if Steve will eventually decide to ditch him, and he continues to be quietly delighted when Steve always, always makes time for the two of them to hang out.

The thought of Steve going back into jock-mode still makes him kinda sick, but he'll never tell Steve that. Steve is way too excited for the start of the basketball season, and Eddie is gonna support him the same way Steve supports Eddie at his Corroded Coffin concerts: with begrudging interest and genuine pride, so help him God.

It goes on like this until one day, Eddie's begrudging interest suddenly becomes a little more genuine, when he accidentally stumbles upon what Steve meant for the last three months whenever he said he was "prepping for the season." 

He's got plans to hang out with Steve that afternoon, pulling up in his van fifteen minutes late because time management has never been one of his strong suits. Only, when he gets to Casa Harrington, he notices something strange. The garage is open.

The thing is, Steve always parks the Beemer in the driveway. He never uses the garage. Actually, Eddie didn't even realize Steve had a garage at all, until now, but he hears some clanging coming from inside and goes to investigate. He walks past the Beemer (parked in the driveway where it always is) and peers inside, expecting to maybe find Steve... repairing something? Reorganizing? Honestly, he has no clue what he thinks he'll find in there.

What he definitely doesn't expect to find is Steve Harrington in the middle of what appears to be a pretty fucking intense workout – hair and tank top damp with sweat, wearing frankly indecently short shorts, and breathing steadily as he does fucking pull-ups on the bar in his garage, which has apparently been converted into a whole goddamn home gym.

Eddie stops in his tracks and stares, affording himself a moment or two to have a teeny, tiny (enormous) crisis over it.

Steve hasn't noticed him yet, and Eddie can't tear his stupid eyes away from the way Steve's arms tremble from the exertion as he pulls himself up, face pinched into a concentrated frown. Eddie can see him gritting his teeth, can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining a little bit. Even worse, every time Steve lowers himself down, his stupid tank top rides up just enough to expose the (not at all soft, apparently) plains of his stomach, glistening with sweat, and God, Eddie wants to lick Steve fucking Harrington's abs like a-

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ, fucking shit, NO.

Listen... It's not like Eddie hasn't already known for years that he's gay. He's been fully aware of that since middle school. It's the reason his dad kicked him out and sent him to live with Wayne, for fuck's sake. It's just that Eddie has put a lot of effort into pretending his thoughts about Steve Harrington were totally, completely, 100% platonic up until this point, and now he can feel all of that hard work going down the metaphorical drain.

He stands there, stock still with his jaw hinged open, and stares while his brain melts out of his ears and his thoughts begin to race. God, those fucking arms. Eddie's not weak, but he's definitely weaker than Steve, which means Steve could definitely pin Eddie down if he wanted to. In a bed. Against the wall. On the hood of a car. Fuck, on the goddamn floor – Eddie's not picky! All he knows is that he wants Steve to leave the workout for later so Eddie can lick the sweat off of him, which... gross. But also hot. But also-

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. How does one talk to the sun?

Steve has noticed him standing there, obviously, which sort of makes Eddie wonder how long he's been staring. Time stopped in Eddie's world the moment a sweaty Steve Harrington entered his field of vision, so he truly has no idea how bad his staring got.

Christ, this is going to be so bad.

So, so bad.

"Eds?" Steve says, his face pinching into a frown. "You okay?"

Oh my god, you moron, say something! Eddie's brain screams at him.

"What?" Smooth. "Uh, yeah! Totally fine. Just, y'know, like, lost in thought, or whatever. Plotting my next demonic attempt at world domination. The usual."

Steve looks at him like he's grown a second head, which... is fair. But Eddie's fumbling attempt at speech is at least embarrassing enough to take precedence over the cacophonous sound of whatever Ode to Abs his mind was attempting to compose, and Eddie feels like he can think a little more clearly.

"Ah, fuck," Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs and looks at Steve apologetically. "I'm sorry, dude. I swear I'm fine. It's just been a weird day."

Steve cocks his head to the side like a particularly inquisitive puppy, and oh God, it's adorable. Eddie loathes how adorable it is. "Good weird?" Steve asks. "Or bad weird?"

Eddie ponders his answer for a moment, then replies with, "Weird weird."

That's enough to startle a laugh out of Steve, who shakes his head and wraps a towel around his neck. "Fair enough, man. Sorry about all of this, by the way." He gestures vaguely towards the home gym in his garage and shrugs sheepishly. "I was gonna be done before you got here but I sorta... lost track of time, I guess." He's got an unreadable look on his stupidly beautiful face, and Eddie doesn't like that at all. He doesn't like that one bit.

But he decides not to overthink it and brushes Steve's apology off with a wave of his hand. "It's whatever, dude. Might wanna shower, though." The ‘otherwise I might take it upon my gay little self to lick you clean’ is left blessedly unsaid.

Steve laughs again, and just like that, things start to feel a bit less earth-shattering. They banter for a bit longer, then Steve really does go to take a quick shower, and they spend the rest of the night lying on the floor of Steve's living room, listening to the metal mix tape they made together and bitching about their brood of teenagers.

Weirdly, though, after that day, Steve seems to be working out a lot more frequently. As in almost every single time he and Eddie have plans. Day after day, Eddie is treated to the sight of Steve Harrington looking like a goddamn Greek god, and day after day, Steve catches his eye and smiles before abandoning his equipment and acting like Eddie's world hasn't been completely turned on its head.

It's starting to drive him kind of insane, honestly, and his pining has gotten so bad that even Gareth and Jeff know.

"He's just so pretty!" Eddie whines for what feels like the thousandth time.

His band mates simply exchange a long-suffering look and let him ramble.

It all comes to a head in November, just before Thanksgiving, when Eddie shows up and once again finds Steve finishing a workout. Just like always, Steve shoots him a good-natured grin and greets him before heading inside for a quick shower, and just like always, Eddie waits downstairs.

NOT like always, however, this time Steve comes jogging down the stairs with wet hair, wearing a pair of joggers and... absolutely nothing else.

It's been a long time since Eddie last saw Steve without a shirt on (since the day at Lover's Lake when they found watergate, to be precise), and suddenly Eddie is remembering why he'd immediately pulled out a cigarette to calm down that day. Only this time it's even worse, because Steve has really been putting effort into these workouts, and it shows.

His chest is toned and covered in coarse hair that Eddie kind of wants to tug on, just to see what sort of sounds Steve would make if he did. He's got the makings of an honest-to-God six pack just barely visible on his abdomen, partially obscured by scars Eddie recognizes from looking at his own in the mirror. Steve's are slightly smaller and not as deep, but they clearly came from the same sets of tiny jaws, and Eddie finds them weirdly comforting, these matching scars that they share. Steve's look pale in contrast against his skin, and God, Eddie just wants to kiss them. He wants to worship them and every other inch of the man who bears them.

The man who definitely just said something Eddie didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to pass out from mere proximity to something so beautiful.

"Sorry, what?" Eddie asks, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

Steve smirks, but Eddie can see the soft fondness in his eyes when he cocks his head to the side and repeats the words Eddie missed the first time. "I asked if you see something you like, Munson," Steve teases, one hand carding wet hair out of his face, and Eddie just blinks at him.

Play it off, play it off, play it off, his brain supplies helpfully. He can totally play this off. Dudes stare at their friends’ chests all the time, right?

"What?" he practically squeaks. "I- well... no, wait, um... ah, fuck."

So much for plausible deniability.

He's just beginning to feel vaguely panicky when Steve seems to catch on, and he's right in front of Eddie in an instant, concerned, hazel eyes gazing down at Eddie's grimacing face.

"Hey," Steve says, reaching out like he wants to touch Eddie but thinks better of it. "It's okay, man. You're okay. I'm just messing with you."

The impact of his words is instant, and Eddie can feel his face heating up. Of course Steve was joking. God, Eddie is such an idiot.

"Right," Eddie says, voice strained. He rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head lightly. "Duh. Obviously you were teasing." His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, and he's got a weird feeling of anticipation in his stomach that tells him that he's already shown too many of his cards.

"I mean, yeah..." Steve says, seeming nervous for the first time since Eddie got here. His hands flit from the back of his neck to his hair to his waist, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "Teasing is, like, flirting 101, so..."

Eddie freezes.

"Oh my God, wait..." he says slowly, finally daring to meet Steve's confused eyes. "Flirting?"

Steve looks utterly perplexed now, and he does that thing where he cocks his head to the side in confusion. 

It's still adorable. Fuck, why is it so adorable? 

"Um... yes?" He studies Eddie, seems to register the shock on his face, and then matches it with shock of his own. "Wait, you didn't know? I thought you knew!"

"I most certainly did not!" Eddie counters, feeling a bit like he's having an out-of-body experience.

"Oh my God," Steve says. "Oh my God, Eddie, I've been flirting with you for, like, months!"

"Months?!" Eddie's voice has officially reached the stratosphere.

"Yes!" Steve yelps. He looks torn between laughing and crying, though Eddie thinks it'll be mildly hilarious no matter what choice he makes. "Jesus, dude, I winked at you while I was doing pull-ups last week! What did you think that was?"

"A hallucination!" Eddie says immediately. "You're straight, Harrington!"

At that, Steve snorts, then shakes his head.

Eddie's pretty sure his brain is melting by now.

"Yeah, um, no," Steve says firmly. "I'm definitely not straight."

"You... I... What? Since when?"

"Well..." Steve begins, briefly glancing away. "Since forever, technically. Probably. But officially, since that time I made out with Tommy H. after we got wasted at a party sophomore year. And if that wasn't enough proof, I think the amount of time I’ve spent staring at your ass lately definitely is."

Eddie stares at him. "Am I dead?" he asks dumbly. "Is this Heaven? Am I having a fucking stroke?"

Steve's laughter is bright when it rings through his living room, and Eddie is grateful when Steve carefully raises a hand to cup his cheek, because the soft touch is grounding in the best way. 

"Definitely not dead, Eds," Steve says. "And shit, I hope you're not having a stroke. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Eddie just blinks at him, because Steve has one hand on Eddie's cheek and the other on Eddie's arm, and he's definitely not holding up any fingers. "Zero, Harrington, what the fuck?" he says weakly.

Steve laughs – no, scratch that, he giggles. He fucking giggles. 

If Eddie isn't dead yet, he's about to be. 

"Good. See?" Steve says. "Not having a stroke."

"I don't think that's how strokes work, dude," Eddie says weakly.

"No?" Steve asks, though he's still smiling, and he looks wholly unbothered by Eddie's doubting of his medical prowess.

Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide as Steve huffs out a laugh and slips an arm around his waist to pull him closer. They're practically chest to chest now, and Eddie is suddenly reminded of how very shirtless Steve currently is. He's mildly horrified by the way his hands tremble slightly when he rests them flat against the center of Steve's chest, but it's not like anyone can blame him! He's only ever kissed a couple of people before, and now he's somehow found himself in the arms of a half naked Steve Harrington. So, yeah, he's feeling a little jittery. Sue him.

If Steve notices the jitters, though, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he gives Eddie a soft, disarming smile that makes Eddie feel pathetically weak at the knees. "So..." Steve says, cheeks turning a pretty pink color. "Hi."

A slightly manic bark of laughter bursts from Eddie's lungs, but it only seems to make Steve smile wider. "Yeah, hi, Stevie," Eddie breathes. 

And then he nearly stops breathing completely when Steve's thumb drags gently across his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture that Eddie thinks he might melt right into the floorboards.

"So..." Steve murmurs again, gaze not leaving Eddie's. "It has recently been brought to my attention that you didn't realize I was flirting with you this whole time."

Eddie doesn't need a mirror to know that his face flushes bright red at Steve's words.

"But I have been," Steve continues. He bites his lip, almost like he's nervous, which is ridiculous because what the fuck is there about Eddie that could be making Steve Harrington nervous right now? "Like, I've been doing it constantly, because you're funny, and sweet, and sort of adorable, but also kinda hot? Y'know, because you have the tattoos and stuff, and you're all dramatic all the time, and it's hot, but then sometimes you do that thing where you hide your face behind your hair, and it's so fucking cute, Eddie, I mean..."

Steve trails off, cheeks growing even pinker after seemingly realizing that he's been rambling, and Eddie feels like he's going insane.

"Anyway," Steve says, clearing his throat. "I like you, Eddie. Like, a lot. And I've sort of been dying to kiss you for, like, months, so-"

Eddie never lets Steve finish his sentence, because the moment the word kiss leaves his mouth, Eddie is leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a soft, fleeting kiss that's over far too fast.

So fast, in fact, that it takes a moment for reality to catch up to Eddie afterwards. He's already pulling away by the time it hits him: he just kissed Steve Harrington.

He, Eddie fucking Munson, just kissed Steve fucking Harrington.

"Holy shit," Eddie mutters, gaze flitting back and forth between Steve's wide eyes. "Holy shit."

There's a brief pause, and then Steve starts to laugh.

It starts as a soft chuckle and slowly transforms into bright, elated laughter that echoes off the walls and bathes the whole room in sunlight, never mind the rainy day outside. It's light and happy and beautiful, and Eddie unfreezes after a moment to add his own laughter to the mix. He drops his head onto Steve's shoulder, a shiver running down his spine when Steve's arms come around him automatically, like they were made to fit together like this.

Eddie wonders if maybe they were.

When their laughter finally dies down, Steve carefully pulls back just enough to meet Eddie's eyes again, and Eddie smiles shyly up at him.

"Sorry," Eddie says without a hint of guilt in his voice. "You said the word kiss and I panicked."

Steve just shakes his head and grins. "See? Like I said - adorable." One of his hands raises to cradle Eddie's cheek again, and Eddie doesn't hesitate before leaning into the touch. "But if it's okay with you," Steve says softly, “I'd really like to give you a proper kiss, now."

And yep, it's official. Steve Harrington is going to be the death of him.

Eddie can't fucking wait.

He nods and lets his gaze flit down to Steve's lips for a fraction of a second before Steve is closing the distance between them, and oh... this is so much better than the quick, vaguely frantic press of lips they exchanged only a few moments ago. Eddie takes back every judgemental comment he's ever made about the girls who were obsessed with Steve Harrington in high school, because he gets it now.

Oh, God, he gets it.

Because Steve kisses him, soft and sure, like Eddie is the only thing that matters in all the world. It's gentle and sweet and perfect – not an ounce of hesitation in the way Steve slots their lips together. And then Steve just... stays there, like he's giving Eddie a moment to catch up, to process what's happening.

He's so goddamn patient – so fucking kind – and Christ, Eddie adores him for it.

Steve pulls back just enough to break the kiss, and Eddie doesn't whine. He doesn't. But it's okay, because Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long, threading his fingers through Eddie's curls and using them as leverage to tug him even closer into a kiss that turns Eddie's legs to jelly. Steve's tongue slides against Eddie's so beautifully, and his hands are so strong, and he smells like lemony soap and minty toothpaste (did Steve brush his teeth after showering? God, he's ridiculous. He’s perfect.) and Eddie can feel the muscles in Steve's chest shift whenever they move, and, and, and...

And yeah, this time when Steve pulls away, breath coming quicker and eyes shining with happiness, Eddie does whine. Or maybe it's a whimper. Maybe it's both. Christ, Eddie doesn't care. He'll keep making that noise forever if Steve keeps looking at him like this.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes. He knows he probably looks embarrassingly awestruck, but he can't find it in himself to care. "How are you so fucking hot, Steve? What the fuck?" His face is on fire, but Steve just laughs – nope, there's that giggle again – and kisses Eddie's forehead.

Eddie's pretty sure he's melting, but honestly? Worth it.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Steve teases, "but I've actually been working out a lot lately..."

Not even Eddie's lovesickness could protect Steve from the playful smack he gets for that.

"Did I notice?" Eddie huffs. "You're the worst, Harrington."

Steve just smiles and kisses him again.