#its a baby fic

[soldrawss]

Something something 16yo 2k12 Mikey gets sucked into a portal and sent into the RISE universe and ends up helping raise the RISE kiddos AU

[nightthinker-08]

I couldn't sleep so I drew some Pomnies shes surprisingly fun to draw lol Oh and some doomed yuri too I guess xD buttonblossom is cute n all but calling them doomed yuri or digital yuri is a lot funnier to me

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[fourthcupofrice]

@rebornofstars. HI BEE!!!!! I FINISHED IT!!!!!!!

EVERYBODY GO READ BEE’S WORK PRIMORDIALS!!!! ITS REALLY COOL. CLICK OVER HERE RN!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56295496/chapters/143026147

Bee that first chapter was just so amazing, it kept staying on my mind until i drew it. I love love the idea that Time doesn’t really remember Captain, and Wars doesn’t recognize his little buddy 20+ years later. I love that mystery element. Beyond the comedy of everyone in the group believing themselves to be the only mortal person in the group, I absolutely love the vibes around Time. He IS Time itself and its really good!!!! His natural Strangeness is so good, and it’s half heart-warming half terrifying how much he admires Warriors and genuinely thinks he is the protector of all soldiers and patron of battle.

close ups and drawing rambling below the cut

I’m so proud of the baby especially. I gave Fierce unicorn hair just cause I can, he deserves it. I love his stupid sword that makes no sense. If a 10 ft tall guy with unicorn hair and a glitter sword showed up I’d be so scared. His sword isn’t glittery in game but I do what I want.

the original draft was super desaturated with a really yucky pallet, and I was kinda digging it, but with Fierce’s sill my sparkly hair the desaturated panel didn’t look purposefully yucky anymore and just normal yucky, so I added a little more color.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[daftpatience]

youre always cold but damn it if youre not my friend

[justaz]

king merlin after meeting lady guinevere and sir lancelot’s baby and falling in love: arthur. i want a baby.

king arthur, not looking up from his paperwork: …what?

merlin: give me a baby.

arthur, sighing: merlin, you studied to be a physician. i don’t think i have to be the one to tell you how impractical that is.

merlin, rolling his eyes: this is why i’m the brighter side of the coin

arthur, finally looking up: wha-

queen merlin using magic to transform her body: i. want. a. baby.

arthur:

arthur:

arthur: *stands up from his desk so fast his chair topples over, multiple parchments flutter to the ground, his tunic is already off*

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ chronicle #4 : welcome back ♡

wc : 5338

somehow, you've gotten used to living without your dragon man.

it shouldn't have been that hard to began with, you reason. since you'd only been living with him for a couple of weeks. you'd spent your whole life without this rude, bratty, infuriatingly handsome dragon guy. it really shouldn't have been hard.

you wake up to get ready for work feeling more tired than usual. this had been the case for the last two weeks now. you're lost at work, you've been really close to coming late more than once. you're coworker sachi has also asked if you were sick at least 5 times in one week, so you assume you don't exactly look your best right now.

you grab some leftovers from the fridge, hastily throwing them in the microwave to check up on your coffee. when you're done eating with the only background noise being the tv playing some game show reruns, you put your plate in the sink and remember a little too late that no one's there to clean them up for you anymore. you feel stupid, staring at the dishes like they'll suddenly wash themselves.

you'll wash them when you get back.

work goes by in a blur. you hardly remember what you did, who you'd talked to or what you had for lunch. the trip back home feels unfamiliar, like someone else was controlling your body for you. you don't mind as long as you can go home and sleep.

when you walk through your door, you check your couch reflexively, even though you've reminded yourself multiple times no one would be waiting there for you. the tv's turned off like it was when you'd left, there's nothing cooking on the stove, and there's no one on your couch.

despite reminding yourself.

you really need some sleep.

you order take out and eat while watching your favorite show for the 5000th time. it feels boring instead of comforting like it usually is, so you end up skipping a bunch of episodes straight to your favorite.

sometimes, you feel like it was all one big dream. falling in love with a dragon only for him to leave you seemed like something you could really only see in your own fantasy. but you know it isn't, because if it were you'd be able to forget about it. about him. but you can't.

it isn't painful, it doesn't feel like your heart is about to burst. it just feels so lonely. you feel like a part of you is missing, like a piece of your heart was filled to the brim with warmth only for that part to be taken away from you and leaving you cold and hollow. you don't like feeling like this. you shouldn't feel like this over someone you'd technically just met.

but it wasn't like that with him, it didn't feel like you'd just met. despite only living with him for a few weeks, you felt like you'd known him all your life. it was like you were catching up with an old friend the more you spoke to him. everything in you felt good with him. everything felt so right with him.

before you know it there are tears clouding your vision, you will yourself not to let them overflow. you hadn't cried since the day he left, you'd been distracting yourself with work not to. your favorite part of the episode comes up yet all you can do is focus on not bursting into tears. you can't go to bed feeling like shit since you've got work tomorrow. you decide to head to bed early tonight.

you'd like to think you can fool yourself into believing you've gotten used to living without katsuki. but unfortunately, you have to admit you aren't that good at lying to yourself when the first teardrop hits your pillow.

katsuki feels incredibly wrong.

it's way past the time he's usually asleep, but despite tossing and turning he can't keep his eyes shut because every time he does he sees you.

you, with your stupid bright smile. you with your stupid puffed out cheeks and pout when you'd caught him nabbing your food too late. you with your bright eyes when you come back from work to see he's made your favorite.

and you, with your glossy wet eyes when he told you he was leaving.

he really needs some fuckin' sleep.

for the last two weeks, he's been telling himself that this was better for you—for you both. he knows he could never truly be good for you. no matter how well he'd learn to cook your favorite meal. no matter how many movies and tv shows you watch together. no matter how good it feels to be with you, you'll always be a human and he, a dragon.

you're different beings made for different lives. he wasn't raised for battle, but it is a primary part of the dragon code, especially in his faction. survival of the fittest and whatnot. you were made for office jobs and midnight take out and romance movies, not for anything he was.

his friends were more than happy to see he'd finally come back home. they had basically choke-slammed him to the ground to hug him, and he can't deny he felt really a little bit happy to see them again.

he'd expected his mom to nag his ear off like she usually does but he was more than shocked to feel her wrap her arms around him tightly. she had told him she was happy to see he hadn't caused any trouble for himself and he could hear the quiver in her voice and feel the slight shakiness in her tightly strung limbs. he hadn't said anything and simply quietly held her back. his father had joined the group hug soon after and katsuki closed his eyes, indulging in the warmth of his parents' love.

this is good. this feels nice. this is where he's supposed to be.

it felt nice at the time, he recalls. but it didn't feel right.

for the last two weeks, he's been trying to tell himself that despite how much he aches, how much he yearns for you, you aren't made for him.

unfortunately, besides admitedly being a horrible liar, katsuki will forever be a selfish dragon. he only focuses on what he wants, and he wants you more than anything. he needs you more than anything.

" fuck this.." he mutters, throwing and arm over his eyes. he starts absentmindedly rubbing at his hair, like you used to. but it doesn't feel as comforting, so he huffs again.

he'd been told he unfortunately couldn't do anything about the tournament, but on a better note the guy he faced off again would be disqualified from participating since he did end up getting something from a witch, like katsuki thought. kirishima had wrapped an arm around his shoulder and told him it was a good thing. but to be honest, katsuki had almost fully forgotten about that shitty tournament. his father told him there would always be a next one. the next one in ten years. the thought of not seeing you in that time crosses his mind at makes him feel like he swallowed something sour. there's a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought but he can do nothing but try to ignore it.

just as he's about to turn to the other side of his bed a knock his door startles him. his mom walks in shortly after, opening the door halfway before walking in when she sees him awake.

" i didn't say you could come in." he grumbles half heartedly, sleep riddled voice slightly groggy. mitsuki simply sits on his bed near him, patting at his leg over the covers.

"m'not allowed to check up on my runaway son ? don't want you to leave again." she jests. katsuki knows she's joking, but he still feels a pang of guilt in his chest. he grumbles something unintelligible in response.

no words are exchanged for a moment, then mitsuki pats her son's leg a little harder, he snarls at her but she simply smiles at him.

"what do you say we go get some air ?"

the night air feels good.

soaring through the sky feels comforting. feeling the way the wind rushes through his scales feels almost therapeutic to him. it can be thrilling to soar through the air the same way it can also be calming. it provides him serenity he can't quite put into words.

katsuki finds himself wishing he could fly like this with you like when he brought you back home from work. he remembers how you'd screamed your lungs out, clutched onto him so tightly and when you'd landed back home with wobbly legs and messy..everything, you'd proclaimed it was the first and last time you'd ever go for a dragon ride. he remembers how hard he laughed and he chuffs to himself unconsciously at the memory.

flying around when he was irritated or stressed wasn't uncommon for him but he only remembers a handful of times he'd went flying with his mother. other than the times he was younger and still learning how to get the hang of it. he has to admit that that feels good, too.

they decide to rest on a nearby mountain they saw in the horizon. as soon as they land katsuki changes back into his human form, stretching as he let's out a yawn. the only remaining traces of his dragon form being his red horns and scaley tail accompanied by large red wings. he hears his mom flap her wings behind him as she also let's out a little yawn of her own. she sits down onto the gravely bottom and katsuki raises a brow before taking a spot next to her.

it's quiet as they both silently stare at the moon. it's a little chilly out but katsuki doesn't mind much.

"so," mitsuki sighs, taking a large gulp of the fresh air " you gonna tell me what happened when you went on your little expedition?" she bumps her shoulder with his playfully, katsuki growls but doesn't snap back like he usually would.

he simply shrugs "it wasn't an expedition." he gulps, it feels like a knot grows in his throat. "it wasn't anything." he doesn't notice the way his hands are tightened into fists, but his mother does.

"that so ?" she utters. she speaks in a nurturing way. that soft tone that only a mother could use for her child. it upset him even more as the knot in his throat tightens.

"i.." katsuki starts "i was around a lot of humans.." he admits. his mother hums in response, urging him to continue. "saw a lot of things, tried a lot of human stuff."

"human stuff ?"

"human foods and desserts and stuff. and movies. they're people moving around acting inside a big box that they call a tv." he tries his best to explain it in the simplest way considering it took him a while to grasp the concept of electronics himself. he can tell his mother doesn't really understand, but he's thankful she simply nods and let's him continue.

"it wasn't too bad." he concedes. " i didn't wanna kill too many of them." he jokes, his mother chuckles in response.

"anything else happen ?" she asks with a smile. katsuki can already tell shes's onto him. screw this mother's intuition shit.

he opens and closes his mouth a few times, nothing he wants to say seems to come out right.

"ma.." he starts, she hums " when you--how did it feel for you when you fell in love with pops ?"

her eyes widen at his question. she sits and thinks about it for a minute, then a smile grows on her face. " it's not something i can really explain. i just knew it when i saw him, i knew he was meant to be mine."

"even though he's a human..?" he mumbles quietly. his mother doesn't seem fazed, her dazed smile remains.

"yeah." she answers simply.

"it didn't bother you ?"

"nope." she immediatly answers, popping the p.

"it wasn't weird ?"

" it took a little gettin' used to." she hums "we're completely different after all. his family wasn't exactly on board with it. but they didn't say anythin' when i showed 'em my dragon form, i think they were just really amazed." she laughs at her own joke and katsuki fights an eyeroll.

"how'd you do it then ? how'd you..get used to it ?" he asks almost urgently.

her smile hasn't faltered since the beginning of the conversation. it seems to have gotten even wider and even brighter. " i didn't do anything. i loved your father, i still do." she sighs dreamily " when i was around him i didn't worry about anything. i didn't worry about what others thought to begin with, but i didn't worry about that. i wasn't scared of the future or anything."

"there was nothing for me to be worried about when i was around him. it always just felt like things would work out. we made each other happy, and when i was around him it all felt so.." she can't seem to find the right word to use but katsuki finds one for her immediatly.

"right ?" he finishes.

"yeah" she smiles, eyes softening as she looks at her son "yeah, it felt really right."

for the last two weeks, katsuki's been trying to deceive himself. by now he knows it isn't working. at all. he'd been trying to keep his mind quiet. he's been spending time with his friends and it's been nice. but there's clearly something missing. something he knows that his parents or his friends can fill, despite them caring so much for him. and he feels bad because he cares, he really does. but there's something he needs.

you're the one he needs.

"i think.." katsuki jumps a little when his mom speaks up again "i think there's somewhere you need to be, isn't there ?" she asks, though that knowing look she gives him clearly says she already knows the answer.

katsuki bites his lip, looking down towards the ground below. he can't see the bottom.

"i'm scared, ma.." he admits, meekly. mitsuki's heart squeezes at her little boy's heart showing in his eyes, scared of the unknown despite trying his best to convince himself he isn't.

his mother places her hand ontop of his and squeezes " i know, i know you are.." she comforts.

"w-what if it's too late and i messed shit up ?" she shakes her head, shushing him.

"you didn't, i know you didn't." she speaks carefully "if that person is the right one for you, then there's absolutely no way you have." she pulls him into a hug and he hugs her back tightly. no more words are exchanged as katsuki and his mother sit there. she pulls away and presses her forehead to his.

"you get goin' now, okay ?" she feels him nod after a moment and her smiles grows wider. she ruffles her son's hair and he grumbles, pushing at her arm and he fights off a smile.

he's sure, he knows what he needs to do now.

he gets up with vigor and stretches out his limbs and his wings as they flex and expand on his back. before he takes off though, he hears his mom call for him. he turns to look at her proud smiling face.

"you'd better come and visit !" she grinned, sharp fangs on display. katsuki smiles back at that, sharp grin rivaling hers.

" obviously !" he affirms, before taking off.

you wake up like you'd had the best sleep in your life. probably because you cried yourself to sleep.

you're awake an hour earlier than you usually are and you can't seem to get back to sleep. so bitterly, you decide to just get up and start your day an hour early.

you're definitely not getting ready for work at this hour, so your hello- kitty jammies are staying on. you remember you have a half eaten tub of vanilla-caramel-brownie ice cream in the freezer and it makes you a little happier. you walk over to your fridge with a little skip in your step.

when you sit down on your couch and turn your tv on you can already see the sun rising from your balcony. and it makes you dread having to go to work in an hour and a few minutes, you do your best to ignore it and watch a rerun of some old drama tv show you found.

you take your first bite and hum to yourself happily. the ice cream melts on your tongue and the flavours burst onto your tastes buds. if you could you'd eat ice cream every single day.

but katsuki would scold you for it.

it feels a little harder to swallow down your next bite.

the female and male lead on the show are arguing about something. the man says he only has eyes for the lady. he says that it's always been her, that if he were reborn in another life, in another country, he would still always find his way back to her.

you quietly keep watching, taking smaller and smaller scoops of ice cream. the lady is doubtful, she asks the male how she knows he won't break her heart. he responds that she only needs to trust him, that she needs trust herself.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?" he asks.

"it's telling me.." there's a dramatic pause " that i love you..!" she declares.

the two share a hug and an old ending song plays, you can hear an audience clapping like you sometimes do in old sitcoms. you really wish you could go back to sleep when you check your phone and see that only twenty minutes have passed. you wonder if you can call in sick as you play around with your ice cream, but you draw the line at that. that'd be too childish and you're too grown to be faking sick just because you got your heart broken.

you switch through a couple of channels before you land on an animal documentary. it's about red panda's and red panda's are adorable, so you shuffle on your couch to get comfortable and scoop up another big bite of ice cream.

the moment you bring your spoon to your lips though, you suddenly feel a big gust of wind. accompanied by a loud crash. and a giant hole through your fucking wall.

your spoon stays frozen against your lips, it's cold but you can barely feel it. slowly, you turn to look at something coming out of the cloud of smoke caused by the debris.

or no, it's a someone. you can see them stand up straighter as huge wings stretch on their back along with huge pointy horns and—actually maybe it is a something after all.

except you squint and you realise that it isn't a something.

it's katsuki.

it's katsuki and he's looking at you, bright red eyes focused solely on yours. he's here, he's here with you.

and he's once again blasted a hole through your wall.

you almost want to laugh, but you're afraid if you do you'll start crying. so you simply stare at him. he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth

“hi..” he exhales.

he’s heaving, taking in the force at which your wall was blasted into pieces one could assume it was probably because he was flying really fast, and he was. but this wasn’t really going all out for him. frankly, katsuki bakugou is heaving because he’s so incredibly nervous.

“h-hi..” you utter back, wide eyed. katsuki zones in on something on your face and furrows his brows.

“you’re eating that cold shit that early in the morning ? you’ll get sick.” he chides. this time you do laugh, because he’s so insanely ridiculous, how could you not.

“yeah well, no one was here to stop me so..” he knows the other meaning to your joke very well and his heart hurts at the sadness in your eyes when you fully realize he’s actually here.

“why did you—i thought you had to go home ?” you stutter. he takes a hesitant step towards your couch, towards you. his hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you, to touch you, but he holds back for now.

“yeah i did.” he nods “so here i am.”

your heart feels like it’s beating while being held down under a huge weight. you want to do so many things. you want to cry, ask him so many questions and kiss his mouth off but you can only bring yourself to ask “why ?”

katsuki frowns at the way your bottom lip wobbles and he immediately decides he can’t have that. he walks up to you and grabs your hand to pull you towards him, you stand up with a squeal as he pulls you into him. you’re ice cream long forgotten as neither of you notice the tub hitting the floor.

right now you’re only focused on him and he on you.

“i-i tried to tell myself that i didn’t need you at first, that it was better if i didn’t. we both know we’re—more than completely different,” he chuckles humorlessly. “tried telling myself that i didn’t need you because i didn’t need you my entire life, so why should meeting you, a human, change anything ?”

"but then—i don’t know, i realized that i’d spent so much time with you and your normal human life. with your weird habits and routines and your cheesy animal love stories. and then suddenly i just—" he stops himself mid rambling, he’s still heaving and he can’t seem to calm down. until you reach up and place your hand in his hair.

in seconds it’s feels like he can breathe again. your hands in his hair feel like taking a flight in the dead of night. your entire being is like the way it feels when the wind rushes through his scales.

he needs you, he needs you, he needs you, he needs you and he needs you so bad.

he plops his head against your shoulder and you hear the purring sound from when you’d first pet him in your office building. when you didn’t really know why you did, and that it just felt right to.

“suddenly i realized that i couldn’t be without you. i couldn’t see myself without you and your stupid smug face whenever you’re being a smart ass. without you and your weird taste in movies and your hands in my hair and your smile and—" he cuts himself off again. seemingly realizing he’d said too much. you don’t want to embarrass him too much too soon so you hold back the giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“i thought you liked my taste in movies.” you joke, playing with the hair on his nape. you feel him huff a chuckle against your shoulder.

“never said i didn’t like it. said it’s weird.”

“is there really a difference?” you snort.

“hell yeah there is,” he retorts “ya go from watchin’ that weird demon cat on your phone to watching the conjuring in the same breath.”

“ that just means i'm open to a lot of genres, it’s a good thing !” he snorts then grumbles some kind of agreement under his breath “and don’t you insult hello kitty like that ! she’s done nothing to be classified as a ‘demon cat’.”

“ it’s fuckin’ weird. why doesn’t it have a mouth ? and why are it’s black beady eyes starin’ into my fuckin’ soul ?”

“ quit calling her 'it' ? and she’s adorable !”

“she’s freaky is what she is.” you groan.

"you're insufferable. so incredibly annoying." you grumble in defeat. he lifts his head up to look at you then, his award winning cheese on display with a tiny fang poking out.

"yeah, maybe..but you missed me." he counters. you huff, but you really can't lie "yeah, yeah i did" you say. it comes out sadder than you'd wanted it to, and he seems to notice it. his eyebrows furrow and the remorseful look on his face makes your heart burn. your expression mirrors his as you speak.

"i really did miss you, katsuki. i really did." you whisper sorrowfully. you feel him wipe the tears you didn't even know where about to spill from the corner of your eyes. he grabs your cheeks in both of his large hands and wipes at your eyes, then rubs at your cheeks softly. his eyes burn with unspoken words and feelings and you don't need to hear him say anything to understand. you understand him better than anyone. human or dragon.

and that's all you need.

"i know." he leans in until you're inches away and your eyes flutter closed when he nuzzles his nose against your tenderly. he places his forehead against yours in a way you can only describe as loving. "i know." he whispers again.

"but i won't leave again. i promise." he vows, rubbing his nose against your cheek. the gesture feels very animal like and you giggle a little. he huffs against your cheek in amusement. "you're mine, you've always been. i know that—i'm sure of it now." he corrects "so i'm not goin' anywhere." he's so close. just like that night.

you want to let go, want to give yourself to him and trust him but there's something holding you back. katsuki can tell you're doubtful. he nudges his head against your softly, "talk to me." he urges.

"i just..i'm scared.." you admit "what if things don't work out ? i really, really like you katsuki." your voice trembles and your bottom lip wobbles the slightest bit "i don't want you to go away again.." he shakes his head adamntly, his hair tickles against your forehead. he breathes a sigh and pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes properly.

"i don't know how the future will turn out, or what's gonna happen." he knocks his forehead against yours again "but that doesn't scare me. mostly cus i'm not scared of anything," you roll your eyes but you can't help the chuckle that rips out of you. he smiles, obviously proud of his joke.

"but also because i know you're it for me. no matter what happens, i trust that i'll always come back to you." he seems to realize he's been awfully out of character. a cute blush grows on his face but that doesn't deter him in the slightest, as his eyes stay fixed on you. it makes chills run down your spine.

"you..were made for me. that's all i need." he closes his eyes, embarrasment catching up to him. you smile at how adorable your cranky dragon man could be when he wanted to be.

that's all he needs. you're all he needs. the thought fills your body with so much warmth and love.

you bring your hands up to his cheeks. he opens his eyes. looking down at you with half lidded eyes and so much affection it makes you giddy.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?"

you smile up at him, a watery giggle slips past your lips.

" i love you."

you trust yourself. you trust katsuki. you trust your love for him.

his eyes widen. and suddenly he's leaning down and all he gives you as a warning is a breathy whisper of your name. you don't think twice when you nod your head fervently and then he's closing the distance and kissing you.

in a second it's like you feel whole. it's like he breathes life into you with the kiss he presses onto your lips. and the next one, and the one after that.

he pulls back to catch his breath for no less than three seconds before he's stealing yours away again. but you don't mind in the slightest. you'd give all of yourself up willingly to him. you wish you could stay close with him, holding onto him like this forever.

but then there's a sudden sharp pain in your lip.

"ouch !" you yelp. katsuki immediatly pulls back, eyes racking over your face until he notices red on your lip. you lick at your bottom lip and taste blood. you look up at him, a mix of amusement and suprise on your features. after a second, you let out a chuckle.

"guess you missed me lots, huh ?" you laugh some more when he growls at you. trying his best to seem somewhat intimidating despite the state he's in. he's breathing heavy and he's sweating a little bit, cheeks fully red.

"b-be quiet, human." he leans down and licks the blood off your lip. it flusters you despite him meaning it innocently, dragons are way more direct when it comes to physical affection, it seemed. "i'll roast you alive."

"no you won't, liar." you answer arrogantly. you bring your arms to rest around his neck, your hands play around with the hair on his nape. "you like me too much."

"you're gettin' real cocky, aren't ya ?"

"am i wrong ?" you counter. he narrows his eyes at your challenge but lowers his head in defeat soon after. he shakes his head with a chuckle. "no, guess you're not." he concedes.

"you guess ?" you tease.

"don't push your luck, loser." he nips at your nose, and you giggle. he snarls at you when you tug at his horn, but he can't hide the smile on his face.

"i—uh." he looks away, off to the side towards your tv "love. you. too..or whatever you humans say.." he confesses shyly. too much direct eye contact for one day, it seems. you giggle, then lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips. it takes him a second before he eases into it. slowly, just as passionately as the first time, but you both know there's no rush to let each other know how you feel. you've got all the time in the world together.

"i'm glad.." you say once you pull away. "so, can i assume that means you're back now?" you joke.

"i told you i'm not goin' nowhere. you're mine." he asserts " i'm back." he states with a fanged grin.

you smile wider at his words. you're smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt but you really don't mind "welcome back." you answer lovingly.

this feels right. this feels like where you both belong. he's back.

back where he belongs.

you pat his nape "to make yourself back at home, you can make me breakfast !" you chirp. "you owe me at least twenty five homemade dinners too, so you'd better get to work." you laugh out loud when he pokes at your side with one hand, with the one on your face squeezing your cheeks out.

"cheeky brat, already puttin' me to work, hah ?!" he grins "i guess i do owe you dinner though, but definitely not fuckin' twenty five of 'em !" you both laugh at each other some more and you wish all of your days with him here could feel like this. but even if they don't, you're not worried. as long as you're together, you know everything will be okay. you trust that with all your heart.

"katsuki ?" you start after a moment. he hums in response, urging you to continue while he nibbles and presses smooches on your shoulder. you smile, you're so incredibly happy.

"fix up my damn wall, would you ?"

and here it is yall, the final chapter ! thank you all sooooo much for the overwhelming amount of love for this silly lil series. i couldn't be happier that you guys liked this fic just as much as i did writing it ! and i hope this ending makes yall happy (cuz some of yall were losin it last chap LOLOLOL) take this super fluffy ending as an apology for that then !! much luvv <333

taglist ! : @sikuthealien @rosemarygalaxy @guccirosegold @queenpiranhadon @k0z3me @katsuisbaby @lovra974 @katsus-mistress @briokayama @sixxze @lupikekee @nymphsdomain @berryvioo @roboticsuccubus83 @yao-ai @haruesme @omayrac @raatass @touyasprettydoll

[keikobubs]

using google images and textposts saved to my photo gallery as reference while i figure out how to draw them 🔥🔥🔥

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[hotluncheddie]

Safe With You.

Ao3 | wc: 4.8k | Rated: E | tags: Daddy kink, under-negotiated kink, hurt/comfort, crying, sub Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, masturbation

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The credits are rolling, names passing on the screen of Eddie’s little tv, movie over. 

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers where they’re tangled with both of his own. His head had migrated to Eddie’s shoulder around 20 minutes in, all tension seeping from him with one of Eddie’s thighs slung over his own and Eddie’s arm around his waist.

He’d missed nights like this, with someone, in easy closeness, being someone’s boyfriend. Something inside Steve always yearned for it, to be allowed this, something like it. Soft and domestic. 

(He’s been blessed with his platonic closeness with Robin. But she’s less tactile than Eddie, they hold hands and hug but the full body blanket of contact isn’t something she can stomach for long.)

It feels extra special tonight, somehow, after the day they’d had, because the Corroded Coffin boys were over to hang out and talk shop for their characters. Steve had come over around three, after his shift and part way through a heated discussion about trolls. He busied himself with decompressing, puttering around and reading Eddie’s comics on the sofa - leaving them to it. But every once in a while Eddie would call out for him to pick a number between one and ten. Or would scamper over with a box that had a dice in it, asking Steve to roll, kissing him on the head once he had. Steve felt so special; to be allowed to exist in that space, have Eddie want him there, including him as much as Steve was comfortable. It was so nice. 

And then Steve was allowed to stay, the other boys leaving with waves and see you soon’s and it wasn’t even mentioned that Steve would go too. Instead Eddie came and draped himself over him, snuggling into his neck and talking about what they should make for dinner. Those moments seemed to cause another piece of Steve’s burned red insides to scab, peel, and revel itself fresh pink  - on its way to healed. 

After Nancy something had curdled within him. Followed by the long hot summer where the main sense memory he retained on his skin was that of hard knuckles and big stinging palms. Then followed were those long months full of girls, here and there, who would touch his hand or his dick; and it was nice, until the post orgasm haze melted and it was time for one of them to leave. Steve left alone again. His body aching for something else. Something different. 

Now Steve feels syrupy and loose, fuzzy around the edges: a Polaroid that got wet with the lake water it captured. He fiddles with the rings on Eddie’s fingers. Eddie’s other hand having migrated up to his hair, scratching lightly behind his ear. 

‘Want to stay over?’ Eddie asks quietly. 

Steve did. He really really did. 

‘If that’s okay?’ 

‘C’mon.’ Eddie stands, motions for Steve to follow along, grabbing his hand again and holding it behind him as he leads them down the little hall to his room. 

Eddie puts on a record and some old smoky blues song filters through the room. He makes his way back over, swaying his hips, humming softly, taking Steve by the waist and turning them in a slow sort of waltz. 

Steve thinks, for not the first time and definitely not the last, that Eddie, his boyfriend, is so so beautiful. Free and handsome and earth-shatteringly charming. 

Eddie’s hands slip up Steve’s sides, finger trailing over his scarred waist, taking Steve’s T-shirt with them, pulling it up and off over his head, dropping it to the floor at their bare feet. 

‘What’s this?’ Steve asks, smiling, eyes half lidded. Eddie’s lips work their way soft and slow down the muscle of his neck, still humming softly along with the song. Steve’s own hands flutter from Eddie’s shoulders to draping around his neck. 

‘Nothin, s’late, we should get some sleep.’ Eddie says low and lazy. His soft lips make their way back up to Steve’s cheek. All the times in the world they seemed to say. 

Eddie, to Steve, had taken to being someone’s boyfriend even more than he ever would’ve expected. Hopelessly romantic and achingly attentive; it regularly fills Steve’s chest close to bursting. These few months of being with Eddie have been so fun and Steve laughs more than he can remember. It all just feels different with Eddie, he feels different. That things aren’t quite so hard, that it doesn’t all have to be so scary.

‘Sleep huh?’ Steve asks, lips on Eddie’s skin, on his salty temple. His own fingertips grazing shoulder blaze, grazing scar, grazing bone and skin. 

Eddie’s eyes are dark chocolate, his mouth set in a half grin that never seems to leave. Never seems to leave when he’s looking at Steve. ‘Yup, just helpin’ you get ready.’ Eddie says, pinky finger ghosting along the waistband of Steve’s jeans. 

Steve dips his chin forward, attaching his mouth to Eddie’s, lips already parted and tongue already searching. Eddie’s hand comes up into his hair, the other slipping into the back pocket of his jeans, squeezing, gripping. 

They kiss and they kiss and the blues plays on, the air-con rattling and a stray cat meows in the distance. 

‘Tell me something.’ Eddie says between kisses, quiet and deep and Steve feels like there’s whisky in his belly, thrumming through his veins. Drunk on Eddie Munson. ‘Tell me what you like, show me. Let me help baby.’ His hooded eyes pull Steve in, fingers stroking hairs away from his forehead and lips pressing kisses to his cheekbones. 

Steve doesn’t know how to answer, how to ask for something he wants. ‘No, I. Te-tell me what you like.’ He says, pulling Eddie’s shirt up and off, giving himself a moment away from eye contact, away from the vulnerability Eddie draws out of him. 

Eddie lets his T-shirt be tossed away, pulling Steve close and swaying them again gently. Slowing the moment once more. ‘Mmm, I like lots of things. Like making pretty boys feel good, for one.’ He ponders, hand soothing up and down Steve’s back. ‘And you, honey, are the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.’ He smiles, teeth glinting in the soft lamplight. 

Steve ducks his head as his cheeks flush, smiling, hiding in Eddie’s shoulder. 

‘Let me make you feel good, hm? Tell me something you like, something you enjoy, or always wanted to try.’ Eddie asks quiet and slow into Steves hair, hugging their bodies close. 

The first thought to Steve’s head makes him swallow. The first thought to Steve’s head makes him burn. 

‘It’s embarrassing.’ He whispers, face hot and he has the sudden urge to cry. To kick and scream and stomp his foot. To curl up in a ball and not say anything more. 

It’s a word he’s thought about, for a while, secretly. He would think about it with girls - the few who took a little more charge, who threaded their hands in his hair and pulled. Thought about it after he realised boys could be his, could be something he finally let himself feel. Thought about it alone in the shower, moaning quietly, fingers in his mouth, water trailing across his skin. Thought about it and flushed, belly churning, aching. He thought about it once, came, cried, weeped into his pillow for everything it could mean. Everything he wanted along with the word, tantalising and terrifying and wrapped up in ugly puss-filled parts of his past. Who he is, how he grew up. A tangled mess that’s he’s too scared to try and tease apart. 

Eddie guides his face back out, cradling Steve’s cheeks in his palms. ‘Want to look after you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted Stevie. Baby, it’s all I want to do.’ He says, earnest, kissing Steve softly on the mouth.  

‘You, I don’t. Ho-how can you be so?’ He mumbles wetly, losing it, floating away under Eddie’s lips. 

‘Like you so much Stevie, Sweetheart. Always mean it. Tell me what you want baby. What do you need?’ 

Steve bites his lip, feels emotions choking in the back of his throat, solidifying into something that’s maybe not so bitter, maybe not so bad. If the trust unfurling in his heart at the soft press of Eddie’s fingertips could tell him anything, it’s that maybe Eddie can handle it - him - the mix of things that are begging to spill. The word, that means so much somehow. 

‘Eddie.’ Steve whispers, as lips return to his neck. Ringed fingers undo his jeans and they slip down his hips to pool at his feet. ‘Eddie.’ He whimpers, shivering, as Eddie reaches the juncture of his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking and leaving a sweet bruise of promise marked onto Steve’s skin. 

‘Tell me baby.’ Eddie’s thumb presses into Steve’s hipbone, the other hand held firm to the back of his neck, keeping them close. 

‘Eddie, Eddie.’ Another bite, their bodies sharing heat and tears sting the corners of Steve’s eyes. His blood feels molten, he feels sticky and heavy and flush. Eddie’s hands on his neck and shoulders and waist, their legs tangling, toes brushing toes, Eddie’s belt buckle pressing and catching in Steve’s happy trail. Another bite, another caress, his Eddie all over him, holding him, loving him. 

‘Daddy.’ Steve sobs, whines, the damn breaking. All his fears spilling out, fizzing bubbles in the air. 

‘Oh.’ Eddie groans, growls, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘Oh you don’t even know do you? How precious you are for me.’ And he’s kissing Steve again, savouring and devout. Moaning into Steve’s lips, drinking the word, eating the confession. Taking and swallowing that little part of Steve’s own soul. 

Eddie holds his hips, grinding, seeking Steve out in his boxers, denim rough and Eddie’s length is so hard against his own. ‘Please.’ Steve moans. 

Eddie releases his lips, bringing Steve’s hands up to kiss his palms, nipping his fingertips. His hands wrap around Steve’s wrists forming a solid circle, dwarfing them in his palms, thumb smoothing over pulse point. Something about it makes Steve feel claimed and sticky. Eddie’s hands big enough to trap him like that, hold him. Something in Steve never wants him to let go. 

Eddie steps them backwards until knees hit the bed, pulling at Steve’s wrists so he gets the hint and lays down. Eddie falling with him, crowning him against the mattress, wrists pinned either side of his head. Kissing Steve again and again, licking onto his mouth.

Steve arches into the touch, hungry and seeking friction on his aching cock. But Eddie’s thigh between his leg stays maddeningly out of reach. Steve’s groans turn into whimpers as Eddie bites his lower lip and pulls. 

He’s panting by the time Eddie starts kissing over his cheek and down his neck, hands releasing to instead grope at his hairy pecs and Eddie keeps kissing until he can suck a nipple into his mouth. Steve arching again, whining weakly as he buries his hands in Eddie’s curls. 

Eddie’s fingers follow the curve of his waist down to the waistband of his boxers. Pulling his mouth away from the now red, sensitive bud. His eyes bright and sparkling as he looks up and Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s belly button before sitting up onto his knees. pulling at Steve’s boxers and lifting his legs up along with them. The boxers thrown onto the floor with their shirts, and Steve’s ankles stay resting on Eddie’s shoulders. 

‘Feel good baby?’ Eddie asks, kissing the soft skin of the ankle bone by his face. Steve nods, he feels blotchy and flushed but so so happy. Can’t help smiling up at Eddie. ‘Gonna be good for me?’ 

Steve reaches out for him, Eddie tangling their fingers and squeezing. ‘Who you gonna be good for?’ He asks, cheeky and lovely and light. 

‘You.’ Steve manages, wriggling a little, bringing his free hand up to his mouth. 

‘Who am I?’ Eddie grips the meat of Steve’s thigh, shuffling closer, bending Steve in half. 

Steve looks up at him, Eddie’s face looming over his own, his sweet lovely Eddie. ‘Daddy.’ He whispers, own fingertips tracing his lips, ears hot and cock so hard it’s leaking onto his belly. 

‘Good boy.’ Eddie praises, kissing Steve’s legs that are still around his face. Working his way upward until he can lay them gently back down on the bed. ‘Want you to teach me baby, show me how you feel good.’ Eddie says sweetly, laying down next to him. Crowding in close and kissing Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve lets his knees fall apart. ‘You’re gonna watch?’ He asks softly, waiting for Eddie’s nod before he grips himself. Stroking long and slow across his length, biting his lips. Finally able to touch, his fingers twist and tweak the head, pressing where shaft meets tip. Just the way he likes it. Steve groans. 

‘That’s it baby, don’t think, just do what feels good.’ 

And Steve looks at Eddie, leaning up on his elbow, head on his palm. Dark brown eyes eating Steve whole. 

He sinks. Some part of his brain slipping away into darkness. Everything a black pool of sensation and need. Soft and warm and floating. ‘Daddy.’ He says softly, slurring and keening and weak. He feels so needy, so good and free and down. 

‘Yeah baby, Daddy’s watching.’ And Steve moans, eyes closing again, fingers tightening, squeezing and teasing and he brings his hand up, sticks his finger in his mouth, tasting the salty slick and letting spit coat his digits, laving at his own palm. 

Gripping himself again he arches at the new glide, hips rolling as a deep moan vibrates from the base of his chest. 

‘Do you ever touch here? That feel good?’ And Eddie’s fingers slip over and past Steve’s balls, dipping into the skin of his taint, pressing and seeking and sharp pleasure spikes up Steve’s spine. Has him writhing on the bed. 

‘Oh you do.’ And Eddie’s smiling, almost awed. ‘Baby likes that. Have you fingered yourself to Stevie?’ He asks. 

The words get stuck, sticking like peanut butter on Steve’s tongue. ‘Yeh.’ He manages, huffy and weak. ‘Sometimes, but, s’hard, to, ah ah, get the angle right.’ And he reaches down, as if to show Eddie, as if to do more, be good, be better. 

But Eddie smacks his hand away lightly. ‘I’ll find you the best angle another night baby, you just focus on showing me how to use that pretty cock of yours yeah?’ And Steve moans, feeling wet and dripping and silken. Eddie’s fingers pressing and searching, a dry pressure on his hole, stroking the course hairs and thumbing that part again. ‘Let Daddy do the thinking, you just be pretty for me. You have such nice hands baby. Do you like it, like playing with the tip most?’ He murmurs in Steve’s ear. He can feel Eddie’s own hard on pressing into his hip. Feels where he’s leaking over his own fingers. 

Eddie’s watching him, rapt, as Steve switches hands and brings his dripping fingers up to his own mouth to suck clean. His eyes feel heavy, his thoughts gooey and slow but he hears Eddie’s sharp inhale of breath, feels saliva pool on his tongue and soak his fingers further. The presence of something in his mouth makes his hips roll and he fucks up into his own fist. 

‘You’re so fucking hot. Baby, oh my god, looks so good when you let go like this.’ Eddie babbles, almost talking more to himself than directly to Steve, his denim clad cock grinding ever so slightly again. 

The compliments sit heavy and squirming in Steve’s gut, make him moan loudly around his fingers, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep his gaze on Eddie. Hand speeding up, squeezing his shaft and twisting the head and he feels a fire building inside him. 

‘That’s it baby, let me hear you, s’okay, s’okay to let go.’ Eddie whispers, lips on Steve’s cheeks, kissing up into his hair and Steve needs to feel him, needs to be close, closer, he’s right on the edge. 

He takes his spit soaked fingers out of his mouth, reaching for Eddie’s jaw, feeling the roughness of new stubble against his palm. ‘Can I? Daddy can I?’ He begs, desperate. Turning his head so their eyes lock together. 

‘Let go baby boy, come for Daddy.’ Eddie says nuzzling into Steve’s hand, taking the tips of a finger into his mouth and biting. 

Steve does. He arches, muscles tensing, orgasming long and deep and groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut as he milks himself, shifting until it hurts. Eddie’s fingers ghost back up and over his balls, massaging the goop into his pubes, stroking the hair by his hip. ‘My good boy, so good for me baby.’ Eddie coos, kissing Steve’s crown and his hips are still grinding, slow and sultry and aching. 

Steve’s panting, floating and filthy and he needs Eddie to come too, needs him to finish, needs his show to have been useful. ‘Want. Want Daddy’s come.’ He breaths, whining, panting, feels like he could cry. 

‘Nah, sweet Prince, want you to feel good. Did it feel good?’ Eddie dismisses, circling a nipple with his fingertips. 

And Steve actually might be crying now, he thinks, sniffing. ‘Yeah but, but you need to feel good too.’ He whines. 

‘I did baby I did. Want tonight to just be for you, and you did so well, such a good boy for me.’ Eddie placates, kissing Steve’s cheek. 

Steve sniffles, whines, reaching for the fly of Eddie’s jeans, he can still feel Eddie’s half hard cock pressed up against him. ‘But, but Daddy. You have to as well, make you finish, be good, feel good too.’ He reasons, babbling desperately, slurring and pleading now with Eddie. 

Eddie grips Steve’s wrists, gentle, but firm, making his freeze. ‘Steve, no. I don’t want to, not right now. I just want to take care of you.’ And Eddie’s voice has a hardness to it that Steve knows is final. 

He crumples, the fight leaving him as he curls up into Eddie’s chest. He just, he’s supposed to help, it’s not supposed to all be about him. Before he knows it a sob chokes out from behind his teeth, forcing its way out between his heavy tongue and lips. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him instantly, folding Steve into his chest. ‘S’okay baby, let it out. My good boy, Daddy’s good boy.’ Eddie breaths, rocking them slightly. And that just makes Steve cry harder. His foggy thoughts tangling together, muddy and thick and why does it hurt when Eddie’s so sweet like this, why does it ache to be held so gently and why does Steve feel like his tantrum is finally being heard. He’s finally being seen and coddled and tended to with kid gloves. Eddie’s here, his Daddy’s here. 

‘It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.’ Eddie whispers, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Steve bawls. 

-

When Steve wakes the room is dark. He rolls over, releasing the pillow that was clutched to his chest. The only source of light comes from the ancient yellow streetlight out front; peaking through the old blinds and leaving patches of orange across the carpet. 

The bed is empty, but warm and Steve realises he’s clean, with a fresh pair of Eddie’s boxers pulled on. 

He groans, pushing his face into the pillow. Cheeks no longer tacky with tears but his throat is dry from them. He’s tired, and embarrassed. But, while his chest aches, it’s got that familiar lightness that can come from a cry like the one he had. 

He hears the faucet pipes rattle in the kitchen, hears a mug being set on the counter. Steve bites his lip, gets up and pulls on one of Eddie’s old sweatshirts from a pile of clothes strewn across the desk. He takes a deep breath and walks through to the kitchen. 

Eddie is leaning against the counter, curled in on himself and biting at his thumbnail. Staring through the pot of water on the stove. 

Steve steps closer, fingers pulling at a hole in the sweatshirts ribbing, Eddie jumps slightly as he notices him. 

‘Hey.’ Eddie says, in soft surprise. Stepping up close and tucking a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. ‘Did I wake you? M’sorry, how are you feeling? Oh, do you want tea? I’ll make you tea.’ And he’s stepping away again, flitting around the cabinets and muttering to himself. He gets another mug out and laughs humourlessly. ‘Was already making tea, stupid.’ 

Steve takes the mug gripped too tightly in Eddie’s fingers. ‘You okay?’ he asks, filling it up at the tap and chugging. 

‘Yeah, ‘cause. Are you okay?’ Eddie says quickly. 

Steve turns back, leaning on the counter himself, can’t really look Eddie in the eyes. ‘I’m, yeah. Just.’ He groans, pulling his hand down his face. ‘I can’t believe, I acted like.’ He huffs. ‘I’m, yeah. Sorry.’ He sets the mug down next to him, shifting up to sit on the counter, more of an excuse to still not look Eddie in the eye. 

‘Stevie, I-‘ Eddie starts, but the water is boiling, pulling his attention. He curses gently as he turns the stove off and fills their mugs. He’s made the same tea he’d made that one time Steve came over with a headache and Eddie took the roll of nursing him back to health super seriously. 

It makes Steve smile down at his lap at the memory. But it shifts and he frowns, he acted, he’s so embarrassed. 

‘I, Eddie.’ He starts. ‘I’m sorry for, freaking out. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’ Steve grips the mug, heat stinging his fingers. ‘I honestly don’t even know what happened, one minute it was like, amazing. Seriously. And the next I got it in my head that it would be like, a huge moral failing, and a, a betrayal or something, if I didn’t make you finish right then and there. It, yeah, I don’t even know.’ Steve finishes lamely, voice wavering. 

‘Steve.’ Eddie says gently, almost sad. His hand hovers over Steve’s thigh, before drawing back and curling it up against his chest. 

Steve can’t hear it yet, can’t stop. ‘You, you were saying no and I, I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry.’ He feels his throat close and his eyes sting. Swallowing it down and scrubbing roughly at his cheeks. ‘I don’t, I never want to make you feel like that, like I’d do something like that.’ he mumbles, sniffing. 

Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the counter and pacing a tiny circle in the tiny trailer kitchen. 

Steve flinches at the noise, upset and, he gets it. ‘I, look, I can go.’ He scoots forward so his feet hit the ground again, resigning himself to a cold drive home and even colder nights sleep. 

But Eddie just groans, burying his hands in his hair and pulling, shaking his head. 

‘Eddie?’ Steve starts, worried. He knows he messed up but, well. 

‘You, you’re just, saying all that like it was your fault. Like you did anything.’ Eddie bursts, voice wet and desperate and Steve’s mouth closes with a soft click. 

He’s stopped pacing, palms stretched out and upwards like Eddie’s begging Steve for answers, like Steve’s knows what’s going on. Eddie must see some of the confusion, the little bit of fear, in Steve’s expression because he draws back in on himself, hands clasping at the back of his neck and elbows pulled in close. 

He looks down at his feet, mumbling sadly. ‘I just, I can’t believe you trusted me with something like that and first thing I go and do is make you cry.’ And his voice sounds wet, and pained and Steve doesn’t even think as he steps forward and pulls Eddie into his arms. Shoulder of the sweatshirt dampening as Eddie clings to him. 

-

Steve leads them back to the bedroom with gentle fingers around Eddie’s wrist. Putting the record they were listening to earlier back on and stepping in close again. 

He drapes his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and his big brown Bambi eyes look so damn nervous it nearly breaks Steve’s heart. 

‘I’ve never done that with anyone before, never said that word.’ Steve starts, brushing some hair away from Eddie’s cheek. ‘But I did today, you wanna know why?’ He asks, trying to keep his voice level, trying to soothe both their nerves. 

Eddie shakes his head, hands migrating to Steve’s hips like a reflex he’s not aware of. Steve takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against Eddie’s for a beat. 

‘Because I felt safe.’ Steve says, eyes wetting again despite himself. He decides to smile through it, pulling back to take all of Eddie in. ‘I had the best day with you Ed’s, how you included me with your friends, and held me while we watched that movie. Cooking dinner together and you kept kissing me on the forehead.’ He brings a hand up, combing his fingers through Eddie’s curls, pushing them over his shoulder. Eyes trailing over Eddie’s red cheekbones and scarred earlobe as the vulnerability of eye contact becomes too much. 

‘And, and then in here you were so sweet, so sweet like you always are, attentive and kind and sexy and, I. I feel safe with you Eddie. You asked and I told you and, like.’ Steve swallows. ‘That word is, it’s really vulnerable for me, I guess. I don’t know why it turns me on so much or why I reacted the way I did but I just think I knew that you’d look after me and you did. You did and it was wonderful, until it maybe wasn’t but that had nothing to do with you, just, something to try. Or like, do different next time, yeah? If, I mean, if you’re okay with there being a next time. Obviously, you might. Sorry.’ Steve looses steam and looks down, focuses on where Eddie’s collarbone peaks out of his old sleep shirt, instead of what might be happening on his face. 

‘Stevie.’ Eddie says softly, bringing his fingers up to Steve’s chin, tilting his face back upwards. 

Eddie’s cheeks are flush, his eyes tacky with the remnants of tears. But they also sparkle with something else. Something joyous and lovely and Steve thinks a whole world of stars might exist within Eddie Munson’s eyes, a whole galaxy of possibilities. 

Steve feels love bloom inside him, swelling his rib cage and filling his veins. He moves in just as Eddie does; their lips reconnecting, feeling and seeking. Bliss-filed. And when they pull apart, sharing breath as their noses brush together Steve can’t help but smile. Smile so big his cheeks hurt. He smiles and leans forward and kisses Eddie with more teeth than lips, kisses and kisses and kisses. 

Until Eddie threads his fingers through the hair at the base of Steve’s skull, slowing them, pulling them apart gently. ‘Come on.’ He says, leading Steve back to bed. 

And Eddie pulls them down, manoeuvring until they’re forehead to forehead and knee to knee. Bracketing each other, sharing air and space and skin. 

‘I’m sorry for crying.’ Steve whispers eventually, into their warm silence. 

‘I’m sorry for making you cry.’ Eddie whispers back. 

‘You really didn’t. I liked it, all of it, that word just makes me feel crazy.’ Steve reiterates, threading his calf between Eddie’s. 

‘You liked crying?’ Eddie teases, no longer tense, no longer sad. And Steve smacks him lightly, fighting his grin. 

And their comfortable silence stretches again, until Steve sighs. ‘The crying, it, really wasn’t you. I just like, wasn’t listening and didn’t really get that you could just, uh. Could just want to focus on me.’ He says, fiddling with the neckline of Eddie’s T-shirt. 

Eddie grabs his fingers, kissing them and moves closer, so Steve’s thigh slots between Eddie’s bony knees, their ankles tangling. ‘What about before, the rest of it, did you like that?’ 

Steve rolls his eyes, squirming, pulling Eddie in by the waist. ‘Yeah. Liked it a lot.’ His cheeks feel warm. ‘Did uh, did you?’

‘Sure did sugar.’ Eddie purrs and Steve squirms again. ‘Got so damn sweet for me, letting me take care of you.’ He murmurs into Steve’s cheek, kissing it. 

‘God, you’re gonna give me a complex if you keep saying shit like that.’ Steve groans, covering his hot face with his hands. 

But Eddie pulls them away, hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists again, gripping them, kissing him quick and soft. Steve’s eyelashes flutter, sinking once more into the blanket of loveliness that is being here. Being held by Eddie Munson. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Taglist: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @marvel-ous-m

@chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

[fruityumbrella]

one piece is set in a nautical world with presumably nautical idioms and exclamations to match, right, like swearing by the sea rather than on a god etc. to wit, there's five seas (the four blues + the grand line) so we can assume when you're feeling particularly dramatic, you might refer to all those vast oceans to get your hyperbolic point across.

keeping that in mind, lets live in a stupidly romantic corny ass world for a moment ok? take my hand.

"I swear on all six seas, if you don't shut the fuck up right now—"

"What?" Sanji looks at him like he's stupid. Nothing new, really.

"Ha, even you're going deaf having to listen to your own annoying ass whining all the time, Cook. I was—"

"No, you—"

"Don't interrupt me! Oi!" he yelps as a wooden spoon bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. He's not impressed that Sanji manages to catch it before it hits the counter.

"You said six seas," Sanji states.

Zoro stares back in lieu of an answer.

"Huh, maybe this has something to do with why you're always lost. There's only five seas, dummy."

And ah, now he gets what the idiot cook is on about. He's surprised and a little disappointed, honestly. You'd think the guy would be a little more aware about his own fucking dream, but whatever. He's got that annoying smile, smug and cocky like he's oh so much better than Zoro.

"Would you like me to count them out for you? I know it's a big number, it's probably confusing for a simple creature like you."

Zoro crosses his arms in clear warning, something the cook, as always, blatantly ignores. He's leaning on the counter that's between them now, eyes sparkling with glee. Idiot. Zoro's thoughts do not have a fond tone to them. Thoughts don't have tones at all, thank you very much.

Sanji lifts a hand and proceeds to count off on his fingers with the precision of a drill sergeant.

"I'm sure you at least know our ocean, the East Blue. There's also the West Blue, North Blue, South Blue, and of course the Grand Line," he wiggles all his fingers as he puts his thumb up for the last one like he's emulating fireworks.

Zoro snorts indelicately. "And?"

Sanji frowns with a tilt of his head.

"And?"

Zoro holds up his index finger.

"And," he says, stifling his amusement as Sanji goes cross eyed trying to follow said finger as it arcs towards him, "your All Blue. Dummy."

He punctuates the last word by poking Sanji in the forehead, snickering when he sputters and swats the digit away in a huff. Then Zoro's words finally sink in, and he straightens up almost too fast. It's not endearing at all.

"Wait," he says quietly, "you count it?"

Zoro doesn't like how Sanji's looking at him with an open expression he's not usually allowed. He looks earnest and sincere. Zoro feels suddenly out of his depth.

"Don't you?" he deflects uncomfortably.

"Well yeah, but that's different. You're—" he shrugs half heartedly and looks away. Zoro can't tell if the end of that sentence was going to disparage him or the cook. Odds are likely split down the middle. Sanji keeps looking at him, and he feels pinned. The bright look is gone, replaced by something more reserved but perhaps...searching? Considering, at the least. It's making him increasingly self conscious. He needs to get out of here.

"Okay. I'm gonna steal some alcohol now," he says shortly, striding to the cabinet and swiping a bottle before Sanji blinks out of his stupor.

[fuji-sen]

Monachopsis; SAGAU Creator!Reader Headcanon

Monachopsis: the subtle feeling of being out of place.

c/w: angst, homesickness, slight cult genshin impact characters.

synopsis: The adrenaline and excitement had worn off, what replaced it was a sense of detachment and the feeling of homesick-ness slowly building up. No longer feeling joy at being treated like a God in your favorite game, you could only feel that subtle but persistent feeling that you did not belong there coupled with the sadness and grief at your past life.

divider credits: @enchanthings

✨ you wonder how things became like this, perhaps it was because you were constantly detained and kept inside a lavish palace, unable to see the outside world.

✨ or perhaps it was how your acolytes treat you.

✨ they did not harm you, but they might as well have all together.

✨ they treat you so full of devotion and reverence. Their touches stiff and light never holding you for longer than it is necessary, their manner of speech was always formal, never jovial even the bard of Mondstadt had a more serious and deep persona when it came to you.

✨ although their goal was simply to respect you for you were their supposed Creator, that very devotion towards you became the very wall that separated you from them.

✨ you could not get close to them, you could not pass that damned relationship between a Creator and a faithful believer.

✨ Furina had been closed to you at least, perhaps because she understood your plights. However your relationship seemed sinful in the eyes of the other acolyte.

✨ you no longer were able to see the cheerful girl.

✨ Buer or Nahida who's ability to read minds and the hearts of people worked on you, but it seemed she had learned from Fontaine's leader, she did not get close to you, however she left more sincere gifts for you.

✨ handwritten letters, books with annotations, even Aranara's were given to you on the guise of being servants.

✨ speaking of gifts, wealth, gems, lavish furniture, clothes made from the rarest fur and the softest silk had been presented to you. At first it made you overjoyed, to received the things you had long for, to become rich and wealthy.

✨ now seeing the pile of untouched presents all you could feel was cold, it was impersonal really. The clothes did not suit you, the gems and gold were useless for you could not even go out to spend it, the furniture as well for it was too big for you to used by yourself and you lacked the friends to even sit together with and have a chat.

✨ however upon seeing your favor towards the dendro archon's gifts, they tried to follow in suit. Yet their letters were simply filled with compliments of your visage, poems and tales about how great you were, talking about you as if you were a historical person they had studied and were doing a greatly embellished report on but never truly getting to know you.

✨ to fight off the feeling of sadness that began to wallow in you, you asked for them, desperately, "treat me as your friend, if you truly love me as your God then treat me how I want to be treated." you'd say.

✨ they looked at each other, before carefully and hesitantly agreeing.

✨ now you felt guilty, they spend their times on you. Chatting with you, telling you stories.

✨ you feast together, with food made by Xiangling and other characters.

✨ but even as they surround you, their conversations became white noise to you and the food seemed tasteless under your tongue.

✨ you did not feel like you belong among them. especially with that nagging voice in your head, snickering and whispering that 'they aren't your friends, they're just acting like it all because their precious Creator begged them to.'

✨ In the past, or your past life, doing something for yourself, by yourself seemed like a chore. The mundane chores, your job, studying even, but now that seemed like a luxury with the title of God.

✨ they did not ask you to do anything, you did not participate in state of the nation addresses, you could not change laws or fight for the people. . at least they didn't let you.

✨ you could not even clean your own room or dress yourself, Noelle took care of the cleaning, Chiori took care with choosing a set of clothes each day for you to wear like you were a kid and Xiangling did the cooking.

✨ It left you with nothing to do, like you had no purpose other than sitting still and looking pretty like a piece of decoration.

✨ Nobody disagreed with you even, nobody argued with you, they were like yes-men. God you began to miss your parents and siblings, you missed your classmates/coworkers, you missed working, you missed being your own person!

✨ it was beginning to eat you up at this point,

✨ to the point you had became overwhelmed with sadness.

might make a mini-headcanon series for this or an actual series revolving around this idea/angst.

do you want a series like this tho? it'd be heavily angst and might just have a bad ending or good ending.

[carnevol]

that smitten little smile is everything 💕

[kenneth-black]

these spot the difference games keep getting harder and harder 😶😶😶

[grogumaximus]