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lighteyed · 1 year ago

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can it be easy this once? / steve harrington

summary: steve accidentally gives a stupid answer to your honest question. (best friends with benefits pining idiots to lovers, fem!reader)

unedited we die like men & title from the alcott by the national ft taylor swift hehehe enjoy

It started as a means of comfort after Starcourt, when he was bloody and bruised up but you took him home and got closer, closer, closer, until it turned into a mess of blurred lines and panting breaths, lips swollen for reasons other than being hurt, for better reasons, reasons that brought forth safety and relief for the two of you. You both tend to hunger for such things. It’d been good, easy, for a bit there. Lately it’d felt like the intimacy was threatening to choke you. Like you’d never met a form of closeness you didn’t cling to. And God, did it feel like you were clinging. Craving an unwarranted change. Was it so unwarranted? You weren’t sure, you could never tell.

The air in his room is hot and sticky with summer, the ceiling fan providing the barest relief, your bare skin providing the slightest bit more. You stare all around his room, taking in all the stark traces of him, though in truth it doesn’t betray much, just as he attempts to. It’s a plain room, plaid walls, matching curtains, his desk messy and cluttered, all the dresser’s drawers slightly ajar like he spent a touch too long shuffling through all his clothes to determine which outfit would be best, which, knowing him in the way you do, he probably did. You knew he wasn’t as secure as he liked everyone to believe. Steve Harrington tried his best, but sometimes you saw right through him.

Other times he was harder to read. It was probably purposeful, layers of protection built around himself. Don’t love anyone, don’t let anyone love you, and you won’t get hurt. People can only hurt you if you let them. Steve wasn’t letting anyone anymore. Definitely not his parents, definitely not Nancy Wheeler, definitely not random girls who would inevitably end up disappointed with him. He swore it all off. He was a hopeless romantic who never wanted to be in love again. You understood it for the most part. Or you attempted to. It was hard when you were halfway (maybe more than halfway) in love with the guy, in his bed most nights, in his company most days, acting like a couple without being an established couple because he was too hesitant and you were too gentle to be pushy.

He nudges you lightly, naked chest peeking up from his covers, naked everything else kept firmly underneath. “You okay? You’re quiet.” He sits up so he’s level with you, and you avoid eye contact by leaning down toward the floor to grasp for the shirt he let you borrow, a faded Spider-Man one he insisted was from middle school. You didn’t entirely believe him, but maybe it was just funny, and kind of sweet, to picture Steve sleeping in a Spider-Man shirt and keeping it a secret just for himself. You pull the shirt on over your head, and before you can do it for yourself, he reaches for your hair and takes it out from where it’s caught under the shirt. The familiarity of it makes you flinch. You can have sex with him all you want but God forbid he’s the slightest bit loving outside of that. It confuses you, the softness in the touches that aren’t in bed with him. If he holds your hand in any context other than bringing you as into him as possible while he slips himself in and out, you lose all sense of normalcy between the two of you. You can’t be normal when he’s holding your hand and stroking your cheeks and being kind, soft, adoring Steve, without being your Steve.

“I’m fine, I’m just…” You reach for your shorts at the end of the bed. Steve watches you get dressed with his eyebrows scrunched together, confused. You’re not usually in a rush to leave after you have sex. Not that he wants you to. He likes that you stay until day sinks into night and he drives you home and waits to repeat it all again. Waits to see you, generally. And it’s not sex every single time. You drag him to see whatever’s playing at the Hawk and he makes you sit with him at Family Video on slow days when it’s just him on the clock and a single tumbleweed blows through the store instead of any customers. He drives you just about anywhere you ask and he lets you put on any cassettes you want in his car even if he hates what’s playing. It’s nice, the friendship part of all of it. If you had to give everything else up and just keep the friendship you’d be willing. He’d be willing. You consider it. “Nothing, just tired, probably gonna head home,” you smile at him over your shoulder before pulling on your socks and it’s half-hearted and he knows it.

“What? You can sleep here, you know that,” he waves a hand around the room, trying to catch your gaze, but you avoid his eyes again. Descending light slants in through the curtains and envelopes him in gold. He glows, he’s so pretty. His hair is messy from where you heatedly ran your hands through it, but it still looks nearly perfect. The fact that he always looks so good infuriates you.

“No yeah, I know, I wanna like shower and stuff too, and I left my new book at home and I wanted to do some reading,” you bluff calmly, standing up from tangled bedsheets and roaming the room in search of your sneakers.

“That Stephen King scary clown book? I’ll take you home and you can come back and read it here, so you don’t get scared,” and he knows you won’t get scared and that you love horror far more than he ever could but he just really, really doesn’t want to be alone. Why would you go when everything’s right here? His parents aren’t home and something about you leaving makes him antsy and desperate. When you still refuse to look at him he feels himself, his confidence, growing smaller and smaller. “Did I- did I do something?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as pathetic as it does.

You whip around to face him, finally, finally, and touch a hand to his face. Relief floods through him at the heat of your fingers. “No, of course not, it’s all me, okay? I’m all sweaty and awful.”

“You look beautiful, I swear,” he squeezes your hand and you feel like you’re drowning. It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me, it’s me.” He scoots closer, if that’s possible. “You’re one of my best friends, we tell each other everything.” You look up toward the ceiling, inwardly groaning. Best friend.

“You do this with all your best friends?”

“Well, no, Robin wouldn’t touch me even if she didn’t like girls-“ He feels himself starting to grin, teasing smile lilting at his lips.

“Steve!” You’re laughing a little and so is he as you push his arm back. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What’d you mean, then?” He’s still smiling, that entrancing, deliberately pouty, lazy smile. Vaguely smirky. You don’t know if it’s deliberate, a ploy to distract you, con you into staying, make you less prone to saying what you want to say, but you press anyway, even though he’s making you want to lean forward and endlessly kiss the smirk off his mouth.

“I just think, I don’t know… you’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

“’Course not, why, you got other plans after this?” He grins again. You roll your eyes. He makes it so hard sometimes.

“Steve,” you whine, “I’m so serious right now.”

“Okay, okay. No, you’re the only one for me.” He means it. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you seeing anyone else?” He asks you like it’s the easiest question in the world for him to ask but honestly he’s shitting his pants a little. He’s not sure what’d he say if you said yes, I am, and I think we should end this, which is where he’s assuming the conversation is going. You’ve got we shouldn’t do this anymore written all over you in his eyes and he’s steeling himself for the heartbreak.

“Does it look like I am?”

“Does it look like I am?” He repeats back, and he reaches for your hand in that too intimate way of his, takes it all careful and slow. “What’s this about?”

“I just, I just think, that, you know, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re not seeing anyone, but we’re sorta… seeing each other, yeah?” You gesture between the two of you. He nods. He’s staring at you very intensely, waiting for you to get your words out. He’s still waiting for you to say you think this whole thing has been a very bad mistake, a miscalculated judgement on your part, you should go back to the way things were, so he’s not expecting what comes out of you next. “Shouldn’t we be, like, official, then?”

And instead of throwing up all the ways he so badly would love for that to happen, he chokes out, because he’s stupid and speechless, “Official?” And the way he says it, like it’s a curse when it’s only his disbelief that you’d want that with him after all this time, makes you immediately go into panic mode.

He quite literally sees the way you lose any sense of confidence in your question and he immediately tries to take it back as you stand from his side and start trying to force your words back in your mouth, too. “Fuck, forget I said anything,” you mumble, spying your shoes shoved under his desk where you’d comfortably kicked them off. You hasten to put them on as Steve scrambles up from the bed and starts dressing, matching your frantic speed.

“Hey, wait, that’s not what I- I didn’t mean it like that-“

“It’s fine, Steve, I get it, I totally do, this isn’t that for you, it’s fine-“

“It is, it is-“ but you’re not hearing him, your mind is already elsewhere. It’s in your own bed in the quiet, alone with your thoughts and not with him, mercifully not with him. You need this one mercy, “I’ll drive you home, babe, c’mon, I’ll explain everything, please-“

“I got it, it’s fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to explain, okay? I got it,” and you don’t just walk out of his house and down the block to yours, you absolutely flee. You take Steve’s heart with you.

He’s pacing the floor behind the register at Family Video three days and three shifts later, practically clawing at the walls of the place, and Robin is pulling her hair out at the sight of him in distress this way.

“What did you do?” She finally breaks, flipping her magazine shut.

“What? How do you know it was me?” He stops pacing. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

“You’ve had three shifts and she hasn’t visited one single time. She always visits. And I know I didn’t do anything wrong, because I never do anything wrong, so, what’d you do?” Robin places her hand under his chin and stares at him expectantly.

He huffs, his hands on hips. “Maybe she did something, Robin, did you ever think of that?”

“Definitely not,” Robin retorts, waiting for Steve to be serious.

He deflates. “Okay, it was me.”

“I know that, now continue.”

“We were, you know,” he tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes.

“Having sex, sure,” Robin bobs her head. A customer in the nearest aisle frowns and shuffles toward a different section further away from the two of them.

Steve shushes her. “I wasn’t trying to say it so loud.”

“Having sex,” Robin repeats, louder this time, not bothering to fight back a laugh at Steve’s exasperated expression, “continue.”

“Well, after that, she started asking if, if I was seeing anyone, which of course I’m not, because, you know, I’m into her, obviously, so I told her I wasn’t, and she said she wasn’t, so she said maybe we should be official.” Steve hesitates to say the rest of what happened. He still can’t believe all he could do when you said the words was repeat them back to you with that stupid look on his face instead of giving you the biggest, loudest declaration of love in a big, messy, pathetic, devoted way, the way he pictures himself when it comes to you, messy and pathetic and devoted, and he replays that moment back to himself all day long, thinking of everything else he could’ve said to make you understand.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? She’s all you talk about all day long, you want to be with her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” He snaps, dragging a hand across his face. “But when she said it I just couldn’t get the words out and she got, she got so sad and she left without me being able to explain anything and she hasn’t answered the phone which, yes, I’ve been calling, and I don’t know how to do this.” He’d never been good at school but he knew he’d get a Grade A in Pitiful.

“Do what? Tell a girl you love her? You’ve been in relationships before, Steve.”

“I know, but…” he sighs. “I’m different now, like, it’s not as easy anymore, for me, and I- I don’t want her to get hurt, and I don’t want to get hurt, it’s like, everything used to be my fault, and I wasn’t as good as I could have been, and I don’t want to break anything, I don’t want it to get fucked up, because it’ll be my fault, and I can’t do that again. Not to her.” He swallows, the words harder to come by than he would care to admit. “I’m a little… I’m a little in love with her, I think.” This is said quietly. It frightens him to say it out loud. He’s gone over it in his head, those words, so few of them, but they say so much, and it’s scary. He hasn’t said them to someone in years. The last time he did he got so brutally hurt he thought he’d never recover. But he had. So why was it still so scary?

“A little bit?” Robin teases, but it’s all love for him, truly.

“Alright, a lot in love,” he concedes. He wants to get used to saying it. He wants to say it to you. For real. Loudly. “I still don’t know how to do this, though. Not anymore.”

“Come on!” Robin gets up from her stool and places her hands on his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington. You were using those…” she pauses for a beat and then, “charms,” the word is said with the smallest hint of sarcasm but she persists nonetheless, “on tons of girls in high school and at Scoops! Now whip them out again for our very nice friend that you sometimes go to town with!”

“When did any of those charms,” he says it with a matching sarcastic tone, “work aside from when I was sixteen and an idiot?”

“You might not be sixteen anymore but you’re still an idiot, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t but thank you for the encouragement.”

“I’m just saying!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up and returning back to her seat. “Putting yourself out there is always gonna be scary, but you can’t let that stop you. You’d actually be an idiot if you let that stop you. Are you just never gonna see her again? No, because you’d go insane. It’s not like what you did was all that bad anyway.”

“You really think so?” He perks up a bit, needing that confirmation that he isn’t a totally awful and irredeemable person. It’s easy for him to fall headfirst into that spiral of thinking. It was a trap set with the most accessible, perfect bait and he somehow always found himself walking straight into it without stopping to think if he was being fair to himself.

“You’ve both been in bad spots, you reacted the way you did and she reacted the way she did out of what was most likely panic and embarrassment. She’s definitely not even mad at you. Probably just, again, embarrassed. If you explain I think it’ll all be okay, Steve, I swear.” Robin can’t take much more of this conversation circling around, as much as she loves Steve and wants to be there for him, she would love him even more if he acted on his feelings and allowed himself some happiness for once. “So do you think you can you, like, maybe go tell her so she can keep visiting us at work? I need more company than just you and Keith and these customers with no taste,” she complains, glaring at the closed door that hides Keith, in all his absolute glory. The customer from before hears her comment and storms out. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Right, yeah, tell her I love her, tell my best friend I love her,” he frowns, nerves creeping up the back of his neck. “Maybe you could just call her first and ask-“

“Steve! I am not meddling in your love life like that when you already know everything there is to know!” She throws her magazine at him. “She said she wants to be with you, go be with her!”

“Alright, alright!” He waves his hands dismissively. He begins to pace again, this time his eyes held to the clock. Robin groans. There’s still three hours left of their shift.

You’re in your room wallowing, or doing what’d you call attempting not to wallow but failing at it miserably. You haven’t touched a single page of your book, mostly content to just listen to sad records and more or less stare at the wall. It was stupid, you knew, to behave in such a way over some guy. But it didn’t feel like some guy. It was Steve, after all. It all felt deeper than just some guy. You two had been through a lot together, more than most people have been, and if you’d just ruined your friendship with someone you always felt safe, felt at home with, over feelings you couldn’t control and probably would be better off not having, you were going to need some serious therapy.

It probably was silly of the two of you to start this thing up anyway, you reason, fighting back your urge to do any further crying into a pillow. You try to focus on painting your nails a nice shade of dark blue but it reminds you of Steve’s old Scoops uniform and of that night (and all that nights that followed) so you stop in the middle of your second thumb and grab nail polish remover and start scrubbing away at your finished right hand.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you mutter, the cotton ball in your hand soaked through with blue and your nails discolored and muddy. “I am ridiculous,” you say to yourself, shaking off your wet hand. Your room is filled with the smell of acetone and disappointment. You think about lighting a candle when your doorbell rings. You debate answering it before it rings again. And then again. And again, more frenzied this time.

You open the door to a distressed Steve. His cheeks are red and he’s breathing like he can’t anymore. He’s not the multi-star athlete he was in high school, he realizes in this moment. “Did you- did you just run here from work?” You ask him, but he’s already too close to you, not answering your question, gazing at you because simply looking isn’t enough and has never been enough. He is gazing. He is flush with adoration. It’s hard not to bloom under that radiance. He makes you want to forget everything and go back to plush lips on hot skin and the quiet contentment that came alongside being with him in those first few months. You back up a little into your doorway but he steps up to you, following your steps. “Where’s your car-“

“Forget that for a sec,” he says, and you stop talking out of surprise. “Just, just tell me if we do this it’ll be okay, and we won’t be terrible for each other, and we’ll be good,” because he needs to hear it, even if it’s ridiculous and he’s jinxing it before it’s begun he needs to know you’re right there with him. “Like, just tell me it can be easy this once. If you broke my heart I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. ‘Cause I love you. I do. And I want this.” And you get it. He’s letting you get it. He’s letting you all the way in. You realize, flustered and basking in it, that he’s the first one to say those words. That you hadn’t even said them when you posed your first question. But he’s saying them out loud and it’s brilliant and beautiful. He is beautiful.

It makes you want to weep, the love that swells here, out in the open. “Fuck, Steve, what type of girl do you think I am, breaking the heart of the guy I’ve been in love with since he started sneaking into my bedroom?” He smiles. He glows. It’s so beautifully Steve. Maybe it can be easy.

When he kisses you, he proves it: the ease, the tranquility. He is fervent and burning. Everything is urgent with Steve. Especially kissing. He captures every bit of you immediately. His touch is light when he urges you out of your doorway and into your living room so he can shut your front door and quit giving the neighbors what he’s sure is the show of a lifetime. It is for him, at least.

#IM JUST GONNA POST THIS NOW BECAUSE I WANTED TO WRITE SMUT BUT I KEEP DELETING IT AND IF I DONT JUST POST AS IS IM GONNA END UP NEVER POSTIN #i feel like the ending is rushed but otherwise i did enjoy writing this immensely!#love you guys<3333 #i will write smut one day but not today i guess! i’m literally at work rn too soo #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things

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the-greatest-magic-of-all · 8 months ago

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As a part of Fabian's bardic curriculum, they go through and learn dances from different cultures of the Mountains of Chaos. A Goblin courtship dance comes up one day and Fabian immediately sets his mind to memorizing every move perfectly because he wants to (for no reason) show it off to Riz.

One afternoon, Fabian manages to grab Riz before he jets off to one of his many clubs to perform it for him. Riz enjoys the show heartily even though he understands that Fabian just wants to show off and is not actually performing the dance for him. So when it gets to the part where the courted party is supposed to join the courtee, Riz "accepts" Fabian’s "courting" and goes to dance with him. Even though he doesn't know all the proper moves, all is well and good. A moment of fun and relief during a stressful year.

Until Riz gets home late from one of his clubs to find Sklonda fielding call after call from his relatives excited to see his new beau at the Gukgak family gathering next week. All because Sprak spotted him and Fabian dancing and couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

#*cue fake dating shenanigans!!*#In my mind all Goblin families in Solace talk to each other and gossip like there's no tomorrow #Im gonna write a fic one day where Fabian has to make a good impression on *all* of Riz’s extended family #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #fabriz

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insomnya777 · 20 days ago

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hiiiii guys !!!!!!!! so me and @toximblee were cooking up some ideas ..... basically to all my author moots would u perhaps be down to do a little secret santa fic exchange 😄 super casual kinda thing we can make a little discord server have some fun with it ...... maybe ????? reply if ur interested ???????

#also maybe not “secret santa” because christmas is in like. four days #but that concept #IT SEEMS FUN RIGHT #and it won't be like a Big Thing. just super chill a bunch of us just writing for each other it'll be so cutesy #and we can do a little vote if we all want to make like Requests set in stone #OR #orrrr the gifter can like stalk the other persons blog and be like Hmmm so this is what they like based off of reblogs and stuff ...#LIKE ISNY THAT SO FUN #and then at the end we all reveal who we did it for #ISNT THAT SO CUTEEEEE #but like yes. reply if ur perhaps interested/want more info #(if no one replies im gonna be SOOOOO heartbroken)#nya talks #trafficblr #hermitblr #boat boys #smalletho #<- i mean we were thinking making it a boat boys centered thing but also like im not opposed to making it more varied #smallishbeans #joel smallishbeans #ethoslab #LIKE WE COULD WRITE FICS ABOUT OTHER PEOPLS FICS. guys. isn't that SO SO FUN???

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glaivenoct · 1 year ago

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I know all he says is "I'm home", but whenever I watch this scene it always translates in my head as "Hi mom, I'm home 🥺 sorry I haven't called or visited in a while 👉👈"

#trigun stampede #vash the stampede #TristampParty #i'm behind on reading posts and stuff from the last couple days and I have so many ship 3 fam thoughts but also I'm t i r e d #im gonna write ship 3 fam fic things one day just you wait

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desceros · 1 year ago

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now i can finally leave surprises in your inbox HEHEHEHE

#you have become TOO POWERFUL!!!!!!!!! i. i saw i had an ask from you and i was so excited.#‘wow!!’ i said. an innocent man. a fool. ‘what did my beloved gb say in our first correspondence? prithee tell for i am naught but gay!’#and then i was shot. in the face. point blank. eviscerated #tmnt #rise #FAVORITE #FAVORITES OF FAVORITES. the MOST FAVORITE #ok. drama over. gay shit now. hey. hey gb. [kisses you with tongue]#im so fkkin obsessed with your style and this is so amazing. it’s so soft. it’s so fkkin tender. i want to write a 50k fic just of this pic #your lines are so god damn pretty?? your colors are just. chef kiss. his lil face makes me want to **** ** ***** * ****#mwah. mwah. mwah. forever mwah. good morning everyone!! i hope your day started off .1% as well as mine bc if so it’s gonna be a Good One #ask tag

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delta-piscium · 2 years ago

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@steddie-week day 1: Hunger | 1.1k words cw: light angst in that Steve is a little sad/dealing with some mental stuff but like hurt/comfort (not EDs which mental stuff combined with the prompt word might make it seem like, hunger is used as a metaphor)

Sometimes Steve doesn’t talk to anyone for days. He just shuts himself in his room and hides, barely leaves his bed. Pretends he doesn’t exist, or that time has stopped and he’s the only thing that exists.

Sometimes, he’ll go back too soon, feel bad for the ignored calls and drag himself out of bed to see the people who matter most to him. But it won’t feel warm and soft those times. He’ll be too raw and It’ll feel like they’re grabbing his insides and eating them. Pulling his heart and brain out of his body and devouring them without letting him eat theirs in return.

Usually, he’s okay with that. He knows his place, he knows that’s what he’s for. For other people to get fed. And he’s happy to feed, to do that for them.

He loves them, of course he’s gonna give himself over. It’s just that sometimes they take too much. They don’t know they do he thinks, they don’t know they’re eating him alive. That he’s presenting himself on a silver platter and letting them take take take, and that sometimes they take too much.

That’s why he disappears, so he can grow back. So he can give more. Because if he stops giving he's afraid they’ll get tired. He won’t be useful, he can’t give when he’s like that. He starts craving, he starts wanting. He feels starved and wants to take and feed too, and that’s not part of the deal. He’s not supposed to eat, he’s supposed to be eaten. So when he turns hungry and ravenous he hides, he isolates.

Robin is the only one who truly gets this about him, who doesn’t take and demand. She gently accepts the things he gives and never without giving too, forcing him to stay whole. It’s overwhelming and sometimes he has to hide from that too, he doesn’t know how to deal with the force of it. He’s so used to the constant hunger it’s a shock when it’s gone but he’s gotten better. And anyway, he and Robin are part of one whole so whatever is given or taken between them is never really gone. It stays with both of them.

Robin is the only one, or she was the only one he should say. Because now there’s Eddie. Eddie who gives and gives and gives, almost as much as he does. But who doesn’t seem to dwindle and dim like Steve does. Who doesn’t seem to starve or hunger. Eddie who notices when Steve does, when he stumbles and gets greedy. Who holds him up and makes him whole with a look, a touch, a word.

Eddie who breaks in through his window when he shuts himself in his big empty house and lays with him in his bed, softly telling Steve stories and running his fingers through his hair.

It’s wonderful.

It's the worst.

“I’m afraid you’re gonna end up as empty as me,” Steve tells him, whispers it into the dark. “That you’re here now and you’re giving and I’m taking and you’re gonna be the one left with nothing.”

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately but hums in acknowledgment, lets him know he heard and is thinking.

“This is good for me too,” he says eventually, “being with you and resting. Getting to be here for you when you never used to let anyone but Robin be. It’s good for me too.”

“It can be good and still drain you.” Says Steve, knows it to be true. He doesn’t resent giving the way he does, he loves it, it’s good. It drains him.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “this doesn’t drain me, you’re comforting me too. It’s balanced.”

Balanced. That’s what Robin tells him too. That’s what Nancy sometimes asked him for when they dated and he couldn’t let her see the cracks. That’s what he wonders about with his other friends.

He doesn’t usually know how to do that. He doesn’t know where the lines are. He doesn’t understand how Eddie knows.

“You let me give, and I let you give, so it’s balanced. We don’t take from each other, we gift and we receive. It’s balanced. You have to let other people give sometimes too, Steve.”

It hits something deep in him, the last words. He knows this, he doesn’t want to know it.

“I’m afraid they won’t. if I open myself up to it. If I ask, I’m afraid they won’t.” He says it so quietly it’s almost inaudible but Eddie hears.

His hands still in Steve’s hair for a moment before moving again, gently scratching his scalp.

“I know baby. But that’s not fair, they want to give too. If they knew how much they took without giving back they’d be heartbroken. It’s not fair to you or them.”

Steve lets Eddies words wash over him, he knows he’s right. They’d be nauseous with it. His sweet wonderful friends and family would be crushed.

“Sometimes it will happen, maybe,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t respond beyond a sharp breath in. “Sometimes people won’t know how to give after only getting but you gotta let them try. Sometimes they’ll learn and adjust, sometimes they won’t and you’ll have to deal with that. But you can’t starve yourself like this because you won’t let them try.”

"What if I take too much?"

"Then they talk to you, like you should talk to them."

“When did you get so wise,” Steve snorts, his voice is tight but he makes the effort, tries to lighten the mood. Deflects, like he always does.

Eddie lets him, a little, knows Steve has to. But he’s still serious when he answers.

“Wayne is like a never-ending well of insight and digging around in everything, never lets me get away with shit.”

The opposite of Steve’s parents who were the first to take from him and never give, never look into his eyes and tell him to eat.

“He’s a good guy,” Steve tells Eddie instead of weighing him down more than he already has. Instead of acknowledging and relieving the hunger pang that strikes him at the thought. Even now, here, he doesn’t know how.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’m here to relay his wisdom, like playing telephone with whatever stuff he teaches me. The things your parents took away from you.”

Eddie still knows, of course, he does. He always knows.

“And what do you get?” Steve has to ask.

“I get you. I get everything.”

Steve smiles, turns around to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t feel empty when Eddie kisses him back, hungry. When he takes and devours.

#i didn't think i was gonna be able to do steddie week becuase it crept up on me and i haven't kept up #and i wasn't gonna post this but like i wrote this in like 40 minutes in a haze and then went on tumblr and saw one of the #prompts for day 1 was hunger and i had literally just written this thing where i used hunger as a metaphor so i went back and reread it #and did some edits and now im posting it #which well i usually stick to humor in my writing so this is always scary but here we are #this is so different from what i usually post but this is also representative of like 70% of my notes app i just dont share #this kind of writing but fuck it i guess #my writing #dels steddie thoughts #steddieweek2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie week

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swallowtail-ageha · 5 months ago

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I think someone should study the fact that all of the moral issues people have with coleen hoover are just the modern day version of "this erotic literature will corrupt our pure women!"

#she literally. she literally writes modern day bodice ripper romances. y'all grandmas #consumed that shit as if tomorrow wouldnt come #hell i myself think that her writing sucks but. im not gonna raise a rabble or go on a moral crusade with 'oh i am so worried for the young #girls who might read this and think abuse is ok!' which is just. so incredibly stupid #and is one of the instances where people will literally blame anything but the abuser themselves in a DV situation #(and like doesnt account on how girls can and do know how to differentiate fiction from reality #me reading smutty bully harry stiles fics at twelve with dubious consent didnt lead to my grooming #because i *knew* that an asshole beating you up at school and then saying no i love u now was wrong and abusers #are way more insidious than that #there are also people going 'oh but her being widespread is the reason why media literacy is so low' baby it doesnt work like that #the booktoker saying she cant read stories that are too complicated wouldntve been miracolously a good reader if coho didnt exist #she wouldve just read. harry potter or other YAs. media literacy and reading comprehension are tools that can be sharpened #but aren't really *gainable* yknow unless they are put into you really young thru school and we all know school doesnt do that #also comment i found funny was someone going 'teens who read coho will grow up saying that wuthering heights is a love story'#<-da hell is that thang. whuhei is 100% a love story all the players being assholes doesnt mean it isnt a romance

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reddamselette · 4 months ago

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Jason was resting against the headboard of his bed, his glasses low on his nose as he read with a book pressed on his thigh. The dim lighting from his lamp provided illumination, a fuzzy warm glow like the sun was peeking through the blinds of his window during sunrise.

It was well past midnight. His room was the only window barely lit up, the city was asleep as was every other person within the apartment he resided in. Jason assumed Thalia had already gone to bed, no longer able to hear the muffled talking and shouts of laughter each time they’d been on the phone with a friend.

He sighed as he threw his legs over the edge of his bed, closing the book along with him as he stood up and made his way over to his desk sitting in the corner near the window. Jason took off his glasses to rub at his eyes, he finished the book but he had a five page book report left that was due the next morning before lunch. He didn’t know when time was lost on him, he might’ve been busy but at the moment, sleep was all he could think about.

Just before he would leave his room to wash his face and make a cup of tea, he heard a thud.

It was a fleeting thing and he would’ve thought it was a mere figment of his imagination had it not happened again.

Jason turned around and stepped closer to his window, pushing the curtains apart only to reveal someone on the other side of the glass. Someone who was known on the news and the talk of the public, a hero with a spider front and center on his chest, never one to stay too long and was always one to keep an identity hidden.

Against his better judgment, he unlocked the latch to his window and pulled it up, allowing the hero to stumble in with a muffled grunt that quickly turned into a wince.

Jason closed the window and shut the curtains, carefully directing the other to sit at the chair of his desk.

He had never seen Spiderman up close before. However seeing the real thing compared to what he had seen on the media was always a different experience. Others think he was old enough to be in his twenties but to Jason, the hero couldn’t have been younger than he is.

“Why in the world,” Jason started in a whisper, “would you randomly ask someone who you don’t even know for help?”

Spiderman laughed, a breathless sort of sound that reminded Jason all too much of someone who stole his heart. His body shivered involuntarily like he was shocked. He might’ve been.

“Why in the world would you let someone—ah, shit—let someone you don’t know in your room?” The hero asked in turn, a lazy tilt of his head to the side as he pressed a gloved hand to his torso. “I..I think I can trust you.”

Jason huffed and he left the room. Only to come back minutes later with a few things, a first aid kit and rubbing alcohol.

His information on first aid and injuries were only built on what Will would mention, what he’d share from the medical program he was enrolled in. As he knelt down beside the hero, gently pulling away his hand to check the wound, Jason knew it wasn’t fatal but it was nasty under the fabric of his suit.

“Lift up your shirt,” Jason muttered as he set the things beside his knees, opening the lid to the alcohol and used the washcloth to absorb some of the stinging liquid.

“Usually you would have to—“ The hero hissed as he slowly peeled his shirt up and over his side, revealing warm and tan skin covered in blood. “Take me out on a date first before asking me that.”

“Hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.” Jason could only imagine the questions and concerns if he left his room unattended for Thalia to see. They’d think he was related in life threatening situations, might’ve gotten mugged or something other that wouldn’t have been possible unless he left the safety of his room that late. Thalia always did have the talent of stressing themself out.

Although, Jason had a feeling that if they knew he opened his window to a stranger—nevermind that they’re a hero—they would explode.

Those thoughts were quickly drowned out, a flash of lightning to something that had struck out in Jason’s mind. “What did you mean by you think you can trust me? I could’ve been a bad guy for all you know.”

The hero curled his fingers into a fist as he released a strained breath of air and Jason murmured an apology, carefully dabbing the washcloth laced with rubbing alcohol around the wound. Will would’ve been proud, really. “I-Is it safe to say that I doubt it? I’ve had my—my fair share of bad guys and none of them read Wuthering Heights before bed.”

“What if I happen to be an extinguished criminal then? Get inspiration on my wrongdoings or whatever from whatever I read?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing this isn’t a comic book, otherwise I think—I think I would’ve had to deal with the Joker or something.”

Jason huffed under his breath, shaking it head as he cleaned up the last bit of blood around the wound, hoping he disinfected thoroughly yet he felt like even the slightest of it went a long way. He set the washcloth down and grabbed a gauze pad, pulling off the thin sheet of paper as he stuck it to the hero’s side, doing it in such a way to avoid anything suddenly getting into the gash.

“My best friend says the same thing,” Jason said after he began unrolling the bandage around the hero’s torso.

Spiderman lifted his head to look at Jason through his mask but the blond was concentrated. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pursed in the way that no one but him would notice. “Do they?”

Jason didn’t answer for a moment as he tidied everything up, packing away the bandages and such into the first aid kit then closed the lid to the bottle of rubbing alcohol. His knees ached by the time he stood and he placed it onto his desk next to his book. “Mm. My older sister says he’s a bad influence though.”

“I am not a bad influence—“ He paused and he coughed weakly, then he sighed just as Jason nodded to himself and took a seat on his bed directly across. He hesitantly raised his hand, hooking his fingers around the material of his mask to pull it off.

Brown curls popped and fell around his face, frizzy and hardly taken care of, some strands stuck to his forehead due to sweat. It was a rough fight Leo went through, he didn’t know how he managed to escape.

He had several small cuts to his cheek, his lip, his jawline. A bruise forming high on his cheekbone near his eye but hazel irises remained the same and he was otherwise unscathed and embarrassed. “How did you know?”

Jason had guessed. He had his suspicions for a long while, since their sophomore year. They were halfway through junior year now, events and trips piled one after the other and they were busy as ever. He vaguely recalled the sudden absences of his best friend—his tia needed something or he left something at home—with rushed apologies as he ran like his life depended on it.

And it had.

And it seemed to make Jason fall in love with him more. The boy he loved since middle school. The hero he looked at like he decorated the sky in stars, pulled the very reins of the chariot holding the sun.

Jason couldn’t help it. There were dangers of him knowing yet he wouldn’t mind at all of being Icarus. He would always fly too close to the sun if it meant spending his entire life with Leo, he thought.

“Your excuses aren’t very convincing, Leo.”

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