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hor3nee · 1 year ago

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• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #dad!sukuna #jjk #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x you #no use of y/n #true form sukuna #dad sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna jjk

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 2 months ago

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[prev]

"...I really don't think this is necessary, Plain Yogurt. My hair is neat enough." Healer Cookie tries to protest to Shadow Milk, who sits behind him with his legs stretched out beside each hip, trying to comb his hair icing with his fingers.

Healer Cookie. Bleugh.

It's such a generic name, it's hardly a name at all. Shadow Milk knows Pure Vanilla doesn't remember his actual name, but that doesn't make him hate that stupid placeholder any less. As a matter of fact, Shadow Milk actively refuses to call him something so bland, so he doesn't.

"But it could be so much neater! Just let me do this for you, my dear." He insists, gritting his teeth as he fights with a stubborn clump in his hair. This would be way easier if he had his claws out, but 'Plain Yogurt' isn't meant to have claws and Pure Vanilla would probably notice the scratch of them against his scalp. "You don't have any patients to worry after right now, anyway. You can relax a little."

Pure Vanilla winces slightly at the tug of the clump coming undone, but he doesn't complain, finally giving up his protests as his body goes lax. He sighs, a faint smile flickering over his face. "Alright, alright. Just this once."

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Shadow Milk continues to painstakingly smooth Pure Vanilla's neglected hair out. Pure Vanilla sits docile as he does, like a doll being dressed up, and Shadow Milk grins to himself, enjoying the thought. That's what he is, after all.

There's a delicious irony in this situation, and Shadow Milk never fails to savour it. He had known about this amnesiac spell before he had escaped the Silver Tree, but he had kind of been assuming it would have resolved itself by the time he got his opportunity for freedom. It was an inevitability that one would arise, with the two halves of that torn White Lily Cookie both locked in stasis. It encouraged her Seal to weaken faster, and Shadow Milk jumped out at the first chance he got.

Only his spirit could slip through the crack, but that was fine, that was fine, since his original body was stale and practically useless after several millennia without use. All he had to do was steal the body of a Cookie on the edge of crumbling entirely – a traveller fallen victim to a monster attack with their soul already fleeing their body in fright – and maintain its endangered state with his own magic so he could throw himself at Pure Vanilla's doorstep, the picture perfect image of a miserable Cookie in need. It just so happened that the doorstep was a dusty, ignorant one.

Well, whatever. Pure Vanilla's current state is both convenient and inconvenient for Shadow Milk. The Soul Jam is currently dormant, but it still seems to be stubbornly connected to Pure Vanilla, because it didn't react to Shadow Milk's presence or his remaining half of the Soul Jam. With it in hiding like that, it makes it legitimately impossible for him to quickly steal it back, because there is nothing to steal.

That means Shadow Milk has to use more convoluted methods. That's fine; those are his favourite kinds of methods, anyway. Slipping into the village like a wolf in sheep's clothing, carving an undeniable space for himself at Pure Vanilla's side and waiting, waiting, waiting.

When Pure Vanilla finally resonates with the Soul Jam again, he will certainly regain his memories and buckle under that unaddressed storm of grief, regret and self-loathing. Taking the Soul Jam back then will be the easiest thing in the world. Who knows, maybe Pure Vanilla will hand it over himself in a fit of grief-stricken anguish! Wouldn't that be fun?

It doesn't seem like that will happen anytime soon, though. Funnily enough, Pure Vanilla seems to be avoiding the Light of Truth to the absolute best of his ability, wrapped tight in those bandages of his and unwilling to shed them. It makes Shadow Milk laugh if he thinks about it for too long.

Denial is the first step towards Deceit, after all. First, you refuse to look Truth, harsh and bitter, in the face. Then, when you inevitably have to confront it, you turn to the veil of Deceit to make the world less unbearable to look at. And Pure Vanilla has already managed to get himself one foot on the staircase, without Shadow Milk interfering in the slightest.

It gives Shadow Milk an inkling of an idea. He could get Pure Vanilla there, surely. All he has to do is swoop in as he suffers through his returned memories and... twist the knife a little. Or a lot.

Whatever the case, he has to be there for that. The wait is sluggish, but Shadow Milk doesn't bother speeding things along himself. He could, and he definitely will if he starts getting too bored, but for now, the novelty of playing pretend with a physical body for the first time in far too long hasn't quite worn off yet.

"You're being awfully quiet." Pure Vanilla teases quietly, breaching the silence that has nestled around them. "You're usually much more talkative than this. Perhaps I overlooked a patient in need?"

He's not being serious, and his curled lips make that glaringly obvious. Shadow Milk scoffs out a laugh. "Oh, please, I've never been crispier! I just have my work cut out for me with your hair, so I have to focus."

Pure Vanilla's smile falters into a small frown. "...Is it really that bad?"

Yes, Shadow Milk wants to hiss. He's used to Pure Vanilla's visage being delicately graceful, holding the air of a king, his pale blonde hair framing his face in immaculate curves. Now it is ruffled and unkempt, the ends dirtied with the grime that floats around the village, and though some of it is removed with each pass of Shadow Milk's fingers, it is far too saturated to get rid of it entirely like that.

It annoys Shadow Milk, teetering on the edge of anger, and so does Pure Vanilla's outfit. The rags he wears as robes, haphazardly and poorly stitched together. They don't suit him at all, and Shadow Milk's director's eye, attuned to aesthetics, chafes at the sight of his doll like that.

He could dress him in much, much better things than that. Sweeping robes of black and gold, because gold has always been flattering with his complexion, made of the finest sugar coat fabric. Or blue and gold, like a night star. And if - when - Pure Vanilla lays his eyes on the Truth once more and chooses to continue hiding from it, then Shadow Milk will provide. He can give him a blindfold of silk, embroided with honey floss, far softer on the eyelids than some old bandages.

Pure Vanilla just needs to properly reconnect with his Soul Jam first. Draw it out into the open.

So, yes, Shadow Milk really does think his hair is that bad, but he won't tell him that. He's not above upsetting Pure Vanilla, but there is nothing to gain from it in this tiny instance. It wouldn't even be that funny, really.

"I'm exaggerating, I'm exaggerating." Shadow Milk reassures lightheartedly, at least satisfied with the silkiness returning to Pure Vanilla's hair under his meticulous ministrations. "I'm fixing it up now, anyway. Why, do we have to talk all the time?"

"No, of course not." Pure Vanilla's hands idly twist together in his lap. "But you usually hum when we don't talk, so..."

Shadow Milk usually hums on purpose, to make sure Pure Vanilla is always aware of his presence. It has to be a conscious decision, because Shadow Milk is naturally silent otherwise, in the same way his footsteps tend to drift along the ground if he isn't trying to make them heard. It is the instincts of a predator stalking its prey.

But Pure Vanilla doesn't need to know that, because that doesn't apply to Plain Yogurt. So, instead, Shadow Milk says, "You don't like the silence?"

"No, the silence is fine, but I like hearing your voice." Pure Vanilla admits, with that small, content smile of his creeping onto his face, at odds with his bedraggled appearance. "It's lovely."

Shadow Milk's fingers stall in his hair. His incorporeal eyes blink and squint in the shadows around the village, exactly where he has left them. Then, he slowly lowers his hands down to Pure Vanilla's shoulders, leaning forward to speak gently into his ear, a taunt and a fact, "Of course it is. It's mine."

Shadow Milk watches as the barest hint of colour rises to Pure Vanilla's cheeks. He wonders if he knows that he does that, whenever Shadow Milk gets close enough for his breath to brush his dough– no, he doubts it. Pure Vanilla knows very little, the way he is now.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Black Raisin's voice is sharp and intrusive from the tent flaps, respect for Pure Vanilla muddied by a marked unhappiness. Pure Vanilla obviously can't see the withering warning glare she shoots Shadow Milk then, but Shadow Milk does, and he relishes in it. He leans the slightest bit closer to Pure Vanilla and gives Black Raisin a mocking grin past his shoulder, showing the slightest flash of his fangs before dulling them back down to Plain Yogurt's average Cookie teeth. Just a little trick of the light.

Black Raisin's expression darkens, her fist tightening at her side. Shadow Milk knows very well that she has not liked him from the beginning, and he has been gleefully pushing her headfirst towards hatred ever since. Things like this are always more fun with a little antagonism, and he gets a thrill whenever Pure Vanilla kindly sides with him instead.

"Oh, no, Plain Yogurt was just combing my hair. He insisted." Pure Vanilla chuckles, a little sheepishly and a little fondly, mostly unaware of the lethal staring competition happening over his head. He runs a hand over his own hair, as if to check what Shadow Milk has done, and Shadow Milk finally leans back out of his space. Black Raisin calms, and looks towards Pure Vanilla, who turns to her with a more serious expression. "Did you need me for something? Did someone get hurt?"

Black Raisin softens entirely like chocolate in the sun. "No, Healer, nothing like that, thankfully. I just wanted to let you know a group of us are heading out to patrol."

Pure Vanilla's face loosens into a relieved smile. "Ah, alright then. Stay safe, all of you."

"We will." Black Raisin turns to leave, hesitates, before turning back. "Oh, and the others just finished a batch of raisin buns. Feel free to help yourself."

Pure Vanilla hums in acknowledgement, but very pointedly does not answer. Shadow Milk knows why he doesn't. His eating habits were already abysmal to begin with, but living in poverty in a village with limited supplies made it even worse. He never seeks food out himself, and when it is given to him, he has a tendency to try and squirrel it away to give to some patient later, as a pick-me-up. Unfortunately for him, Shadow Milk tends to notice these things.

Once Black Raisin has left, Shadow Milk scoots back from Pure Vanilla, pulling his legs back from where they were stretched out to finally stand up. "So, should we go and help ourselves?" He challenges Pure Vanilla, daring him to refuse.

Pure Vanilla tilts his head this way and that, clearly reluctant, before tackling the dare head-on. "You can go ahead without me. I'm not hungry at the moment."

It's not a lie, but it dances on the edge of one. Shadow Milk sighs, ignoring his own budding amusement in favour of the scene. "But I don't want to eat on my own. You don't have to be hungry to eat, do you?"

Pure Vanilla hesitates for a few seconds, before reaching for where he had laid his staff, picking it up and steadying it against the ground. "...No, I suppose I don't. And I certainly wouldn't want you to be lonely."

He says it playfully, but Shadow Milk's eyes narrow at the words, his face falling blank. He doesn't respond immediately, circling Pure Vanilla with silent footsteps, not bothering to make himself heard.

The tense moment lengthens, and Pure Vanilla's expression falters with uncertainty, his head turning left and right. He had spoken playfully, so he must have expected a similar quip back, and found the silence he got instead unnerving.

"...Plain Yogurt?" He calls, with the slightest shiver of nervousness in the name. Shadow Milk comes to a stop in front of him, silently tapping his heels together with a sense of satisfaction.

"I'm here, my dear. Let's go, shall we?" He smiles, holding a hand out towards Pure Vanilla with a little snap of his fingers so he knows where his hand is. Pure Vanilla eases.

Yes, it'll take some time to get the Soul Jam if he continues to let things run its natural course, but Shadow Milk has time to spare. Even this little play in a rundown village is far better than the thousands of years he has spent stagnant, doing nothing, practically non-existent in the eyes of the world. Here, his presence makes an impact. Here, he can pick Pure Vanilla apart thread by thread and Pure Vanilla will let him, with a smile on his face.

That's all there is to it, really.

Shadow Milk hums as Pure Vanilla slips his hand easily into his palm, like he trusts him with his whole life.

"Just follow me!"

(Sweet fool.)

[next]

#we need to kill this guy with hammers.#SOMEONE can't admit that he likes being treated as a friend. and also can't give up his aspirations for evil and world domination. boooo #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pure vanilla cookie #healer cookie #shadow milk cookie #blind man's bluff au #the biscuit library

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drivemysoul · 2 years ago

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yes it’s just hair and it’ll grow back but i was just barely liking my hair and now it’s gonna take me another 3 years to get it to a length i don’t hate myself with

#taylor.txt #it was my own choice and it was for the best i know #but i fucking hate how i look with short hair like i legitimately loath myself and how i look #i needed to get rid of the bleach damage and i needed to get rid of everything she’d touched

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bunni-v1 · 2 months ago

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Cums all over your smilk headcanons

ANYWAYS wha if reader was just as much of a sensitive doll as he is when bottoming, would he just ignore them 😭

MDNI

Bro don't do that ur gonna stain it........

Anyway, I think that Shadow Milk is surprisingly flexible about sex! Like I said before he's not really in it for himself, what he enjoys is making you come undone. While that CAN mean him being cruel and giving you verbal lashings and being rough, if you're not into it he's not gonna force you.

Yes, he likes pinning you down and making you take it. Yes, he enjoys seeing you squirm and tear up from his sexual torture. Of course, he likes it when you whimper and whine when he calls you a needy slut. But he ONLY enjoys it when you're also into it. If you're not enjoying it, it's not really fun, it's just... gross.

He can feel your discomfort through the bite, you can't hide it from him, and he doesn't like the feeling coursing through his dough.

He loves you after all, and as much as he loathes to admit it, he doesn't want to hurt you. If you need some softer treatment, he can be flexible! No more degrading if you do not like it, he's more than happy to baby you if you like. He'll tease you for being so sensitive, though. Nothing too mean, just cooing at you like a petulant little child.

If you don't like being hit manhandled or tied up, that's okay too. There are other ways to have fun while having sex, roleplaying, cumplay, mutual masturbation, etc.. He'll survive if you're too sensitive to be played with so roughly.

One thing he doesn't compromise on is overstimulation and edging. They're his favorites, and if you're so sensitive it'll just make it easier to get the reaction he wants from you!

I didn't mention this in the first post, but I know for a fact you have an established safe word that he insisted on (believe it or not). He is very aware of the fact that you are not like him, and you are easily hurt in ways that he is not. Because of his kinks and what he indulges in, he needs you to have that safeword so he doesn't end up legitimately hurting you on accident.

He's a secret sweetheart with a soft spot in his dough just for you. He might not show it often, but he will when he needs to.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #shadow milk #shadow milk cookie smut #shadow milk cookie crk #shadow milk crk #shadow milk smut #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk x you #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x you #shadow milk cookie x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk #crk x reader #crk x you #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom x you

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wilteddreamsofbaldursgate · 1 year ago

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I’m a fierce believer and defender of Smooth Brain Astarion (affectionate).

I love that, if left to his own devices, he ends up dead in a ditch. I love that this pasty menace of an elf is a walking disaster. I love that his brain produces one coherent thought per day, only to have it backfire on him later on. I love that his first choice in freedom is to unapologetically be the worst version of himself. Because it makes sense.

That’s what abuse and trauma do to your brain—they fuck with it.

And in Astarion’s defence, the man didn’t have to use his brain for nearly 200 years—it’s probably the very thing that kept him as alive as he can be; to survive 200 years of pure shit.

And what use is his brain when his days and nights are dictated by someone else for as long as he can remember? When he has no say in what clothes he wears. When he doesn’t get to choose what or when to eat. When his body and mind aren’t his own, distorted by torture and hunger and self-loathing, forced to obey his vampiric master. Why use his brain when his survival depends exclusively on his abuser’s whims?

Astarion could’ve come up with the most brilliant plan possible to escape Cazador or save a mark from their doom, but he never stood a chance of succeeding—which doesn’t mean that he didn’t get punished for trying (or even thinking about it) anyway.

Existing under Cazador was a game he couldn’t win, so why bother playing?

And it’s only by chance that Astarion’s autonomy is returned to him literally overnight. It’s only natural that he’s overwhelmed by his newfound freedom. How is he expected to make sound decisions when he can’t even recall a time when he could do and say as he pleased?

Of course Astarion is a walking disaster when he finds himself on that beach after the Nautiloid crash—and he’s fully aware of that! That’s why it’s so crucial for him to get on the player’s/other companion’s good side.

He’s self-aware enough to be so insecure about himself that he would rather trust a stranger’s capabilities than his own.

Being a catastrophe of a person is part of Astarion’s character journey. Not only does he have to reclaim his personhood, he has to learn how to depend on his own brain again and I think that's such a painfully beautiful, important message Baldur’s Gate 3 sends.

Because healing isn’t pretty. Nor is it easy.

You’re not alright the moment you’re free of whatever horrors you had to live through—and that’s ok! There’s time and room for you to adjust.

And the moment Astarion feels more or less safe within his new environment, when he’s fed and treated like a person worthy of respect and consideration, his insights, skills and perception are crucial assets to the group.

Astarion knows his art and literature, and although his little remarks are unhinged at times, he's genuinely witty. Even his objections are, considering the circumstances, absolutely legitimate.

Personally, I love seeing Smooth Brain Astarion become more and more secure in his judgement the more Tav/other companions trust and support him.

Astarion is smart, his brain’s just been stewed for nearly 200 years.

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #baldur’s gate iii #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion headcanons #smooth brain astarion I will defend you until you can do it yourself #trauma can give you literal brain damage #of course he's a little eccentric #tw: trauma #tw: abuse #smooth brain astarion

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blushweddinggowns · 16 days ago

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“You’re so fucking pretty,” Steve mumbled against his lips, nipping at the bottom one, “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

“I am?” Eddie panted. He wasn’t looking for more flattery. Eddie legitimately thought he’d heard him wrong.

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you?” Steve laughed, moving to kiss along the line of his jaw, “I highly doubt I’m the first guy you’ve driven insane.”

“Actually, you kind of are,” Eddie blurted out, like a fucking idiot. His self-loathing only getting worse when Steve actually stopped.

He pulled back, genuinely confused when he asked, “Huh?”

God, why was Eddie so good at ruining things?

“I haven’t- I’m not- I won’t be the best at this because-”

“You’re a virgin?” Steve asked, cutting right to the crux of it.

Eddie blushed, glancing away, “By some metrics.”

He could feel Steve staring at him. Hard enough for him to struggle through an explanation, “I-I’ve fooled around a little bit with some people. But I grew up in a small town, I didn’t leave for fucking ever, then I was so busy I-”

“But you’re hot,” Steve said dumbly, interrupting Eddie’s panicked speech. Eddie finally looked at him, cringing when he realized that everything on Steve’s face was screaming that he thought Eddie was lying.

Steve gestured up and down the length of his body, a brow raised like he was proving some kind of point, “Like, really hot.”

“I-thank you?” Eddie said, a little dumbfounded, “But I’m still a virgin?”

Steve squinted at him, his eyes searching his face for any tells. When he couldn’t find anything, he just looked more confused. Head cocked like he was trying to figure out a particularly hard puzzle.

“I want to believe you,” Steve said slowly, his words coming out like a question.

Of all the reactions Eddie had imagined, pure skepticism was not one of them. Eddie sighed, a mix of annoyed and flattered at his disbelief, “Why would I lie about this?”

Steve’s eyes softened, picking up on Eddie’s shift in mood immediately. Maybe it should have been unsettling, just how easily he could do that.

But Eddie just felt relief when Steve sighed, gently brushing some of the hair out of his eyes, “Maybe because you figured out that I’d like that.”

“You like that?”

“I like you,” Steve said softly, his thumb rubbing over the side of Eddie’s jaw, “I like the idea of being your first. And your best. All I need to know is, where do you want to start?”

Eddie blinked up at him, his heart squeezing in his chest. How could one man be so perfect?

From this ~finished~ fic

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #fic excerpt #inky heels #older fic thats already done but figured this section fits well within tumblr format~

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