#pre established relationship?? )

[heynhay]

playing dirty

[samijen]

they're just both mentally unwell lmaooo

this is PURELY SELF INDULGENT and has NO POINT WHATSOEVER

AVERT YOUR EYES AAAA

[hitlikehammers]

bring him home

rating: t ♥️ cw: Eddie in the Upside Down,; Steve on what he thinks is a retrieval mission for his body (it's not); Eddie Munson Lives; Kas!Eddie (ish) ♥️ tags: established relationship, secret pre-S4 relationship, post-S4, presumed dead (Eddie), mourning and heartbreak (Steve), happy ending (because Eddie is alive, ofc), soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-four: Love is the only thing we can take with us (@thefreakandthehair)

oh hey look, another day I didn't intend to write at all ♥️ but then @pearynice was intrigued by a stray half-baked idea and I struggle to not at least try to provide content in such instances ♥️

He’s only thought it since, since, but he’s actually kind of grateful no one knew. That no one could even have guessed. They’re on eggshells around him enough as it is, thinking it’s the loss, finally, that he couldn’t walk them back from, couldn’t recover them allfrom safe if not wholly sound. They think he’s dealing with survivor’s guilt or just the general blow of a failure so immense, maybe long overdue: and that’s probably part of it.

But only because it’s part of the bigger thing. The real loss.

They would have been together nearly ten fucking months, y’know; the better part of a whole goddamn year since that day at the mall, eyes catching and something just…clicking. Like the barest whisper breathing this could be something into the universe for them to catch if they wanted, and for all that’s still good in the world they both wanted, beyond any kind of logic they both fucking reached.

And Steve knows he’s worrying everyone, knows Joyce cooks for him because she’s sacred for him, knows Claudia bakes for the very same reason; he knows Robin’s gone back to biting her nails over him, and he hates that, he hates it but, like: Steve feels like he left his soul in that hellscape with the man he’d wrapped up in it; knows he left his heart there, because he gave it to that same man ages ago and never ever considered taking it back—and he’s kind of just a, a shell, now, and it’s good that they all think Steve’s just fucked up over the lost, over-inflated savior complex, Rob had muttered more than once and sure, fine—let them think that’s all it is.

It means he can plan without interference.

It means he can drive to the last oozing rift in the world with axes he found in the garage, a crowbar he grabbed at The War Zone—which he knows because he found a receipt, not because he can remember going, driving, paying; he fucking can’t—a fucking tire lift that he things is better suited to trucks than his Beemer but that’s why he needs it: he need to rip open the earth beneath his feet because maybe his heart died down there with the boy he loves in ways he didn’t know he could, not until he found those reserves of feeling inside him well up for the fact of him and maybe it’s too later for his heart, and maybe his soul’s locked in as a funeral shroud but godadmn it all—

Steve needs to bring Eddie’s body home.

Dropping through he fissure in the ground is second nature, like something calling him through the break and that feel right, because the Upside Down for what it is alone is somewhere Steve never wants to be, never wants to touch: but what it holds now what it stole from him and claimed and kept: Steve wants that back beside him, it doesn’t matter how. Cold, torn, broken, gone—Steve’s already those things himself. Now he’s just a raw nerve, but if that nerve could go numb, could freeze for so much pain, so much abuse and hurt. He feels more for the knowledge of how much things should destroy him; he thinks his body is more of an echo chamber, a void that moves but isn’t…there anymore.

Is here, because he left the best of him, the whole of him here, and he—it creaks in his knees when he hits the ground on the other side, shoots up his spine from the bones of him on contact; it should hurt, it should hurt but he can’t feel so much, and he needs to get his bearings, needs to orient, needs to figure where he is and the quickest way to Forest Hills, to where Eddie—

He can’t feel shit when he’s got a purpose, here: the first he’s had in weeks.

He moves to stand, gets to his feet at—

It’s unexpected, how much he feels the impact that knocks him back down, the weight that pushes him to the ground again and covers him, snarls at him, breathes hot and violent against his jaw, against his neck, and Steve—

Steve’ll die here, that’s clear from the hiss above him, the way he’s pinned like prey, like a meal, and the only thought he really has, in all honesty, is he’ll die here.

But he already died here, so it just feels kinda anticlimactic.

The panting against him keeps up, but it…it doesn’t go anywhere, it doesn’t become other, or more—there’s no teeth, no clawing or biting or ripping him apart, draining him dry. He doesn’t think he was afraid for any of it, exactly; his heart’s pounding but it feels distant, other and something far from him, disconnected: not a part of his shell-self, so he thinks that’s just ingrained, just an automatic response to a demo-something, probably, sizing up its meal but like, it’s not doing anything and Steve, Steve doesn’t…he’s not invested, exactly, he doesn’t even think he cares, but—

He squints his eyes open the barest crack where he’d instinctively squeezed them shut and he looks, expects the toothy petals, or even a veiny body; he looks and—

“Eddie?”

Oh, good. Heart, soul: may as well add losing his fucking mind to this place, too, third time’s a goddamn charm.

Because it’s not Eddie, it can’t be…it can’t be Eddie, and—

Not-Eddie leans into him, presses onto him full-bodied, hips to chest, thighs spread to hold him down like he’s going anywhere because, because…

Steve feels that. He feels the pressure, he feels pain where this body drags against scrapes in Steve’s skin, he feels his heart pounding, Jesus fucking Christ, that fucking hurts, but he looks at the face that’s looming over him, tipped to the side like it’s asking a question, like it’s considering Steve below, and it: the bones are sharper, the skin more pale, more drawn up tight and pulled—the eyes are red, bright like when the lighting cuts the sky, here, but everything else…

“Eddie, oh god,” Steve doesn’t want to question it, Steve doesn’t want to keep his mind if the alternative is moments with some version of Eddie whose breath he can feel again, it’s, he’s;

“Eds,” he chokes, and Eddie’s got him wholly pinned down, he can’t reach for Eddie’s face to cup it, to cradle it, so he lets his breath catch, his lungs hitch, lets the tears burn on their way from his eyes in streams as he twitches his fingers, stretches the tips to brush Eddie’s palm where he holds Steve down and—

Eddie stills, and his eyes narrow, and…

And if Steve has to die here, again: let it be at Eddie’s hands. Let it be maybe for Eddie’s…benefit, he’s wellbeing, however he survives here. Let it be for Eddie.

Always for Eddie.

But then Eddie: Eddie doesn’t let him up, still lean into Steve from the middle, but—he buries his head at Steve’s neck, and breathes in so deep, Steve gets to close his eyes and soak in the feeling of his chest rising into Steve’s own: strong.

Real.

“Known,” Eddie murmurs, shakes his head like he’s trying to shoo a fly, but then a shiver trembles through the whole of him, Steve can trace its trajectory where Eddie’s held against him, and then Eddie growls—it’s not a wholly new sound but it’s deeper, more animal in it than Steve’s ever heard and then he bites out through bared teeth: “Known.”

Then he draws back from Steve’s neck, studies him shrewdly, a little hesitant, like he’s unsure of whatever’s happening to him, in him: then he nods, chews at his lower lip in a painfully familiar move before his hands leave Steve’s wrists and he’s—

“Known.”

He’s tracing Steve’s cheekbones, the line of his jaw; he’s running his nose against the slope of Steve’s, he’s…it’s like he’s tracing him, and he does it so gentle, he almost like he anticipates it, he’s—

“Known,” and Eddie’s fucking…it’s not a growl this time but somehow whatever it is, is deeper, stronger, and he mouths at Steve’s neck again but instead of breathing him in, he’s sucking at the lines of his arteries down the sides, up and down, and then he follows the blood to the sounds, groans at a pitch Steve’s never heard before but it’s still, it’s sill Eddie, and—

“Hurt?” Eddie mouths at his chest through the layers of his clothes, sounds mournful, stills as he considers something, intent with it before his head pops up, those red eyes so wide and aching as his hands tap against Steve’s arms, frantic and—

Oh.

Oh; they’re tapping out Steve’s heartbeats to every racing clench-give echoing through his ribs and Eddie moans, almost wails, then—

“Hurt,” and he looks frantic, his eyes wild, and his mouth dropped open, bereft and seeking and oh, oh: Eddie thinks his heart’s pounding because he’s hurt, because he’s in pain and kinda, a little bit but not like that and—

“No,” Steve’s quick to try and soothe, even if his voice is barely a rasp; “no, no,” and his wrists are free to he reaches, covers Eddie’s hands and links their fingers together, feels something in him reanimate, come straight back into being just for that touch, and that it’s warm:

“Happy,” Steve gasps, and squeezes Eddie’s hands with force, with feeling; “happy, to see you,” and he closes his eyes in something like relief when Eddie’s mouth stills against his chest again; sighs when Eddie nuzzles there, like he always did, like he belongs because he always belongs.

“So fucking happy,” Steve breathes, and he feels weightless; wonders if he died. If he hit the ground and snapped his neck. If the impact was a monster and not the love of his life, somehow saved from ruin just to save Steve back in kind.

“Mine,” Eddie whispers, a little bit of a hiss for the feeling in it, the intensity sewn in as he mouths around the beat of Steve’s blood: that’s what he means. That’s his, that and everything it powers, everything it lends life.

His.

He pulls back, and Steve bites back a whimper for the loss before Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks…he looks lost, then, grasping, in need as he almost begs, like the answer is the end of all things:

“Mine?”

He lifts one of their joined hands—he doesn’t disentangle them, and fuck if Steve’s ever letting go—but he lifts them to Steve’s chest and holds there, presses down and looks pointedly at the way his palm covers Steve’s heart, looks up in askance, up and down, there and back over and again, more desperate every time and Steve tightens his fingers around Eddie’s and nods, just nods because his voice is gone, his throat’s too tight, he’s—

But Eddie sees it. Eddie understands because Eddie…

Eddie always understands what Steve can’t say.

“Mine,” he exhales like it’s the answer to the universe, like it’s proof of god and the devil, like it’s more than air to breathe and Steve’s…

Steve doesn’t even know what he is. Except: he’s alive.

He died before he left here last time, and now somehow he’s alive. “Known, s’known,” Eddie mutters, shakes his head slow and pins his gaze on different parts go Steve’s body, touches and looks up to Steve like it serves as confirmation just to meet his gaze, to watch him blink; “know, know,” and Eddie bends again, mouths at his chest and inhales sharp as he rips out, almost feral: “mine,” and then something in him gives, and he falls to Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart skips, the terror in him tangible, but he throws out his hands, lets Eddie’s grasp go to hold Eddie up and Eddie panting, gasping, something has to be wrong—

“St,” Eddie’s voice is sandpaper rough, but…but full somehow and Steve can’t name what it is, save that it makes him feel warm, from the inside, in a way he’d thought was gone forever. It prickles at his eyes and he doesn’t fight the tears:

“Ste,” Eddie coughs a little, and then he looks up, brow furrowed and muscles tight as he locks his eyes on Steve’s and grits out:

“Steve?”

And those eyes: those eyes meet Steve’s now—color in them, that depthless nightshade, drenched in that deep warm chocolate shade: Steve’s breath catches. His heartbeat skips again, but wholly different, and it looks, it feels like a weight’s been lifted; a spell’s been broken. And somehow, somehow even before anything shifted, somehow Eddie, his Eddie, he—

Whatever’s happened, whatever’s been done to him: somehow, deeper than any of it, he kept the love.

“Steve.”

Eddie’s voice shakes and he drops his weight again but this time when he presses against Steve it’s to wrap him close, to hold him a little clumsy, a whole lot desperate, and it…it feels like maybe Steve’s soul where it’s wrapped around Eddie? Like maybe he gets a little bit of it back; like maybe he can inhale and it could mean something again.

Eddie only draws back to tuck his head under Steve’s chin, to dip lower and put his lips to the center of Steve’s chest, to breathe there, like life into the heart of him again and fuck, but he feels it.

He kinda doesn’t need to know anything more, doesn’t need to have any more answers to know whatever this is, whatever Eddie needs: they’ll figure it out. Eddie’s lips are on his chest. His heart’s a mallet against Eddie’s mouth, beats up into the warm rush of his breath: there. Real.

Steve feels it.

also on ao3 🖤

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

[prince-liest]

Remember that omegaverse beta!Vox fic idea that I had? :}

Also, this is my official announcement for nobody to actually expect anything whatsoever out of me for the next 4-8 weeks, as I'm starting my inpatient rotation followed by emergency medicine, the first of which is going to be 12-14 hours a day, 6 days a week. YOLO! Time to die!

[profoundbondfanfic]

In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved)

In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved) by Caelum_Writes Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 11k

A 26-year-old Dean is transported to 2021 and confronted with the unfathomable - a future where he is happy, safe, and loved. --- "Aren’t you gunna say it?” he asks tentatively, as if he’s crazy for picking up on the obvious. “Yeah, you’re me. Past me, anyway,” the other Dean replies. “I wanna know from when.” "What are you talking about?” “Time travel,” the older Dean states as if it’s so obvious and ordinary. “It happens.” “To who? Marty McFly?”

I probably read this fic for the first time around the time it came out and it has lived rent free in my head ever since. It's a time travel story and a Dean Winchester character study. But most of all it poses the age old question: what would my past self think of me now?

Dean is retired and living with Cas and Jack. They are the picture of domestic bliss. When 26 year old Stanford Era Dean shows up, Dean has to face his past and his future. The contrast of how hard past Dean is and how happy and in love he and Cas are now is really compelling.

There's an element of Dean forgiving himself and being easier with himself. There's also something unbearably soft about the way Cas loves both of them. He's gentle with past Dean and so in love with present Dean.

There are some heavy themes, but ultimately this fic is fluffy and soft with a hint of bittersweetness.

[prismatoxic]

just saw someone call dunmeshi "a show about sapphic women" i think maybe you don't actually know what dungeon meshi is about

[kyouka-supremacy]

Thinking a lot about sskk post doa arc reunion desperate kissing. Thinking about the hurry and apprehension and unreal relief. Thinking about them gripping their hands to the other's back and trying to get impossibly close. Thinking about Atsushi holding Akutagawa so tightly it almost bruises, because he's afraid of him vanishing again. Thinking about Akutagawa being unable to center Atsushi's mouth in the scramble, so he just ends up kissing all over Atsushi's face everywhere he can reach. Thinking about the kiss being messy and human and real, thinking about their cheeks being wet from Atsushi's tears. Thinking about Atsushi being terrified to close his eyes for longer than a second because what if after he opens them again, Akutagawa won't be there anymore. Thinking about Atsushi's hands going all over Akutagawa's figure like he wanted to commit his very physical body to his memory, like he could never bear to forget him again. Thinking about them being unable to separate, the perspective alone feeling terrifying, painful. Thinking about the uncontrolled sobs that get through and the “It's okay, I'm here. I'm here. I'm here.” Thinking about them

[lovelywritinglady]

Smokin’ With A Crocodile

Sir Crocodile x Fem!reader

In which you and crocodile share a blunt.

Mentions of smoking and using drugs, sexual themes, established relationship, set during the alabasta arc. (I wrote this just for fun)

“So you’d like to get high with me then.” Crocodile teased sitting in his chair.

“Yep.” You said emphasizing the “p”

“Why?” He asked leaning back

“Because I though it might be fun. And you and I have been working a lot lately and I think we’ve earned a break.

“Sure, why not.” Crocodile said picking up his transponder snail. He then called Mr.1 inquiring about getting the thing you desired. After about 30 minutes the two of you heard a knock on the door.

“Yes!” You cheered making you way to the door.

You opened it revealing the man you were looking forward to seeing. Mr.1 then handed you the rather large bag of weed. Your eyes seemed to popped out of you head at the sheer amount of weed that was available. It was a massive bag that was at least half the dose of you. You then turned to your lover, Crocodile, with a confused but amused expression. He just shrugged putting out his signature cigar on his golden astray.

“You said you wanted to relax and get high my love. I feel like I don’t need to remind you but I am a big man. It’s going to take a lot for me to feel it.” Crocodile teased getting up from his chair after he dismissed Mr. 1.

“Fair, I guess that would make sense.” You laughed. “Alright you got some papers?” You asked

“Of course I do.” Crocodile said confidently

The next 10 minutes we’re filled with the two of you rolling a massive blunt. And for some reason Crocodile was really good at it. And it made you question to yourself whether or not he use to smoke a lot of weed back in his younger days.

“Alright, light her up.” You said to Crocodile as he grabbed the lighter from his pants pocket as he lit one of the blunts the two of you were going to share.

He took a puff allowing for the smoke to fill his lungs completely as he exhaled. He did this once more leaving you slight impatient but soon handed it to you. You followed him taking a puff of it. You let the smoke sit in your lungs for a second before exhaling, enjoying the sensation of the drug that slightly started to kick in. You then passed it back to him feeling satisfied.Whatever weed this was, it was strong and you knew that after only a few more hit you’d be out.

“Take it easy there love.” Crocodile teased taking the blunt from you and doing an even longer drag. He then did something you did not expect.

Crocodile pulled you towards him, capturing your lips into a sweet but heated kiss. You could taste the drug as you breathed him in. It was intoxicating and downright sinful the way he was kissing you. He then pulled away exhaling with a smirk on his mouth as he looked at your flushed and slightly high face. Crocodile laughed slightly before passing it back to you.

“What the hell was that?” You asked feeling hot.

“What you didn’t like it?” He teased giving you a wink.

“You know I did.” You huffed taking a hit before blowing it out on his face.

“Good. Kiss me y/n.” He demanded

However, before you did you took an even longer drag on the blunt. Your lungs slightly hurt but you knew this wouldn’t last long. You then placed the blunt on the ashtray. You pulled your lover by his expensive suit and forced his on your lips. In response he put his hand on your thigh stroking it up and down which made you whimper into the heated drug filled kiss. You pulled away letting some much needed air fill your lungs once more. However, this was short lived as Crocodile pushed you to him once more feeling more needy for you, to which he blamed the weed. Normally he was a composed man. It was rare for him to lose his composure like this, but with all of the high quality weed in his system, he felt like he was completely losing control. And it definitely didn’t help with you being as attractive and alluring as you were. To say the least normal Crocodile was completely in love and obsessed with you, but high Crocodile was on a completely different level.

“I thought you said that it was going to take a lot for you to ge high, my love.” You cooed stroking his flushed cheeks. To which he grumbled feeling slightly shy.

“Just kiss me, woman.” He demanded trying to get the upper hand.

“Oh I’ll kiss you. And I’ll take good care of you took, darling.” You spoke pulling toward you again feeling even hotter than before.

The rest of the night consisted of the two of you being tangled in your rather large bed. Your combined moans were so loud that they could be heard by anyone who was in close walking distance of your home. However, due to your high state neither of you cared. All you cared was the ecstasy of being filled with each other. And the next morning you woke up with hickeys and bruises littering you body. Crocodile too had hickeys on his neck and chest from your own domination. It took the two of you hours to realize that you hadn’t used protection.

“I’ll call Daz to get a pregnancy test.” Crocodile said admiring your body as he held you close to him.

“Good, because I don’t remember you pulling out last night.” You remembered

“No matter what happens, let’s not get that high again.” Crocodile sighed.

“We’ll see.” You cooed feeling happy that you finally got to smoke weed with Crocodile.

Thanks so much for reading💜This was just something I felt like writing. Lol.

Feel free to like, comment, request, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE to see my master list.

•I do NOT own any character except y/n•

-L.W.L

[bratphilia]

i would sell my left foot to have my cheeks clapped by neighbor/family friend william afton

you and me both anon. you and me both

in fact, william is obsessed with fucking you at any given opportunity, especially in cases where there's the danger of being caught.

one of these instances is at a dinner party your parents are hosting. when you walk in the door, coming from work, all william steve needs is one look from you to know what you want. what the both of you want, really.

a few minutes pass by and he decides to go after you, making a quick excuse of going to the bathroom. when he opens your door, you're already naked and standing in front of the mirror as you remove your makeup off. he approaches you and greets you with a kiss on your shoulder and on your cheek, embracing you tightly from behind.

"someone missed me," you say with a smile growing on your face.

"missed you so much, doll," he says, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and closing his eyes blissfully.

it doesn't take long before he's on top of you on your bed, cock sheathed deep inside you. one hand is over your mouth to silence your noises and the other is wrapped around your neck, a new kink the two of you recently discovered you enjoy.

he's pounding into you mercilessly, causing the bed to squeak like it will snap any moment now. he tries his best to keep his own grunting to a minimum, but fuck is it hard. especially with the way your pussy clenching around him.

the goal here is to not make you scream when you come, which is hard for you because you're just so receptive to his every touch. so, as a solution, when he feels you getting close, he presses his mouth to yours, enveloping you in a kiss made rough by his movements.

a squeal is muffled in his mouth as you drench his cock in your come. he pulls out and pumps himself until he's ejaculating on your stomach.

[atmilliways]

Preview

@steddiemicrofic

written for ‘Pine’ | wc: 508 | rated: T Kind of a time travel fic, kind of a future fic. Established relationship, but also not. With a whiff of mutual pining.

Eddie is cold. He’s so fucking cold, clutched in Henderson’s arms. 

And then he isn’t. 

He’s hot, dripping sweat instead of blood. Standing, feet aching like he’s been on them all day. Everything is light and heat and noise, the clanging of metal and the sizzle and smell of things cooking, people bustling. He sways on his feet, and—

“You okay, chef?”

It’s too much. Eddie’s eyes roll back, gone before he even falls.

He wakes in a soft bed, softer than he’s ever felt in his entire life. It smells of pine-scented laundry detergent, weed smoke, and comfort. 

“Eds?” Steve Harrington leans over him with concern and relief in his eyes, and something warm that chases the last of the cold from Eddie’s blood. He’s clasping Eddie’s hand in both of his.

Something’s off, though. Steve looks . . . older. And damn good in glasses, but since when did Steve Harrington need glasses?

“You passed out at work, babe.”

Babe.

Babe.

“King Steve holding my hand,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m either dreaming or dead.”

“. . . Oh.” Steve’s grip tightens, reminding Eddie that, oh yeah, he can hear him. Maybe not a dream, if he doesn’t get to have his privacy when thinking out loud. “Okay, so this is happening. Uh. . . . What year do you think it is?”

Eddie frowns. It’s 1986, but. . . . When he looks down at himself there are scars and unfamiliar tattoos and, weirdly, a distinct lack of one nipple on his own chest. Why is he shirtless?

His silence seems answer enough, because Steve nods. “Okay. You told me this was going to happen, just weren’t sure when. The last thing you remember is the Upside Down, right? Bats?”

The bats. Eddie shudders with his entire body. 

“Okay,” Steve says again, smoothing his thumbs over the knuckles and palm of Eddie’s hand. “You’re going to be fine, Eds. This is just a blip.” He offers an awkward smile. “But you’re going to go back, and it’s going to really hurt for a while but you’re going to be fine. Just do your stretches, I remember how much you hated that shit but it’s important.”

Eddie can’t wrap his head around what Steve is saying. His voice is small when he asks, “Will I still be able to play?”

The smile firms up, genuine. “Yeah. Not quite as good as before, we all know how important your left nipple was for that, but. You have guitars all over the damn place, really clutters up our apartment.”

“Our?” Eddie croaks. 

Another squeeze of his hand. “Yeah. Don’t leave me hanging too long when you get back, okay?”

He wants to ask more, but sleep is tugging at him and the bed is so soft. 

He wakes up in a hospital bed, and the Steve Harrington he knows is asleep in the visitor’s chair, hand on the sheet next to Eddie’s. 

And Eddie, not wanting to leave him hanging, breathes through the pain as he reaches to hold it.

(also on Ao3)

[heynhay]

woe! klance be upon ye

[akai-anna]

shinichi: *takes a deep breath* shinichi: i lo- anyone who has spent five seconds around shinichi ever: yes, you love ran, we know, you love mōri ran so much, she's the light of your life, you love her so much, you just love ran, we KNOW , you love ran you fucking love ran ok we know, we get it, YOU LOVE MŌRI RAN. WE GET IT.

[akibean]

this was the energy kid was bringing with him to the raid on onigashima by basically forcefully inserting himself into luffy and law's alliance

[reduxulousoctopus]

"there didn't seem to be a wolverine/morph fandom before X-Men 97 came out, surely that means there wasn't any romantic subtext in TAS, I'm good to start writing a pre-relationship fic set during 97 before I've finished my rewatch," I said

you know, like an idiot

[morallysuperiorlips]

4 (Oddly) Specific Types of Relationship Dynamics That Are GUARANTEED to Make Your Story More Interesting!

1.) Friends with Benefits to Enemies to Lovers: Let's be real. We ALL love a good enemies to lovers moment (it's easily one of my most loved tropes, hands down). But, a great way to really charge up that underlying hate that eventually flourishes into the perfect romance is by giving your characters a relationship before they became enemies...not just friends in this case, but friends with benefits. With that specificity, there's also a pre-existing sexual relationship that might really help in charging those negative feelings toward one another. Like, they were already intimate, and have seen those very private things about one another, but now they're fighting? Woof.

2.) Friends That Are Deeply in (Platonic) Love: No, I'm not talking friends to lovers. I'm talking friends that are just simply platonically in love. There's nothing sexual about their relationship, and there isn't really anything inherently romantic about it either, but they might show their love in ways that might traditionally be seen as "romantic." Intimate hugs, cuddling, saying "I love you so much," etc. I feel like I don't see this enough in written friendships and think it's wonderful for two characters to be so connected in a way that's not inherently sexual or traditionally romantic. GIVE US MORE PLATONIC ROMANCE!

3.) The Love Triangle...But They All Love Each Other: This is for my OT3/poly homies out there. This one made the list so I could scream it from the rooftops: IF YOU HAVE A LOVE TRIANGLE, MAKE THEM ALL BE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER, COWARDS. OTHERWISE, IT'S JUST AN ANGLE, AND THAT'S NOT FUN FOR ANYONE. The concept of a love "triangle" is so overdone, and now we're in a new era--show me the throuple. Show me them trying to get over their feelings for one another and they just can't. Show me the complications of it all. Show me how they come to terms with loving two different people. Show me how they make it work. Show me how they show their love for one another in their non-traditional way. Nobody will see it coming and if your readers are anything like me, they'll appreciate you for it.

4.) Close-Knit Established Couples That Have Already Gone Through the Wringer: It's kind of crazy, but I haven't read a lot about established couples that already have a past of their relationship bonds being tested. It's always about the fresh new couples on the scene, and while I'm all for it, I love a couple that's already gone through some shit and are already fortified against whatever else is coming their way. Of course, that shouldn't stop you from throwing them back to the metaphorical sharks again, but I feel like it will be substantially more interesting to watch a couple who has already fought for one another (and won) do it all over again. How to they fare in comparison to a fresh couple? Are they annoyed about it? Or maybe they find it amusing because "been there, done that"?

As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3

[hitlikehammers]

taste like loving

rating: t ♥️ cw: pre-relationship-to-established relationship, SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: idiots in love, pickles, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day seven: Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite (@steddieasitgoes)

@pearynice and @hbyrde36 suffered my languishing over this more than once; it felt wrong to delete it (which was the original plan) 🥒 (and yes I am well aware this is VERY late for @steddielovemonth but I had this one and one more that I never got to post bc schedules and I still wanted to...not-delete them? so the other one will go up sometime before the 29th's over worldwide) ♥️

The first time he notices is the first time they all hang out after he’s discharged. The first time it feels almost normal. Eddie’s still not mobile enough to leave the couch at most—at least a little variety of the one-room view of his bedroom, at least—but this.

This is awesome. Because there’s no hospital to remind him of the way he’s a mishmash of still-healing incisions that he can ignore if he doesn’t move wrong, or breathe to deep, and when he does breathe to deep and reminds himself it’s for laughing, it’s a raucous and joyful thing and it’s wild in a way he never knew he was missing because—or else, he thinks because—probably there wasn’t a deep pit inside him full of all the horrors they saw and stood against together, and so he’s got this new capacity to be bowled over and filled past the brim with a kind of giddy, buoyant relief that’s unbound in ways he probably didn’t dare to even tease at, despite all his ranting about conformity and letting your fucking freak flag fly: he never could have envisioned a time he could be this unbound. Untethered.

Just…fucking free.

Because these people have seen his literal fucking insides, right? One of them held those insides in his hands, held them where they belonged long enough for him to be sitting here cackling with them, aching for the jostling of his laughter but hell if it’s not worth it, if he pops a stitch or two he won’t even fucking complain because these people saw him inside-out, y’know, and from the first he felt safe with them, with all of him, spoken and unspoken because it really felt, for the first time, like all of the things that mattered to the world at large, that could get you killed in the wrong company: it all felt…dulled; distant, after what he’d seen.

What he’d survived.

So in the now: home, on the couch, with the Buckley and Harrington tag-team feature show splitting his fucking sides and making him feel like he’s drowning in only good things and breathing full for the first time in his fucking life—

That’s when he first notices it happen.

They’re opening the boxes with deli sandwiches from Leeanne’s down off Brooklyn, the big towering fuckers with the toothpicks in the center to hold them together, and Eddie’s fucking ecstatic about the Reuben he’s staring down because real-not-hospital-cafeteria food is still an honest goddamn thrill, but he sees Steve flip open his monstrous looking Club and it’s not even all the way flipped back, the top half of the little foldy-box, when Robin slips her equally-big-ass dill spear next to the one lined up against the bread of Steve’s lunch, flashing an overstretched grin as she plops it down:

“For my Dingus,” she nods to him almost graciously and he chuckles before he picks it up and chomps it almost…almost aggressivelyand yes, okay, fine: Eddie notices because he pays attention to his friends, especially some of his very best friends, but yeah, sure, he probably notices Steve’s biting enough to characterize it because, well.

And look, see: after Steve had set himself up as permanent guardian at his bedside?Eddie might not have had all the reasons for it, all the answers to the whys, but he did have Steve Harrington in the flesh beside him always, kinda day and night, and after that? Eddie had stopped telling himself it was useless, the things he was feeling, all the relentless want in him. It might still be hopeless—just because he knew now that Steve swung that nail bat for both teams didn’t mean he’d want Eddie specifically by default—but there was no harm in feeding the deathless little lust-monster that’d lived in him from sophomore year, and that now, fed by the knowledge that Steve Harrington was beauty and brawn and brains in a way no one never expected because it wasn’t theirs, all on top of a heart of fucking 

: the monster was now a full-grown beast that wasn’t…just prone to lust, anymore.

Whatever, though. Eddie could fucking look.

So he noticed the way Robin gave Steve her pickles. The way he playfully accepted and usually leaned into her, grateful and tactile in their shared-brain kind of way.

And if he keeps noticing, what the fuck else is he expected to do? The more he learns, the closer they grow, the stronger and bigger and louder his not-lust creature gets, its stomping like a riot in his pulse save no, that’s actually just his heartbeat for what it is: hopelessly and pathetically and godawfully smitten, kinda recklessly and unrepentantly devoted, and he…

Okay, so in the beginning, Eddie knows it’s a long shot. He knows what he was doing, but it’s easy to play off as something…less. Something just playful, instead of playful-and. He already sits next to Steve when they’re all together, on a floor or a sofa or in a booth: he’s expected there. That is his place. One side him, one side Robin.

Robin even takes across-from-Steve when there aren’t enough spaces. Eddie has somehow…made the cut.

He isn’t throwing a fucking party inside his ribs about it or anything, but.

(Yeah, he is.)

But it starts small, and sorta-almost-casual: when he pops his pickle on Steve’s plate the first time. And Steve blinks at him, tilts his head in that way Eddie associates with softness, with safety, with something so adorably protective, cute and yet let herbal, on alert while breathing slow: and there’s something irresistible in the dichotomy of it that has Eddie’s pulse ramping-up by instinct at just the little gesture, the little tip of the chin and then Steve’s grinning, slow but so big, and at him, and, okay. Okay, yes, fine.

Eddie may or may not be playing this like one of those fucking birds that brings pebbles to court their intended, that drops shining little bits and bobs of nothing special that mean everything special as they try to convince their mate they’re a good bet. It may or may not be a thing he should be at least a little embarrassed of, whatever.

The way Steve chomps with fucking gusto on that pickle though: the way he grins as he chews and keeps his eyes locked on Eddie’s the whole goddamn time?

Eddie’s not gonna be embarrassed of jack shit, if he gets that in exchange.

He’s also sure as shit not going to stop, when he gets that in exchange.

He tries to up his game as the gesture extends, expands: he does his best to make it clear that he fucking loves his beloved briny cucumbers, that the way he saves them and gifts them to Steve isn’t just mimicry of his platonic soulmate; that it’s deliberate and intentional and he’s willingly and willfully forgoing something he loves for something he loves—yeah, yeah he’s ready to say that, at least in his head, because the days turn to weeks turn to months and there’s no fucking denying it anymore—so very much more, and he just…wants to make sure Steve notices. Knows it and, like, whether he decides to act on it or not, Eddie just wants him to know that a choice was there to make, right? Like, he doesn’t want it to go unnoticed.

It’s only once Steve sucks half a spear through his lips, hollows his mouth wholly unnecessarily and positively sinfully, and puckers around the pickle with wide pleading but teasing, goddamn teasing eyes trained on Eddie expectantly with the bare half sticking out his mouth, an invitation from where he sits next to Eddie at the table: it’s only then that Eddie thinks maybe there was hope after all.

He bites the loose half clear just shy of brushing Steve’s lips because he’ll be damned if their first kiss—if this is where it’s headed, if this is really possible and a thing—he’ll be fucking damned if he kisses Steve Harrington for the first time over a fucking vegetable.

Given the way Steve’s lips ultimately close around a pout all on their own: Eddie thinks…yeah. Yeah, that’s where they’re headed.

Their first kiss is very much not-pickle-flavored, but they laugh about the almost of it, once they settle comfortably into a version of ‘we’ that’s not entirely unlike the one they had before; this one just says the love part out loud. Which honestly kind of highlights how much it was there, just unspoken, almost the whole goddamn time. Which is wild.

Then of course it grows. There’s always a jar of pickles on their shopping list, because there’s always a need when the last one’s always empty. Sometimes because he wanted something to eat in the middle of the night. Sometimes because he feeds a slice to Steve Lady and the Tramp style, and does lick the taste from him after, now, not because it isn’t momentous; kissing Steve. But more because it’s…it’s going to be momentous again, whenever he wants.

For, like, ever.

Though it’s carrying on in that fashion that kinda leads in to, about a year-and-change and going strong, Eddie getting his mind goddamn blown.

It starts, mostly, with Eddie thinking—mistakenly—that his boyfriend’s not gonna be late for dinner and honestly, Eddie just doesn’t want the spear to get all warm and floppy so he figures he’ll quick eat the ones he set out, cannot let a delicious pickle go to waste, and he’ll get a fresh one for the plates when Steve gets in, no problem, he’ll just—

He’s maybe almost fucking fellating the pickle when Steve clears his throat unexpectedly from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Am I interrupting?” the arch of his brow is enviable, and the giddy delight in his tone is delectable, and Eddie wants him to come over and kiss the fucking blush he feels just lightly heat his cheeks as he tries to decide what to do because…

Eddie’s never not given his pickle to Steve, or not shared his pickle with Steve, in Steve’s presence, okay? It’s just…that’s for Steve.

And Steve probably wouldn’t be grossed out with Eddie’s slobber all over it, but, like, he deserves better by default any—

Steve’s next to him before he fully notices him crossing the distance, and he’s nudging Eddie’s hand with just a finger, pressing the pickle past his lips, slow enough to chew but steady with the pressure, and hell if it’s not erotic as fuck.

Steve goddamn Harrington.

And he smirks when Eddie swallows with a gulp, leans to kiss him and comments kind of idly:

“That was hot, babe.”

Eddie huffs, and then looks at the pickle-less plates and remembers.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’d have kept it for you, but I wasn’t sure how long you’d be—“

“Eds, relax,” Steve laughs, unbothered; “you don’t have to save me the pickle. I buy you whole jars.”

Eddie frowns a little, because that wording sound…off. He’s not quite sure why, until Steve picks up on his confusion, the grit caught in the works that he can’t pick out, because Steve always notices; and Steve always finds the catch to smooth it clean.

He’s amazing that way.

“They’re your favorites,” he goes and grabs the jar in question from the fridge, pops the lid and meticulously catches the drip on the glass lip before offering it to Eddie with a smile so warm Eddie can feel it in his knees, because it fucking makes them melty and shit even now; he prays it’ll never stop making them melty and shit, honestly, but—

“I never even really liked them, until you.”

And that’s the part that catches Eddie up entirely, almost chokes him on the end of his hand-fed pickle feast.

“What,” he pauses, clears his throat; “what d’ya mean?”

“Robin fucking hates them,” Steve shrugs, still smiling that knee-targeting smile; “so she always pawned them off on me, and I didn’t have any strong feelings either way, but then,” he reaches, traces Eddie’s lips and gathering any stray juice before sucking his thumb between his lips to clean it off. Eddie almost fucking feels his pupils dilate.

“You know I wanted it to mean something from the beginning,” Steve says simply, because Eddie did know; “and then when I found out it wasn’t just, like, convenient, but you liked them so much yourself, then it felt,” and then Steve’s biting his lip, which is that knife’s edge between adorable and hot-hot-sex that regularly threatens to explode Eddie goddamn brain, but than he’s smiling again, a little softer, a lot more fond:

“It felt like they meant you liked me,” Steve ducks his head solely to glance through his lashes, a little bashful even still; “it felt like it maybe meant you, you know, maybe, like maybe you loved me?”

And Eddie can’t handle the question mark there, dives in and kisses Steve sound and sure and licks his way in to rub away that bit of punctuation that could ever possibly cast any doubt on Eddie’s feelings at basically any point they’ve shared fucking air.

“It tastes like that, now.”

Eddie cocks his head a little.

“What tastes like what, baby?”

Steve leans and licks into Eddie mouth again, but this time it’s got direction, like he’s seeking something, but then just as quick he pulls back, though not far, and looks up at Eddie with a little extra curl to his lips as he murmurs between them:

“I fucking adore pickles, now. Because they kinda taste like you loving me.”

And Jesus H., this man is gonna kill him.

And Eddie—who can do nothing less than capture Steve’s lips again and let him taste this particular flavor of loving as long and as deep as he wants—Eddie kinda thinks that’ll be a fucking glorious way to go.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

♥️

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