#i probably posted this exact same thing before

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Sweet like chocolate

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 23

Prompt: Hot Chocolate

Rated: T

Tags: Post-Vecna; Vampire Eddie; Bloodbank Steve; Sexual Tension; Blood Drinking; Pining; Eddie has a crush on Steve

When Eddie walks into the living room, Steve is on the sofa with two mugs sitting on the table.

“Finally,” he says. “I thought they'd get cold before you moved your broody ass down here.”

Eddie grinds to a stop.

“What the fuck?” he finally mutters, inching closer like a wild animal smelling a trap. The scent that hits him makes his stomach give a violent, empty lurch. Sweet and creamy and heavy. “What's this?” 

“Hot chocolate,” Steve replies, picking up one mug to take a generous sip. The other one, he nudges towards Eddie. “You said you used to like it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says slowly. “Used to. That's the problem, Steve.” 

He did. He used to love hot chocolate. The sweet, rich taste of it, the whipped cream and marshmallows on top. It used to be one of his favorite things in the world. 

And then he died. 

Which blows on so many levels, really. He can't go out in the sunlight, he's always freezing, and he must’ve given himself approximately two dozen accidental lip and tongue piercings before he figured out how to draw in the fucking fangs.

But the absolute worst part are his newly acquired dietary needs. 

So yeah. Maybe he's been a bit grouchy about it. Which probably isn't entirely fair to Steve.

After all, the guy has not only opened his home to him, offering him a place to lie low while the rest of the Party figure out this unfortunate situation. He's also been offering so much more.

“I thought we might try something,” Steve's voice tears him from his thoughts. When he pats the free spot next to him, the collar of his sweater slips, revealing the never-quite-fading bruise on his neck. “Sit?” 

Eddie does. He doesn't think Steve realizes how much he'd do, simply because he asked. Steve takes another long sip from his mug, then gestures for Eddie to take the other one. There's a thin film of whipped cream on his upper lip, and Eddie finds he needs to look away. 

“What are you trying to do?” he mutters at the little marshmallows in his cup. It's warm as he takes it and cradles it between his cold hands. His fingers never seem to get warm anymore. “Tease me? You know I can't drink this.” 

“I know,” Steve confirms. “But you can pretend.” 

Eddie wrinkles his brow at him. 

“You know how you told me that you can sort of … tell when I've had lots of sweet or spicy stuff to eat?” Steve asks. The bruise on his neck darkens as he blushes, just a little. “How the taste is different? I thought we could- … I know it’ll probably not be the same, but…” 

He trails off and averts his eyes, suddenly bashful, and that’s the exact moment it clicks into place for Eddie. 

“You want me to feed while you drink this? Like what, second-hand hot chocolate?” 

Steve snorts, blush darkening. “Yeah, nevermind, it was a stupid idea.”

He makes to get off the sofa, but Eddie holds him back with a hand around his wrist. He’s absurdly strong, these days, but he’s learning how to control it. 

“It’s not stupid,” he blurts before Steve can say anything else. “I… It might work, but …Are you sure?” 

Steve smiles. “Sure, why not? You feed from me all the time.” 

But not like this, Eddie wants to say. Not all soft and cozied up on the sofa, with the lights low and hazy, Steve's warmth bleeding into his own, cold skin. Not like it is anything other than a strict necessity. Not like it means anything. 

“Yeah,” he hears himself mutter. His body develops a mind of its own, inching towards that warmth, that thrum, as if pulled on an invisible string. “Yeah, you're right.” 

“Right,” Steve says. He, too, sounds just a little breathless. He takes another long gulp of his drink, throat bobbing, and Eddie feels his fangs slide out and saliva gather on his tongue, hunger coiling low in his stomach like a living thing. And then, Steve puts down his mug and leans back, baring that perfect long neck, and the hunger explodes into pure, primal want.

He's in Steve’s lap before he even knows he moved, fangs piercing the familiar spot. Steve's taste floods his senses, sweet and rich and heavy, and so, so addictive. He moans, and Steve’s pulse kicks against his lips. Steve has gone perfectly still - bar for the light hitch of his breath, the barely there stutter of his heart, the minute twitch of his fingers in Eddie’s hair, almost like he's trying to draw him closer. Almost like he's enjoying this. 

It's torment, forcing himself to pull back, but Eddie does it. For a few seconds, they sit and stare at each other, jagged breaths mingling in the space between them. 

“Good?” Steve asks. His pupils are large and fuzzy, his lips pick and lightly parted, still with traces of whipped cream clinging to them. Eddie wonders if his body would reject it if he licked it off. 

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers. “Yeah, great.” 

The mug is still in his hands, warmth seeping into his fingers, his arms, his blood. He leans in. 

And the walkie on the table crackles alive. 

“Steve? Eddie?” says Dustin’s voice. “Do you copy? We've got something you should see.” 

Eddie groans as Steve slips out from under him and stands. 

“Hey, don't pout,” Steve says, taking the walkie. “Maybe it's a lead on how to turn you back. Let's go check it out. I can make more hot chocolate once we get back.” 

Then, he's gone, talking to Dustin on the walkie while he runs off to get his car keys. Eddie stays on the sofa until he comes back and throws his jacket in his face.

For the first time in weeks, he isn't cold anymore. 

More holiday drabbles

[shalom-iamcominghome]

This is my g-d. There are many like Him, but this one is mine.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[kimtaegis]

I’m feeling quite sad about how much the active bts fandom on tumblr has shrunk and/ or how selective the community has become regarding content interaction. I’ve heard people pointing out a clique-building here lately, and while I’m well aware of closer mutual circles existing – and I can only speak on behalf of my friend group here – these pretty much develop naturally when there’s just no one else who reacts, reblogs from and talks to you anymore except for these handful of people. I don’t like that some people perceive these “cliques” as “exclusive”, for example to content creators only. that’s bullshit; it’s certainly not great to have only other cc’s support your work because they personally know how much time and effort it takes. also, knowing how lovely most of these people are, you’d get immediately followed back and showered with love too as soon as you’d even show a speckle of kindness on a regular basis, regardless of whether you make gifs yourself or not. ccs dedicating sets to each other isn’t a sign of exclusivity, but rather us holding onto and appreciating people who still give us at least some motivation to create and post in the first place anymore, because there’s quite literally no one else left by now.

[minakoaiinos]

Me when I think my dad is cool and admirable

[alchemiclee]

every time someone dislikes a character I consider autistic because they seem highly autistic coded, especially if it's "for no reason/just a feeling" I get so incredibly sad and offended because I just know it's because they have autistic traits. I know these people would do the same to me and other irl autistic people. and that's always such a shitty reason to dislike/hate someone.

I just know they would hate us autistic for "no reason" and it would be because people for some reason dislike autistic people based on some obscure random feeling and they can't even tell you why. they often see us as "broken neurotypicals" or we give them that "uncanny valley robot" feeling (especially for high masking autistic people) or whatever it is. they often think we appear "normal" in every way, except something is "off" to them, they they dislike and bully us for it. it's not our fault we were born with these traits/disability so it's not fair to hate us for it!

at least that's how it always seems to go for me and everyone autistic person i've personally know. especially ones better at masking. (I personally was never good at masking and was seen as a "weird freak" who deserves bullying no matter what I did, especially since i was unable to talk 95% of the time as a kid) the mask still never truly hides that "off feeling" people get. i'm sure other autistic people experience this too, but people always dislike me or even hate me and usually can't ever seem to give me a reason. friends will suddenly turn on me and not give me a reason. (especially if we always had text based communication online and then we meet irl the first time. they suddenly turn on or abandon me after that). if I can get a reason out of someone, it's always because *insert random autistic trait here* so I assume it's the same with every case

if this happens irl, it has to be the same for fictional characters, right? it's the only explanation I can think of. I see stuff like this all the time. the autistic coded characters are always getting hate for seemingly no reason like this:

meanwhile, the autistic coded characters always become my favorites because I understand them better and relate

[star-max]

Hate when something is somewhat associated with a character and the character themselves show no interest or even acknowledge it in it in canon, but in fanon that's what everyone makes their favorite thing ever/only personality trait

[wookgerine]

Love that they take Bella with the gym with them all the time

[toshidou]

That's really annoying and weird ,does reposting do anything?

I guess I could, but it's just a little drabble. I've deleted it since it's now deciding to delete more and more paragraphs and won't let me edit it, or paste them back in.

If this is the new thing tumblr decides to do to me and any subsequent fics i post, you'll probably hear a lot less from me lmfaoo

[medicinemane]

One issue I have is there's a whole lot of things where it's like "I'm actually nearly on your side, I'm very sympathetic to this, I just need one or two issues addressed and then I'd be with you on this... you just have to kinda... walk me through how this thing that feels like a kinda big problem isn't a problem"

And pretty much always it's just kinda like "oh, well it's not a problem, so don't worry about it"

...mhh... yeah... but I need some actual proof. I want to trust you, but I need something that actually deals with it, not to just basically be told to have faith... I have no faith, I'm a faithless person

And it's such a shame cause... instead of being able to work along side people I tend to hover off to the side trying to support it in my own small ineffective ways cause... I just have serious issues no one's ever bothered to address

Just sucks, you know?

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I found socks with my favorite flowers on them (nasturtiums!), but they literally don't match anything I own, so making an outfit with them is difficult.. just all black with the bright shoes and a random stuffed animal for accents lol

[running-in-the-dark]

-

[replicantdeviancy]

“Commandeering - that’s a name for it.” The little quip came complete with a cheerful laugh from the younger male. There was no harm to it, as the both of them well knew, as it was a dig towards a shared ancestry. The detective was certain that his own family hadn’t ventured across the pond for centuries, but the longer James spent with him, the greater the desire to be the first to change that. He wanted to take that leap, excited over the pleasant imagery running through his mind which represented a possible & desired future. Connor wasn’t one for bars or particularly lively spaces, but that all consuming want to let loose & allow somebody else to take complete control lingered, magnified as their conversation continued. He imagined unanticipated little thrills provided by a man who held surprisingly firm to his youth in spite of the grey creeping into his hairline, destinations which were both blessedly mundane & exotic at once, & late nights spent filled with pleasures of the body & hushed exchanges of intellectualism.

All of it, every bit sounded marvelous to the detective. He wondered if he might have a chance to meet James’ family, if the man were so inclined, or if the priest might introduce his younger companion to his friends. He must have had some that still remained in his hometown, those whom had never left. Much like Connor, himself. True, he was technically from a suburb just north of the city proper, but he & his brothers had been born in Detroit. Most people didn’t usually leave the place they were from, often choosing employment & taking up residence close to family. He supposed James was the exception, though Connor had yet to broach the question of why. What made the priest choose to devote himself to the church? To become an exorcist, whatever that specifically meant in this modern age.

He might have asked, but the naughty old priest had him easily distracted with culinary chatter & conjuring up delectable visuals of making the pretty detective into a savory meal of his own. As it was, if James kept looking at him that way, with those charmingly beautiful eyes staring into his soul, Connor would have happily let him put that smirking mouth of his anywhere he liked. The enthusiasm towards a private liaison in a confessional seemed to be a mutual one, though Connor wondered if it would have been James’ first time trying something so brazen. Intuition told the detective that it was, & that made it all the more exciting. Already a little flustered in the best of ways, the small instances of playful chastising had Connor smiling that sweet, shy smile of his as color bloomed against his cheekbones. The priest certainly knew just how to get to him, draw elation & intrigue from the younger man so perfectly, one might have again played with that musing of soulmates. As though they had always known one another, that interest was uncompromising, desire unwavering. Connor felt himself tugged towards James, his every thought beginning & ending with the priest since the two of them had met.

It was a little frightening, wanting someone this badly, wanting to be with them, in their presence, after only such a short amount of time. It was something more powerful than himself & Connor wanted to see where it took him. It was the reason he questioned his date on his intentions for the future, as he worried this might be something fleeting. That fear threatened to crush him, & a slow realization overcame that warned this was all too fast. But when James’ sultry manner shifted into somber sincerity & that hand reached to touch, resting upon his forearm, Connor couldn’t force himself to fight that subtle yet powerful gravitational pull. He saw the change in James as those simple questions sunk in like a lead weight, forcing him to confront something in himself that had yet to come to light. He saw guilt, perhaps even regret. But regret for what? Had his assumptions been accurate after all? The priest said that his continued presence ‘depended’, but not on what. There were speculations of further spiritual unrest within the congregation, something else pertaining to the Moore case that hadn’t been addressed. Things outside of the detective’s usual wheelhouse, likely something he wouldn’t understand.

He wanted to ask, but that touch compelled him in another direction & suddenly he was brushing all of his theories aside to give James all of his attention. Only passively interested in food in the moment, he set his fork down & reached for his hand, taking it into a gentle yet firm grasp. That sorely missed connection restored, Connor felt a little bit better. Still, the promise not to disappear on him like a ghost in the darkness failed to quell the ache centering in his chest when Connor could see that his companion was holding back. James was keeping something from him, protecting him with ignorance, as if to know would be such a burden upon him. Things the detective ought to leave alone, contradictory to his eager & curious mind. There was a brief contemplation, a moment of eyes locked in which the younger man wanted to press James for more information, coax a confession out of him as he had before. But pushing him wasn’t going to accomplish anything. This wasn’t an interrogation. The end goal wasn’t to ascertain a guilty party. He just wanted to keep this man close, keep James all to himself.

Was that desire childish when it was so obvious that James wanted him just the same?

“You better not,” he teased, a smile finally cracking his fretfully stoic exterior. “I wasn’t promoted this young because I’m just a pretty face. They don’t call me ‘deviant hunter’ for nothing.” A sly nod to his own impressive capabilities, as well as a hint of intention implied, served up with a cheeky wink. Still just a little somber, as that smile slowly grew wan, difficult to maintain. Connor wasn’t above doing a little detective work to track the man down if he did end up ghosting him. Absolutely deplorable, never something he had envisioned himself doing before, but this was different. This thing between them felt real - Connor longed so deeply for something true, for someone all his own. He wasn’t going to let go that easily.

His gaze fell towards their joined hands, lean digits moved to caress at knuckles, a warm palm, finally lacing their fingers once more. This felt better. It felt right. He stared a long moment in pensive introspection, & his visage reflected his inner thoughts. He could picture spending a few months gallivanting around Europe with this man, hopelessly & sublimely lost in a foreign culture with this single point of familiarity to ground & guide him. In equal measure, he could have spent forever at James’ side, or however long he would have him. He didn’t care if it was selfish. He had spent most of his life selflessly devoted to others; to strangers, family. It wasn’t out of the question to want something for himself. Pearly teeth worried the edge of his bottom lip, free hand softly drumming fingertips against the table’s surface beside his plate. 

Contemplative. Finally, he looked at James with shy, wanting eyes. “When we finish here… can I show you something?” A location that held meaning to him, one that he hoped might help cement a fondness for the city in James, & in turn, the boy who resided there. Somebody who would wait for him, who would crave his company & yearn for his return. “There’s a place we could go for a walk by the water, if you don’t mind the cold. I promise that it’s worth it.” By evening the view would be spectacular, though admittedly, there was an ulterior motive. Between the specifics of the case & the mild emotional anxiety that came with dating & the revelations therein, the detective needed a cigarette. He hoped that his date wouldn’t mind.

He knew the man was curious. How could he not be? Given his line of work and everything else that the priest had come to learn about him in the hours that they'd known one another, it seemed obvious that the younger male was a curious one, that he wouldn't let go until he had answers. Then again, he'd practically told him as much every time he'd tried to press the Brit for more information, trying to take that first step into his world rather than settle in one he'd been born into and grown up in. Now his foot was in the door, the veil lifted but there was still so much once he took his first step inside. Did he know that he'd barely even grazed the surface? That there was a whole mountain waiting for him if he didn't turn back. Would he even want to? Why did James get the feeling that the brunette would likely stay true to his word, he'd see everything through with the same resilience as he carried throughout his work. It wasn't a common trait these days, maybe it never had been, but that certain stubbornness for never giving in was certainly preferable when it came to James' world.

But for now, he was happy to just let the truth simmer, let Connor process it, let it truly sink in before he started to pile any more on top of him. People reacted differently, his own introduction had been less choice and more of a regrettable accident, having no idea what he'd been about to walk into, what it would open him up to for the rest of his life. That was when his fate had been sealed, a similar determination to Connor's that had made him want to keep going, follow in his father's work and do everything within his power to protect others from enduring the same horror for themselves. He wouldn't be able to save everyone, as much as he might wish it, but it was better than sitting back and doing nothing, pretending that he hadn't seen it, trying to go about his life desperate to forget every second of it.

No, he had to remember, he needed to remember. For his parents, for other people and maybe even for himself. It reminded him why he was on that path in the first place, a necessary goal that would see him through even the darkest of times.

In the end, how much would he tell Connor? Everything? Bit by bit, piece by piece, let him into a side of the Brit that few others had ever been privy to aside from his old mentor? And would the American offer the same in return? Speak openly about himself? About the things he'd seen? The position his mind had cast him into when he closed his eyes? He'd already been given a glimpse and hadn't faltered, hadn't flinched, he wanted to see more, wanted to understand the man right down to his core and he'd offer the same in return if it was wanted.

"Part of the job, I'm afraid. You never know when someone might need a passage or two to get them through the day." Mostly, he'd used the knowledge to reassure himself, keep himself focused, if not a light tug to keep him on the right path if ever he strayed too far. Clearly, he wasn't quite as blindly devout as many of his peers, he didn't mind committing a few sins here and there, some lust in the bedroom, a little greed on his plate, he supposed it all added up, but as he always said to both himself and others, he just did what he thought was right, everything else was more akin to guidelines than actual rules in his eyes. Maybe he'd be higher up if he had stuck to the rules more sternly, if he really was a paragon of virtue like he was apparently meant to be -- - but where was the fun in that?

"Not the most engrossing read in the world, but some of it isn't half bad." He couldn't help but tease, imagining his mentor standing across from him and giving him a warning look as though he was about to get a sandal against the back of his head. Not that he really did that, but times had been different back then, a little slap to the ear wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility and it was never with genuine malice, but more of a mocking startle than anything. Admittedly, he'd always found it rather amusing, like a naughty child who'd been caught trying to take a peek at their presents before Christmas morning. Something James had definitely done more than a few times in his youth. Though was that any real surprise given how he was now? The man's effortless cheek knew no bounds.

"Mm., late-night pub food and debauchery? Sounds like my idea of perfection." Why did that ring more true than it should? Although he really did like the thought of it. The two of them running off together for a while, James getting to take him back home, show him where he'd grown up, the city that had moulded him into the man he was now. What about introducing him to his old friends? Taking him along to their local pub whose walls the northerner could still perfectly describe from memory. Mainly because the dents were still there from his youth, a few scratches here and there from the more merry nights that would end with the group stumbling down the street singing to their heart's content. Were they too old for that now? Or would Connor simply laugh at the side of a group of middle-aged people regressing back to their youths once they were all together again in an all too familiar place? Would he get a taste of what it had been like?

A part of James wanted that for him. He could see that it hadn't been the life that the detective had for himself, it couldn't hurt to let him take a sneak peek at it, right? Perhaps he was getting a little too ahead of himself.

"Well, there's that. We Brits are known for commandeering a few dishes here and there." That was an understatement, but one that the Briton could utter with a genuine sense of amusement. For the most part, he found that they tended to borrow things and put their own British spin on it, the likes of local Chinese takeaways being the perfect example. It hadn't been until he'd eaten real Chinese food that he'd realised that the stuff that was served in the UK was practically alien to authentic stuff. That, Connor would likely discover for himself if he did join the other man back to England, though perhaps more with the likes of McDonald's or KFC, and whatever other places that had started in the USA and found their way over to Britain. Countries always had their own ways of doing things, whether by the population's wants or to get by certain regulations. He really did have so many ideas for what he'd do with Connor, some more PG than others, yet the list was getting longer and longer by the minute.

"Although... can't say I've ever tried avocado toast or a pumpkin spice latte." He found that he was a rather simple man when it came to his toast or coffee, aside from when he was back in Rome where he'd treat himself on a regular basis with someone genuine Italian coffee. It wasn't quite the same as the kinds that places like Starbucks made, but he had a soft spot for them nonetheless. "Might have to try them sometime... next time I'm around for Halloween, maybe I'll grab myself a pumpkin spice latte like the rest of you hip young things." Yes, he was well aware of how old the last comment made him sound, deliberately uttering it that way as a wide smile swept across his face and he couldn't quite hold back a warm round of laughter, trying his best not to choke on his food in the meantime. "Either way... I'm pretty sure you're anything but simple, Connor." His voice lowered, deepening like a low hum that vibrated against his chest.

In those few moments, it was like they were completely alone, the whole world around them didn't matter, it wasn't even there as those sparkling blue eyes honed in on the man opposite. "Yeah?" Had James ever thought about what it would be like to be naughtily -- - intimate, with someone in the confessional? The proper thing to say was no, but the truth was definitely yes. Surprisingly, it was one of the few places where he'd never actually managed to score himself another few dozen sins. He didn't mind rectifying that with the right person though. "Tempting a priest, are we? For shame..." He purred with that devilish twinkle in his eyes. "No matter, you, me, the confessional... I'm sure we'll work something out." His mentor was definitely going to feel a disturbance after that remark, he was amusingly sure of it.

But then came a rather grounding question, one that the Englishman tended to keep away from. Mainly because most of his little dalliances had been just that, brief encounters to satiate his and someone's else desires for an evening of fun, but never daring to let them into his life, into his soul, into his heart. But for once the reality of it hit him, the thought of having to leave the US and return to Rome, seeing the back of Connor's head as he walked away, or even the crushing notion of the last time he'd see him before disappearing entirely. He was good at that, vanishing without a trace, but did he really want to do that with Connor? "Depends..." It was an honest answer, he never really knew how long he'd be somewhere, could be anything from a few days to a month or two. "This whole thing with our dearly departed Mr. Moore... there's more to it. It won't end just here and I'm not going anywhere until it's resolved." He didn't give much away, but it was an answer. Pausing, he put down his knife, settling it by his plate as a hand reached over, gentle long fingers wrapping around the American's lower arm. "I won't disappear on you. I promise."

[phagodyke]

lol just realised that last post is in response to fresh news that this site is dying.....

[luludeluluramblings]

SugarBaby!Reader (Neglected!Bat!Sibling) x Tony Stark - Falling in Love

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Someone wanted more fluff of this and I had thoughts about it last night. Tony isn’t my favorite, but I kinda wanted to challenge myself with this and see if I could try it writing some romance.

A/N: Smalltown!Reader is still coming. Pregnant!Reader will be getting a part 2 at some point. Might post another series, the one army dreamer inspired, because why not? Gonna have sooo many WIPs. But, maybe they’ll give y’all some delight.

Warnings: GN!Reader, Mentions of bedroom activities, fluffy, not edited, hardly anything Yandere. Intended to be

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

When you and Tony started dating it had been after he had wooed you at some gala. Something for a long forgotten charity. You had initially been hesitant, knowing his play boy reputation. The one so eerily similar to your father’s Brucie Wayne persona.

Still he was charming, good looking, and had convinced you that one night wouldn’t hurt.

And, it hadn’t. The next day when you were about to crawl out of bed and begin your walk of shame, he had dragged you back. Taking his time repeating the night before and with an encore.

By the time you had finally been allowed to leave the bed, your stomach had let out an embarrassing growl that made your cooling skin flush once more.

Of course, Tony wasn’t going to let anyone he spent such a good time with go hungry. Ordering the two of you room service and a giant spread of breakfast.

It’s in that moment things start to shift. You were a good lay for Tony. A young pretty little thing that was some of the best he had had in a while. (Due to him mellowing out with age, not that he’d ever admit that.) But, it’s the way you look at him, shyly and with such genuine gratitude just for him buying to brunch that makes him stop.

Not pause. Because pause means he’ll end up playing again. And, he’s fairly certain he’s done playing. Because, when you happily sit in his button down shirt, munching on the food he bought you, and listen to him talk about an old project (he wasn’t dumb enough to share anything new he’d been working on) with such bright eyes and enthusiasm he realizes this might be trouble for him. It’s even cuter because he knows you don’t understand a single thing he’s saying, but you’re trying. You’re trying so hard and it’s so cute.

It keeps going on like that. Passionate nights and slow talkative mornings that morph into date nights and fun trips and days lounging together. You’re still honestly convinced it could all end at any moment. Nothing good last in your life. And, despite how desperately you want this to last you know it probably won’t. Still you swear to hold on. To take everything he’ll offers. Even if it’s not much and he leaves you in the end. You’re going to appreciate how full and fulfilled her makes you feel.

For you, you fall in love slow and overtime. It a soft and startling realization when you realize you love Tony. You love him dearly and he could break your heart into a million pieces. But, it would be worth it.

You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Loving him and waiting for him. To leave.

For Tony, it’s similar. He spoils you he does. He loves the way you look at him when he does. But, as he unknowingly starts to settle, the realization that he’s not showing you off in public as much anymore and that he enjoys just being near even when there’s nothing to talk about hits him in the chest. And, in a Tony Stark like fashion, he spirals for a bit.

It causes him to spend three full days in his lab avoiding the world and his problems. Not sleeping, hardly eating, ignoring Jarvis.

When he finally does emerge, he’s covered in sweat and grease. He aches. He’s tired. He’s irritable. His fully expecting you to be mad he missed your fancy date he had planned. But, when he looks up at you and see’s that exact same grateful look in your eyes, it clicks. You give him that same look of gratitude and adoration every time he does something for you. He’s not doing anything other than being here with you. And, that’s enough for you. You’re in love with him, and he’s in love with you. And your willing to love him as his is and with what ever he gives.

Tony doesn’t confess though. To cliche. Instead he proposes. With no ring, no plan, and covered in grease. But, completely serious. It isn’t long until you understand he really means it, that he wants you for you and you’re leaping in his arms crying, yes. Yes. And the. You tell him to shower, because despite the love you feel and your happiness, he smells ripe.

He chases you around instead, before dragging you into the shower with him.

It isn’t until you both have a small private court house ceremony and he’s dragging you on to a luxury honeymoon that he leans over and confesses. Casually. Like it was a stray fact.

“Oh, hey, by the way, I love you.”

It makes you squawk that he has the audacity to do such a thing, but you lean into him and say it back.

“I love you, too… Silly old man.”

“Hey! That’s not what you were saying when I-“

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You hadn’t even thought about you family with Tony. Hadn’t thought to invite them to the wedding. You did call Alfred as soon as you got back though. Telling him the good news with so much happiness that the old Bulter cried when the call ended. You had sounded radiant, and it broke his heart.

Broke his heart that no one in the family had seen just how beautiful your joy was and that they had never bothered to cause it.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Based off this ask.