#star is also cryin

[littlestarbigsky]

i love these hooligans more than anything..

[royaltea000]

swk fuckspawn ocs

ft. a freshly born qi xiaotian

[ball-of-butter]

brooooo i found my original goodreads review of the first red queen book and tell me why i rated it two stars and wrote a list with ELEVEN points as to why i disliked the book so much lmfaooooo

[corposurreal]

letterboxd of a normal person

[catgirljaneway]

everytime i see something about tuvix i am filled with inhumane rage ngl

[cuddlefishbandit]

Guys I finally know what my first BG3 tattoo will be.

We all know at this point that Astarion's name means "little star".

But Larian decided that they wanted to go all in with the details and they delivered!

The flower you can place on his tomb in the final romance scene (which I think is such a cute and tender gesture and I love his reaction to it), seems to be an Ornithogalum umbellatum, a star-shaped white flower with six petals. Among the plant's many common names, there are summer snowflake, starflower, and star-of-Bethlehem.

Moreover, in the language of flowers, its meanings are related to trauma, mourning, and welcoming pain without repressing it.

According to Doctor Edward Bach (1886 – 1936), these flowers are "For those who find themselves in a state of great anguish due to situations that, in a given period, have caused so much unhappiness", and can be used to help with the aftermath of a trauma, the alleviation of pain and the mourning process.

[madamechrissy]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Satoru Gojo Drabbles/ Headcanons ˚୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Stripper! Gojo- Satoru Gojo is the leader of a male revue, and you're promised to be a bride to Naoya Zenin - and just want one night of freedom before

Pornstar! Satoru - Satoru is a pornstar who loves his life till he meets you and you mess his career all up - you're losing yourself and he's losing himself (now a fic)

Bully! Gojo- NSFW - Gojo is a complete dick and bullies you in college, and you honestly fucking love it, lil masochist Part Two Part three

Priest! Gojo- NSFW You have a confession to make to Father Gojo you sinner, but don't worry, he'll fill you with love and light!

Pervert! Gojo- also have some Pervert! Geto here - NSFW Satoru can't help but fuck you and send videos to his bestie Suguru, and make you cum in public

Sugar Daddy! Gojo- NSFW - Gojo loves to spoil you constantly, with his mone, with his mouth, and with his cum <3

Vampire! Gojo - Vamp Gojo rly wants your blood, oh and he also totally wants to marry you- yay!?

Yandere Roomie! Gojo - Yandere Satoru may or may not have got you kicked out of your apartment so you have to live with him, you may or may not rly care bc of that dick

Escort! Satoru - You hired Satoru for a date, but both of you fall. He has one rule - no kissing! Drabble mini series where Escort Satoru gets down bad for a client - five parts

Mafia! pretty boy Gojo- from Losing Control Mow - Mobster Gojo x Bartender reader, Gojo instantly falls and knows he must save you from dangerous people

Fratboy! Gojo- cute and freaky hcs of fratboy Gojo x Sorority reader from Took You Like a Shot - Part Two

You're mine, got it baby?- Yandere Gojo x short fem reader (request!) NSFW you asked the neighbor to change your porch light, Satoru needs to teach you better

One Night at the club - Yandere Gojo x Tall fem reader (request) NSFW - Satoru meets you at a bar and you knock a dude out- hott!

How to get a raise: Satoru Gojo x smol boob reader (request) NSFW you wear a new bra at the office, Gojo doesn't like it!

Just one more time: NSFW -Satoru needs to go again and again, just one more time plz

Bad Idea Right -NSFW- you trip and fall into ex boyfriend Gojo's bed, whoopsie!

His Instrument - Yandere Gojo x Musician Darling- nsfw- Gojo goes to all your operas, it's totally normal don't worry!

You Cryin baby? - NSFW - Satoru Gojo x Busty reader- Satoru really likes your titties and loves seeing your tears

I'm Into it: NSFW - Satoru and you are best friends, and there's only one place to sit, his lap- teasing/college au.

Yan!Gojo wants Geto's girl - NSFW- Just Gojo jerking off to a pic he stole off Geto's phone of youuu (mini series)

Ice Cream: SFW- You are pregnant and miserable, Satoru calls you an orca LMAO

My first kiss went a little like this- SFW- arranged marriage, jujutsu sorcerers, you can break Gojo's barrier- sweet, fluffy cute

Tell me how you hate me - NSFW- just Gojo hating you and loving your coochie lol

Need a Seatbelt when I ride it - nsfw - some cute and freaky ass domestic smut with you and soccer dad Satoru

Morning after Christmas with Satoru - nsfw the morning after Christmas, how long do you all have before the kids wake up? Enough time to make more babies

Even though I'm wifey you can hit it like a sidechick - CEO Gojo and his assistant/wifey love office breaks

Dom Gojo/sub reader reader is edged like a mf and dommed by a jealous Satoru

Virgin Gojo and Virgin Reader - nsfw- Gojo and your first time- cute and sweet little drabble

Fratboy Gojo waxes you- nsfw- Where your baby daddy waxes you since you're a lil too far along to shave <3

Lead It Southbound an alt universe with reader from Baby You're a Star, with secret Onlyfans star Nanami and Pornstar Satoru where they share you on cam - PWP, obsessive Nanami and Satoru - 4.5k

An Arranged Marriage with Gojo: NSFW - You are arranged to marry Gojo, sight unseen, and run into a hot white haired guy at the bar the night before, you both decide to have some fun before your 'wedding' (longer drabble)

Losing focus every time you speak, girl - nsfw - Yan Gojo mad that your boss Sukuna flirts with you at the Christmas office dinner!

First Time -Satoru Gojo x Virgin reader- NSFW - you want your best friend to be your first, and find out you've both had feelings all this time (longer drabble)

Masterlist of all my full series/ fics // Long Oneshots of Gojo here - Masterlist Gojo Full length fics here - Masterlist // by me a glass of wine here - Kofi Link

[risuola]

YOU CRYIN'? — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

You and Gojo know each other since high school, and since then, you also hate each other. He bites and you always bite back, the constant argument creates tension that everybody, except you two, seem to notice. One time you said too much, causing Gojo’s self-control to snap.

cw: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, cursing, mentions of bullying (Satoru is a meanie, ok?), overstimulation, enemies to lovers kind of vibe, I feel like the "you cryin'?" line in itself is a warning if you heard the dub version of it, reader discretion is advised — 1,4k words

» PART TWO

"You cryin'?", Satoru taunted, thrusting his hips relentlessly into yours, with a handful of your hair in his unforgiving grip. Standing behind you, with one hand digging into the supple flesh of your side to steady himself, he was pounding behavior into you.

You and Satoru Gojo have a history of never-ending venom-spitting and it's safe to say you hated the man and the man hated you with passion for years now. It started in high school, where you just couldn't stand how full of himself he was, looking at everybody from above as if he was so much better than everyone and yes, you are aware of how powerful of an individual he is but the arrogance that came with it was just unbearable. Much more you liked his closest friend Suguru, but as years passed, you found yourself working closely with Gojo more and more often, because you decided to stay at Jujutsu high in Tokyo to help students learn. You were strong enough to be considered a high 1st grade sorcerer and everything you achieved, you earned by hard work and stubbornness but that didn’t stop the know-it-all from bullying you, no. He had an awful habit of pouring more fuel into the constant fire of argument between you two and you never owed him, always biting back. That being said, your constant bickering with Satoru successfully brought you to where you were now.

Pressed against the wooden desk, sweaty and exhausted as your body was chasing the fourth orgasm with no break in between. It was a torture – the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt from overstimulation and burned with pleasure at the same time. You always acted tough, but now you couldn't stop the tear rolling down your cheek as his grip on your hair tightened and his teeth sank into the delicate skin between your neck and shoulder.

"You’re really cryin’”, he grinned teasingly and turned your head more to the side, kissing the tear away. Delighted at the sight, Satoru pulled back and flipped you over so he could see your pretty face when he pushed his girth back onto your swollen insides, kissing every oversensitive spot on his way while hooking your thighs over his hips. You dug fingers into his skin, leaving crescent moon shapes of your nails engraved into his flesh and you once again could feel his pace picking up. Naively, you grabbed at his hip, trying to slow him down but with no effect.

"So pretty, fuck, when you cry like that," he grunted, kissing along the salty trace on your face and down your neck to see the bruising mark of his teeth was already blooming with reds and purples. "Think you have few more in you?", he asked and the thought of few more orgasms terrified you. "You'll have to, 'm nowhere near to be done, wit' ya," a chuckle echoed in his chest and you couldn't tell if his objective was to kill you in the most humiliating way possible or what.

"N-no," you protested and he laughed once more, pulling out almost completely.

"No?", Satoru grined in his usual, annoyingly handsome manner but you barely saw him through the collage of stars in your sight, "'ts too bad you've been naughty lately. Need to fuck some behavior into you."

"Gojo-", you whined, helpless against his muscular body as he was ramming ruthlessly, abusing your swollen oversensitive insides to your limits.

"Nuh-uh", he wrapped his slender fingers around your throat, putting no pressure, but redirecting your head so you looked him in the eyes and you could drown in the crystalline blue tones surrounded by thick snowy eyelashes if you wouldn't know better. "That's not my name, sweetheart."

"Go to hell, Goj-, fuck", you whined and he thrusted harder, your back was slamming against the wooden counter but he was unbothered by the echoing pounding sound that clearly was indicating what was happening in his office.

"That's. not. my. name.", he growled, accentuating every word with a particularly sharp thrust and it was enough for you to drown in the haziness.

"Sa-, uh", you tried, but his pace was unforgiving, his cock fucking you dumb but he hummed teasingly, encouraging you to speak. "'toru- fuck. Satoru, please."

"There we go, wasn't that hard now, was it?", smiling, the sorcerer lifted you up, angling his hips upwards, his cock reaching even deeper although you thought it's impossible. The blunt head kissed every spot inside you and you felt another orgasm approaching. Satoru groaned at how your walls were flexing around his girth and this time, he chased his own, the first one, the one he's been denying himself in order to drive you insane.

He was panting heavily, groaning against your neck, profanities slipping through his mouth as he twitched inside you. Suddenly he grabbed you harshly, nails digging into your trembling thighs and he lowered himself on the expensive leathery chair, giving you a slap to the tender skin, silently ordering you to work. You straddled him, supporting your hands over his shoulders and you pushed him against the back rest, surely bruising his muscles with the harsh grip you had on him. You were desperate to finish him off, to put an end to the torture he’s subjected you to for talking too much. At this point you don’t even remember what caused his composure to snap, what has gotten you into the endless spiral of agonizing pleasure with a man you despised. The man that now you were riding with the last bits of your power, fighting the mind-numbing rush of your own release to bring him to his and you could tell how close he was. Satoru’s jaws were clenched, his fingers were digging harshly into the tender skin of your sides and his hips were bucking up uncontrollably, desperate to reach the blissful relief. His abs were flexing, cock was twitching and his tone became ragged as he groaned what sounded like your name entwined with endless amounts of fucks and yeses. His eyes closed shut and he threw his head back, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that began uncoiling in his entire body. You grabbed at his white hair, smearing open mouthed kisses all over his throat and collar bones, and your movements stuttered with your dripping pussy squelching for the nth time. That was enough for Satoru – he gave in, allowing his muscles to contract one last time as he spilled his load into you, filling you completely with warmth and you were quick to come right after him. Your ups and downs became sloppy, uneven as you slowly ride your highs out and finally, you raised your hips just enough to have him out.

Falling back heavily against his body, you leaned your head over his shoulder in hopes to calm the panting. You felt your heart drumming against your ribcage, you felt the concoction of juices running down your thigh and dripping onto Satoru’s legs, but you couldn’t care less. With his hands releasing your flesh that he was squeezing unwaveringly, you felt your body finally relaxing, your mind coming back to senses and it slowly came to you, what just happened.

Never, not even once in your life, you considered even willing to kiss Gojo Satoru. Yes, he’s annoyingly handsome; yes, his eyes are the most beautiful, magical blue crystalline spheres nature could ever create, and yes – there was a tension between you two since the day you met him, or at least everyone around always pointed that out but you never truly considered him an option and yet, you not only kissed him, but spend god-knows-how-long fucking him – or rather being fucked by him.

“You have to misbehave more often”, he teased, finally able to form his words coherently and you looked at him, eyes still cloudy but you could tell with no mistake that his lips were curled up in a smirk. You almost heard him smirking, that’s how obvious it was. You blinked, clearing your vision to take in his view. Gojo’s face was blissfully tired, he still was breathing though his mouth and the snowy peaks of his hair clung artistically to his sweaty forehead. He was stunning like this, so fucked out, he looked like he’s high and you took few mental pictures of his handsome daze. You also noted to yourself that you, indeed, need to misbehave more frequently.

» PART TWO

[lis-likes-fics]

eddie munson drabble

cw: smut, swearing, aftercare. 1.5k words.

Eddie Munson is a talker.

Eddie doesn't know how to shut up during sex. When he's balls deep inside of you, your arms pinned over your head as he fucks you, he's a constant spout of curses and pants and groans and words of “you're so tight” or “you're so pretty” or anything along those lines.

It's nice, though, and you enjoy it: his constant praise, his reassurance that you're making him feel good just by the way he breathes.

But you're not loud. You can't help it—you're shy. When Eddie's making love to you, you express your pleasure in gentle sighs and tiny moans. Sometimes you whine a little louder than you mean to, or a gasp is sharper than intended. You don't need to say much. Eddie speaks enough for the both of you.

But there's something about this position that gets you.

He doesn't do it a lot—mostly because you don't end up in this position a lot. Eddie is usually between your legs, or maybe you're on top of him, something simple and effective. You enjoy it either way.

But in times like these—which you seem to keep rare—where he's got you on your knees, one hand on your hip and the other wrapped gently around your throat, you seem to lose control.

It's not on purpose. You enjoy the little sounds, the gentleness. Eddie does, too. He loves his shy girl more than anything.

But when you're on your knees, you're nothing but shy. It surprises him so much that he's the quiet one compared to you.

Eddie's fucking you nice and deep, fast thrusts that have you gasping and seeing stars. You grip the sheets and let your head fall limp on his hold as you moan and whine loud enough to be heard clearly in the living room. (Granted it's a small trailer, but usually Eddie has to focus in to hear you when he's only inches away.)

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry, your breaths rough and raspy. “Oh, fuck, don't stop. Please, please, please.”

Your words are pitchy and loud. They sound like you might actually be crying as his hips slam into yours. He has to keep checking to make sure you aren't.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, his grip tightening on your hip. “You like bein’ fucked like this?”

You nod quickly, a tearful huff slipping out of you. “Yes, Eddie! Yes, so much. Feels so fucking good, baby. Please don't stop, please.”

He's drunk on the sound of you. There's something so special about hearing you express your pleasure so much. He loves you shy, but this version of you also has a very special place in his heart.

“Won't stop, sweetheart,” he huffs. “Won't stop ‘til you fuckin’ cum for me. I'll have you cryin’, huh? You wanna cry for me, baby?”

You nod your head into the pillow, gripping the sheets until your knuckles pale. “Yes, yes, yes. Yes, make me cry for you, Eddie. God, fuck.”

Eddie's breath is thick, coming out in harsh puffs at the sound of your pleas. He reaches one hand to your clit, rubbing at it and grunting at the way you cry out.

“Fuck. Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Eddie. You're gonna make me cum, Eddie.” Your voice is thick with pleasure, your breaths shaky.

Eddie's thrusts are unsteady now, shorter and rougher as he nears his own release. “Yeah? You feel good, baby?”

You're chanting “yes” over and over like a prayer on your tongue, each one more faithful than the last. His name slips from your lips again, and it feels like an orgasm on its own with the way the E erupts, the way the D’s stick on your tongue like honey, the I drags out in a desperate cry.

You choke on the pleasure, and you do it with joy. “Oh, God, Eddie,” you gasp. The names so close together, an interesting pair, makes sense in this moment when his cock thrusts into you and makes you see stars you could easily be convinced he placed in the sky himself.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, please,” you beg, burying your face in the sheets on the mattress as he grips your hips and smacks his hips into them. You bite down on the, the cheat cotton indented with the shape of your teeth as your pitchy moans turned into a sound that mimics a growl.

Eddie's going to lose it, looking down at you and seeing the way he's making you so feral. You're like a wolf tasting lamb for the first time, a delicate and addictive taste that has your mouth watering and your hunger running deeper than instinct.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his thrusts sloppy and his finger a messy, almost rough circle on your clit. “You look so—fuckin’ pretty like this. So fucked out on my cock, screamin’ my name like a fuckin’ angel.”

Tears have unblurred your vision as they slip down your cheeks. You can't help it. What you're feeling is reaching down into your soul and unleashing a lust that you hadn't known existed until the very first time he had you like this. It takes you by surprise each time, fills you up and leaves you wanting.

“Eddie. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, my God, Eddie.” Your voice will be sore in the morning, if the roughness of its sound now is any indication. “I-I'm gonna cum for you, Eddie. Eddie, you're gonna make me fuckin’ cum, Eddie.”

Your words are climbing higher and higher, the pitches rising like the prayers you were just sending to him ascending to the sky. You echo his name as the waves grow, charging on you with force and speed, but bating you all the same.

A harsh thrust makes you choke, and as you take a breath in, the water consumes you, and then you choke on that. You cry out his name, claw at the sheets—which fall from your mouth in disregard as you gasp around the pleasure.

The waves wash over you, crash after crash after crash, a swell of pleasure all over you. You go blind with it, your hands flexing straight.

Eddie keeps rubbing at your clit, slamming into you. As you clench down around his cock, a tight, crushing hug that makes him stagger, he follows right after you. “Ah, fuck, sweetheart,” he huffs, a moan squirming out of him as he buries himself to the hilt, listening as your pussy squelches around him.

He curses as you gasp, riding the high together as every atom in your body buzzes with pleasure. You cry out his name, rambling “I love you. Fuck, you're fucki—Ahh, I love you. S’fuckin’ perfect.” Half your words are cut off by moans or more words, other times they're blurred into the same until you're not quite sure what's been said.

His sounds are relatively the same. Stacked on top of each other, you both ramble as you burst, mewling as you're filled to the brim with his warmth and his love.

Your eyes blur as the crashing ends, and you fall down against his sheets. You feel yourself losing time, losing all feeling but the delightful buzz of your release. The feeling of his hands pawing at your flesh comes into focus later, along with the weight partially bearing itself onto you in his own creeping exhaustion.

You blink heavily, humming when you feel the warmth of chest on your back and the love of his lips at your neck, tickling behind your ear. “So pretty,” he whispers between kisses to your skin. “You did fuckin’ amazing for me, princess. So good, baby. So perfect.”

You bask in his care, in the haze of his cooing. His knuckles brush against your sides, rubbing into your hips as if apologizing for the bruising touch you hadn't even realized before. “Thank you for lettin’ me touch you, sweetheart,” he smiles. “So good for me.”

Your answer is a deep dumb that sits in your throat. Eventually, he turns you over and begins wiping away your tears with gentle thumbs. “You still with me?”

You nod, though your eyes are glazed and your smile is sticky. “Yeah,” you manage. “Just feel–” You take a deep breath. “Feel r’lly good.”

His smile rivals the sun. “Yeah? That's good. I'm glad.”

He leans down, kissing you so gently as he continues to embrace you with the gentlest fingers. You lift one hand, carding it through his tangled hair and rubbing the pads of your own fingers into his scalp. He hums.

“I love you, sweetheart. You know that?” He smiles. “Even when you're screaming.”

The delicacy is broken by a shocked laugh, snort included. “Sorry,” you say between bumpy giggles. “I just get excited.”

His gentler laugh is rough with the roll of his uvula at his throat. “Don't apologize. I said even when you're screaming—shoulda said ‘especially’.”

You hum again, your laugh still present but reduced to a tiny chuckle. “I love you, too.” You scratch his scalp at the back of his head so lightly, watching his lashes flutter. Then you reach up to kiss him again, his lips, then his forehead.

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[littlestarbigsky]

you still feel like a kid when you’re 20.

i still laugh when my brother burps and i laugh at dick jokes bc im still a kid. i get home at 2 in the morning and i don’t turn in my homework on time. i drive my mama crazy because i never shut the hell up. i get mad when i have to wake up early for work and i get scared doing my taxes. i’m not a good driver and the idea of making my own doctors appointments is terrifying.

i may be 20 years old but i’m still a kid.

darry curtis was 20 years old but he was still just a kid.

[pintrestgrl]

hi guyssysysysysysysys i missed y’all. i’m aware im awful at posting but send requests pls !!!

also know that i write for slytherin boys too !! like blaise, theo, mattheo, etc !!

i’m trying to post more but patience i beg im js a girl 😪

crybaby!reader x bsf!jj maybank.

“you too pretty to be cryin’. ”

jj said, as you sat horizontally on the couch, legs thrown over his lap.

your mascara was long gone, spilled all over your cheeks.

you had a date, you really did. but, you got stood up. he never came to pick you up.

so now, you found yourself at your bestfriends house as you cried, and he comforted you.

he sat with you as long as you wanted, wiping your tears and playing with you hair.

“he’s dumb to stand you up. you look beautiful.”

you heard his words, but in that moment you felt the complete opposite.

“why’d he stand me up, jay? i was so excited.”

he rolled his eyes, subtly snaking a hand up a little too high on your thigh.

“he stood you up cause he’s stupid. like, brain dead.”

you sighed, still so upset. you’d even broken out the new perfume jj bought you for the date!

he spoke again.

“c’mon. i’ll make you forget about it, pretty.”

you nodded, sitting up slowly.

wiping your red, tear ridden eyes.

he took you in his lap fully,

manhandling you by your waist to make you straddle him.

he tugged your pouty bottom lip,

lightly tapping your chin with two long fingers.

it wasn’t long before he convinced you that you just needed to take your clothes off.

he told you it was just to help you relax.

calm down.

so you did.

he was your best friend, of course you’d listen to him. right?

he massaged your tits, the pretty soft flesh.

convinced you it was just to make you relax, ease your nerves.

it wasn’t long before he had his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you.

he just wanted to take your mind off the date.

right?

he had you mindlessly babbling, as you bounced on him.

thanking him, for being your best friend. for always helping you.

he guided your hips, helping you get off.

kissing away the tears that escaped your pretty eyes,

as you were too cock drunk to speak.

you came around his dick, biting down onto the flesh of his shoulder as he hit the spot inside you that made you see stars.

you felt every vein against your walls, so aware of him inside you.

he came short after, breathing heavily against your pretty tits.

he pulled out, watching the mixture of cum seep out of your aching hole.

smirking at the sight.

spitting onto the cum covered sight infront of him, adding to his masterpiece. running the pad of his thumb through the fluids, watching them combine.

laughing at you.

he just wanted to help.

right?

right.

[nemesyaaa]

the bear fx show au's inspiration ft. cook chef!rafe.

— little headcanons post. a bit of smut and fluff.

warnings : +18 content. minors dni. heavy smoking. smut. age gap. food play. be aware of the warnings before reading. do not take this au seriously, its all fun.

Chef's attitude : ★☆☆☆☆ — Cooking skills ★★★★★

Anger issues : ★★★★★ — Sympathy ★★☆☆☆

Restaurant: ★★★★★ — Relationships ★★★☆☆

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

✮���˙ — Something about Chef!Rafe. Everyone knows him. His name. His restaurant. The five stars crowning His food. his bad reputation. Everyone knows how talented and good he is, everyone is giving him everyday something to blow up his ego. The journalists at his door before the opening. The following paparazzis trying to get a shot of his rude attitude. The clients at his tables waiting to be fed. The girls over his bed that he can't help but forget their name. The people wanting to know his secrets. He wasn't born to be the king but now, he's sitting right here on the throne, and everyone is kneeling. He knows how to cook, and does it better than any man. OBVIOUSLY, knife and fingers skilled with the finest and largest hands ever. They've been tattooed since he turned eighteen, on his knuckles and the back of his hands.

✮⋆˙ — Something about Cook chef!Rafe, he doesn't give a fuck about the messy and homeless look he gives, the way his growing mullet is turning wild and shady on the back of his neck, the way his big nose is always glowing with oil and his clothes always smell of food like he never washes them. He also doesn't bother about his bad shaved jaw, and his smoking-whiskey breath that always came hot and heavy. He's often badly dressed because the only thing he really cares about is his restaurant. He's wearing the apron like nobody, well-tied on his back, hiding his buff chest, hugging the fat of his tiddies, and tracing his bulk frame.

♨ — He's always smoking at his workplace. His kitchen, his rules. The first and last person who ever tried to step on his authority ended with a black eyes and busted lips which caused him to never speak again, and never to look at rafe again. Chef!Rafe who used to be so mocked and humiliated on the past to ever give a fuck again about what people think of him. something about this guy, don't piss him off. don't play with his nerves. he's already too fucking busy and tired to deal with anything.

♡ — But believe me, this man is cooking with the most insane passion ever, he's doing the greatest meals ever, master of post-sex snacks with his hookups. He deserves the five stars, the articles in the magazines, and all the hype about his restaurant.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who is also known for his anger issues. Favorite subject of the media. Everyone knows he can't control himself and it's getting worse and worse each day. Violence and excess anger. No one can do it better than him, especially when he starts yelling at everyone. The kitchen is about to burn down when he starts. Everything is getting out of control and no one wants to stay, but it's even worse if someone makes the slightest movement. He loves taking his anger out on someone innocent because it's so much easier. He knows those terrified expressions so well when he turns into a storm. “ y'all want me to get worse ? y'all really trying to piss me off today ? what's that fuckin’ shit ? do that again and you're fired. ya know what, get your ass off my kitchen, you're already fired. ” and its only the beginning…“ don't fucking make me waste my time. you're cryin’ really ? gonna tell ya mama how bad i've been to you’ ? do you want me to give her a call ? is that the hot milf that would do a better job at sucking my dick than you at cooking for me ? ”

♨ — Cook chef!Rafe who smokes too much and not necessarily at the right time. He's literally using the fire of his cooking to light his cigarettes, ignoring willingly the danger of this action while everyone is scared.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who wasn't ready for a disaster bimbo like you coming in his life. He used to fuck so much girls like you, all pretty and noisy, maybe one of them were your friends or your sisters. it's not like you were different from them.

Something about you is that you were always well-dressed, not to say barely dressed with your little outfits, walking around to show off and mostly, to be seen. You were the attraction. The moment you entered the restaurant, everyone was looking at you. You were looking for a place to sit, with your chihuahua over your arms.

Rafe, who was about to return to the kitchen, saw you for the first time. You felt so out of the place.

“ Sweet puppies are not allowed, sugar. ” he just said while resting his cigarette on the back of his ear, after brushing dirty hands over his apron, giving you something to look at.

" But, wh...”

“ Don't know the sweet puppy can talk. ” He teased.

You just realized.

“ That's not a way to talk, sir. ”

" And, so what, sugar ? Wanna call the boss to complain about him ? "

" Yes, let's do that. I wanna see the boss, right now. Can't believe such jerks like you working in his restaurant. ”

“ Fine, pretty sure he wants to hear all the bad things you want to say to him. "

But the minutes after you entered his office, door closed and locked, you were fucked against the window of his room, your naked body to be seen to the streets full of people, face and breasts smashed against the glass while he was pounding inside your cunt for straight hours. “ Mmh...fuck ! I'm sorry, i promise ! ” “ yea, you will be when we will have around thirty orgasms...not now” he shushed you by crashing your head even more with his big hand.

You could barely stand still, your legs were shaking too much, against his rough body. all inches were forced to your pussy, juices dripping over your insides. “ Oh you're gonna come ? how many more until this cunt is passing out for me, sugar ? How many more ? ” you were crying, cheeks glistening from tears and your smeared makeup. “ you're lucky, i could put a fucking baby inside you but think this pretty face want to be served. ”

you felt his fingers grabbing your chin, his gaze looking down your pathetic face before slamming back over the glass again with no caring, like you were just nothing.

After that, all he said was “ Wanna eat something ? ” “ Are you gonna cook something for me ? ” “ Baby, that's literally what I do for a living. ”

Discovering his food has changed you. You were surprised. The rumors weren't lying. He cooked wonderfully well. He specialized in refined, gourmet cuisine, quality dishes made with exceptional products.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!rafe who isn't the type to say thank you, or giggling at your compliments because he just knows how good it is. You're just feeding his ego, while he's feeding your tummy and heart. He's watching you eat, loving the bubble face you have everytime the taste is charming you. You were like a baby, his baby.

As his favorite bimbo disaster, you started to be a regular. But also his girl. He allows you to go into the kitchen, his safe place. So you are always there to annoy your man.

You're such a baby, always needy and wanting his attention. You're touching at everything, putting yourself in danger, yapping non stop about your days and friends, and Rafe is trying so hard to not tell you to shut up. His anger issues can't stand all your attitude. But he doesn't stop him from caring, he can cook, lead his crew and look after you. He's multitasking.

♨ — Cook Chef!Rafe who finds a way to tell you to shut up without making you cry by making you taste the food. “ How's the taste ? ” “ Feed me again. I love it. ” And he did it. Everytime you ask. “ Now, I wanna taste something else. Come here. ” “ You're such a pain in ass, ya know ? I think you can wait thirty minutes. ” “ Thirty minutes ? It feels like tomorrow ! I can't wait. ” “ I know, you can. ” Now, the tone isn't playful anymore. “ I'm going home. ” “ You're not making a single move. You’re stayin’ here. Try to move, even just an inch and i will make you regret it. ”

You froze. “ No tears allowed too. ” And he kisses you before going back to the shift. “ Keep that face pretty and shut for me. ”

SOMETIMES, you get his soft attitude toward you. you get it as a reward for your good attitude. you know which mood he's in from the moment he's at home.

♡ — If he's in a good mood, he's gonna leave you alone to cook in the kitchen, and serve you all the meals like the princess you are, and after, he's gonna eat you out, from the back. He's in need to taste you, to plush his tongue in your drenched hole. Large hands over your back while he's lapping to your cunt, nose rubbing against your clit and tickling the little bud. you've been so good and he suddenly wants to give you everything. his tongue raw and nasty, swirling through your walls as he holds his grip tightly on your thighs. He's getting deep, loving the sweet moans coming from your mouth. “ can't wait to fuck this sweet pussy…’s too good, you're too good. ”

A short break to look at your sopoy core, wet juices coating your parted lips and giving him the most perfect sight ever. He's got all the view of your hole dripping, watching his own work like a proud artist, before eating you back. “ gonna get you ready for me right now…how does it feel ? tell me since you can't keep that mouth close for a second” “ m-more…please ! ” “ am i not giving you enough sugar ? ” You giggle softly, letting the word slip over your mouth. “ Fuck me…I want you to fuck me.” “ And I'm hearing you baby, I'm gonna fuck you. ” “ Please, sir…” “ So now, you're being polite…that's progress…” “ Are you gonna fuck me or do you need my help, sir ? ” “ Think you're the only one who needs my help right now, do not act so cocky. ” “ Think you will be able to keep the pace, old man ? We can go slow, grandpa. I know it's not easy anymore for older men…” A small grin curved around his lips as he putted his dick against your entrance, teasing the glistening tip over your drenched parts, wanting nothing but to fuck you raw for your little attitude. “ I'm not that old. ” “ You could have born me. ” “ Oh baby, you wish. ”

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who can be so creative when he's in the mood by using you as a table for his meals. so that's why you always find yourself covered with honey, sushis, whipped cream, strawberries and cherries as he eating directly from your body. he's challenging you by dare you to not move but you always end up losing because his mouth on your skin feels so good, and the way his tongue is licking at the food but at yourself at the same time just giving you so much spasms.

♨ — Cook chef!Rafe who doesn't want you in the kitchen, literally a forbidden place for you because you're too much of a disaster. He can't really focus when you're around because you're too close to making something dangerous. “ Come on, I'm literally living here. you can't forbid me to come. "" I can't ? Then why are you standing miles away from the kitchen ? noisy for nothing, aren't you ? "" you're being mean. ” “You're too sensitive when you're hungry, do you know that ? ”

♡ — Something you can be sure of...the kitchen will always be clean. He's cooking but he's washing the dishes too. He can't cook if it's too messy or dirty. He's manic about it. but the rest of the house is for you to clean…

♨ — Cook chef! Rafe who's now handcuffs you every time you're at the kitchen on shift time to be sure you're going nowhere, and touching nothing. And duct tape your mouth with cellophane when you're yapping too much. He doesn't bother about the whispers of his crew.

♡— Cook chef!Rafe who's always taking his weekends to take you on vacations in your other countries. He's giving you the life you always dreamed of, spending money on every one of your needs. And he does love the feeling of having someone in his life.

thanks you for reading this messy headcanons, you're brave and loved !!! <333

[steviewashere]

You're Pretty, Too

Rating: General CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death (Eddie's Mom, Steve's Grandpa) Tags: Different First Meeting AU, Met in Childhood, Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Child Eddie Munson, Child Steve Harrington, Getting Together, First Kiss, Al Munson is an Asshole, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Eddie Loved His Mom, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Good Parent Wayne Munson, Meeting Again, Dialogue Heavy This is a fully fledged fic from this post, if you want some full context. Also on AO3 because it got really long.

🫂—————🫂 It starts like a horror movie in the dark and the cold.

In the shrouding darkness, in the only light being within a shaking hand, with yelling, with the brutality of living. He’s never been one to find the good in the bad—Munsons don’t do that, not much, not really. And his papa had a knack for showing them what their worth. Last wrung, the liquid at the bottom of a garbage can, in ash.

Eddie didn’t know what to do without his mama; who to run to, who to turn to, who to love. He’d be reaching for his papa’s hand even with the knife’s blade sharp, shiny, pointed at his pale-skinned neck. Growing up was a lot of chasing the pavement below his bare feet in the hot summer sun, letting it lick his heels, burn him in the soles. Running away from the conflict of a drunk, angry man and the grief webbed around his home—he never knew where he was going, to his mama’s headstone, or to the burbling ponds with their timid, bread-bloated ducks, or up in the bends leading narrow to alleys home to the gnarly stray cats with their raggedy fur. The world made it clear he wasn’t cut for it—not from the same cloth as some of the boys in his intermixed classroom; all those older boys always standing over his buzzed head and gangly limbs sent star-sprawled across the playground. He was a bug, the sun a magnifying glass, the kids like rubber boots, and his papa the glue trap.

His papa taught him how to start up a car when he was seven. Taking him on all the big scenes, handing him the flashlight already clicked on, telling him to hold it steady so they could get in and out. If they were running, then he was chasing his papa’s legs—he was holding his hand; the only time he was holding his hand—and in the aftermath, he was biting through the candy bar his papa managed to pocket in the chaos. His teeth ached from the sugar, but he knew better than to question the pain—he wasn’t dead, so he was thankful; even as hungry as he was, even though he watched his papa pocket the Sudafed to sell instead of the oranges to eat. They made money from these escapades and Eddie had no reason to challenge them. It’s not like he brought in anything.

The final job, his papa takes him to a restaurant. It’s spacious, glimmering, the music heard from the sidewalk. Every parking space occupied by cars shinier than Eddie’s fingernails, and he knows what they’re here to do.

He’s handed the flashlight. “Be steady,” his papa mutters, “‘m gonna get them wires, see if I can get ‘em to spark.” The car they’re in is black and all the seats are genuine leather. There’s shag on the ceiling, on the floor. Top of the line radio. In the backseat, a booster. Some crayons scattered on the middle seat—a coloring book that Eddie can’t quite catch the name on. His dad must see him stumbling away from the task, his calloused right hand grabbing for Eddie’s face, squeezing him tight enough that his teeth threaten to come loose, and he’s pulled back. “I said stay steady,” his dad grits, “or I’m gonna make you walk. You wanna hav’ta walk home? Huh, Edward?”

“It’s Eddie,” he quietly whines.

“Quit your cryin’ or I’m gonna give you somethin’ to cry about.”

“Sorry, Papa,” Eddie murmurs, “I’ll pay attention now.”

“You better.”

And that’s that. He holds the flashlight with both hands. And he hides his tears. Until—

There’s commotion. Yelling. Shouting. He’s yanked from the front passenger seat by a stronger hand than his dad’s, yet just as calloused. Whoever grabbed him smells like spice and that foul juice his papa is always drinking. They’re strong, burly. Tossing him to the side, to the curb.

It’s a whirlwind, but Eddie catches who must be the owner of the car—some important man, judging by his well-fitted suit—is holding his papa against the side of the restaurant, smushing his smarmy face against the bricks, growling words too low to catch in their entirety. There’s a woman, too, swaying on her feet—like it’s taking all her energy just to stay upright—but she isn’t saying anything, isn’t really doing anything. And there’s a little boy, most likely around Eddie’s age, who’s standing on the same sidewalk as him. The little boy is first knuckle deep in his right nostril, he’s holding a clamshell leftover container to his abdomen—also in a well-fitting suit, though the tie is too long for him, actively peeking out of the jacket—but he just stands there.

There’s police sirens whooping, getting closer and closer. It happens, again, in a whirlwind—all the commotion. His dad’s in handcuffs, forced to sit in the backseat of this patrol car. Eddie’s being asked to just stay still, being told he’s not in trouble despite holding the flashlight. So he’s cowered on the sidewalk, twisting his fingers around until they pop and then pop some more. The dad of this little family begins shouting again, he has a lot of fervor, a lot of passion he’s been bottling up—if his wide eyes and snarling lip and spray of spit are anything to go by through all this. And then—

“Why did you try to steal my daddy’s car?” the boy suddenly asks, flicking something off his finger. Eddie didn’t even realize he had left his spot. His voice is squeaky and bright and sweet, despite it all. He’s got an inch on Eddie, his hair seems to have been meticulously styled at one point—thought that’s more of a passing thought, it’s drooping and flopping now, strands getting into his face. He’s staring at Eddie with these big, also drooping, hazel eyes. The takeout container in his hands is passed back and forth between his palms, almost like he’s nervous. “My daddy paid lots and lots and lots of money for his car. At least, that’s what he told me.”

Eddie just swallows and wrings his hands together again—his knuckles won’t pop anymore, but the stretch is enough. Then, he shrugs. “My papa said I had to,” he mutters, “so that we can have food. I didn’t know it was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s very wrong.”

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, hanging his head. It’s a shame that his head is buzzed. His hair used to be long enough that it would dangle down and cover his face; it was hair that he could hide in, if need be. Until, well, his dad buzzed it near completely off, telling Eddie in this particular tone that long hair was only for pansies. (For sissies, he didn’t say. For pussies.) He can see his dad, even when he looks down towards the parking lot, can see his impatient feet dangling over the edge of the open patrol car door—tapping away in that furious way he always does; it’s saved for when he’s really mad—and when Eddie can finally catch his dad’s gaze, the anger is set on him, not the men in blue. “I shouldn’t have done it, but my papa said I had to help”—he continues to hold his dad’s angry stare—“I trust my papa.”

“My daddy has lots of money,” the boy abruptly tells him. “Don’t you have money? To get your own car?”

Eddie throws him a sidelong glance. One that wavers, still too timid in his boots to hold something steady. Be steady. Be steady. “I had a dollar from the tooth fairy,” he tells quietly. The kid tilts his head like a clueless puppy. “Had?”

He shrugs again. “My papa needed it. Said we had to get a candy bar so he can keep all the expensive stuff he put in his pockets.” When he looks back at his dad, there’s nothing there, except for his still tapping feet. Helpless, lost in the chaos, he can only look back to the all too curious kid. “Why’re you talkin’ to me? Aren’t your parents mad at me?”

“They’re mad at your daddy,” the boy explains, “not you. But…I don’t know, I can tell they don’t like you anyway. Sometimes, when my daddy is really angry, he looks at me like that”—he points shyly to his dad, who just finished giving a smoldering stare to Eddie—“that’s before he grabs the wooden spoon. It scares me a little. Says it gets his frus-tra-tions out—I dunno what that means. Maybe he’ll do it tonight.”

A pit has been gently forming, crumbling the sides of Eddie’s stomach, for the entire night. Now, it sinks like an airplane ready to crash. He’s got guilt the size of the moon in his soul, guilt that shouldn’t be his—but it’s not like his dad is going to take to it. “My papa does that, too,” Eddie quietly admits—like maybe if he can relate, the kid won’t blame him for what happens back home—“but he says it’s to teach me a lesson. He’s good at teaching lessons.”

“Hm,” the boy hums. “Daddy says that kinda stuff, too. I don’t believe him sometimes. Sometimes it just hurts.” Then, he looks at Eddie again, those droopy eyes soft and curious. “What’s your name? We’ve been talkin’ and I don’t know your name. Daddy says it’s good to get somebody’s name. For big connections. I also dunno what that means. He talks and makes money, so I guess I don’t need to know. He talks forever. Forever and ever! That’s why we were here tonight, he’s talkin’ to his partners from”—the kid puffs out his chest, deepening his voice to bellow—“The Branch.” And then he shoots Eddie a gap-toothed grin—his two front teeth are sitting apart from each other, just barely, and he’s missing a fang on the left side. It’s dorky. It’s sweet.

“I’m Eddie,” he speaks again, quietly, “what’s your name?”

“Steve!” he exclaims. “Or, well, I’m s’posed to be Steven. But my friend, Tommy, gave me a nickname. And guess what?!” Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to answer before—“Tommy is a nickname, too! His real name is Thomas, but he doesn’t like it. Says it makes him feel grown up. But we’re only six. We’re not s’posed to be big yet. You should see him sometime, I think maybe you guys could play trucks together—though Tommy likes the big yellow truck. Says it’s like his daddy’s work. I dunno what Tommy’s dad does. Buildin’ stuff, maybe. I wonder what he builds. Maybe those big, tall buildings in New York—I see ‘em all the time when my daddy wants to take me ‘cause he’s a law-yer and has to go—oh, sometimes my daddy says I gotta stay home when he leaves with Mommy ‘cause of his big work stuff”—Steve stops to take a deep breath, chuckling at the tail end of it—“but that’s okay. I get to be alone at home! It’s quiet when they aren’t there, no more yelling. And I get to eat my food in front of the TV, and I can have ice cream for breakfast and”—

“Eddie is a nickname, too. My mama named me Edward. Like my great-grandpa. Said he was a special man. That he was important to her.”

Steve grins big at him again. His hair is in his eyes. Something in Eddie makes him want to swipe it away—he only twists his fingers tighter, tighter until they pop. “That’s cool,” Steve says, “you seem cool. Your hair is different, though. Never seen such little hair before. ‘Cept from my teacher. But he doesn’t count. Not really.” He leans into Eddie’s personal bubble, lowering his voice. “He’s bald,” Steve whispers.

“Yeah?” Eddie giggles out.

The hair in Steve’s eyes doesn’t get any better when he bobbles his head up and down. “Mhm! Yeah! Tommy says he has no hair from stress. I dunno what Mister…I dunno what his name is now. Somethin’ long, I think. Maybe that makes him freak out? Sayin’ his name all the time.” Steve tilts his head up towards the night sky—whatever little light there is makes his eyes shiny, and so much bigger than they seem—his lips are pursed, eyes squinted, tapping away at his chin in thought. Then, he shrugs and looks back to Eddie. “Doesn’t matter. I think he has no hair because his cat licked it all off. My nana has a cat and it licks my hair sometimes, it’s very funny. Like it’s cleanin’ me.”

Eddie quirks a small smile, to which Steve returns tenfold. “I like cats,” he whispers.

“You have to meet my nana’s cat! He’s grey with stripes and he’s loud and he has six toes on his front right paw and he’s very fat. His name is Goose, which is super silly because he’s a cat, not a goose and he likes to eat and sometimes I feed him cheese when Nana isn’t looking because it makes him happy”—again, Steve leans into Eddie’s space, his eyes wide, eyebrows shot up his forehead, a giddy and itching smile on his face that he actively tries to wipe away, to no avail—“I like cheese, too. I got mac and cheese from the big boy menu, but it was too much food even though it’s my favorite! Do you like cheese, too, Eddie?”

He nods his head, slower than Steve had, and softer. “Yeah,” he says, “my mama used to let me have cheese from the bag.” Eddie snorts. “But it was a secret, so don’t tell anybody, okay?”

Steve clumsily draws an ‘X’ over his chest. “I won’t tell anybody,” he swears. And then he pushes his clamshell container right into Eddie’s face. “You want some of my mac and cheese?! It’s got three different cheeses in it! I didn’t even know there were that many!”

“Um…” Eddie scratches at his arm, looking towards Steve’s dad again. Though, this time, he’s looking away. Still talking angrily with the police, shouting words that take the shape of profanities—the same kind of words that earn him peppers on his tongue—but he’s not staring. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

With no warning, Steve plops down heavily onto the curb, popping the box open with his little hands. Eddie has half a mind to track where his booger-picking finger goes. But he’s hungry, so it nearly doesn’t matter. “We have to eat it with our fingers,” Steve says—shit—“Daddy wouldn’t let me take the spoon. Said it’s un-gentlemanly. I dunno what that means, ‘cause Daddy’s always using words too big for me—sometimes it’s hard to read ‘em and say ‘em, but that’s okay, ’s what my mommy says—but I think the word is a bunch of poop. I liked the spoon, I should’a been able to keep it since my house doesn’t have spoons like this one—It had a big end for soup, but they gave it to me with my food—What d’you think that means, Eddie?”

He sits down next to Steve on the curb. Tucking his knees up to his chest. In a matter of seconds, he’s scooping up a handful of the cheesy macaroni, after Steve draws his hand to the container to do so. “I dunno,” he says.

Steve hums like he agrees. Then—“You’re quiet, which is nice. I like quiet. Tommy is so loud—always laughing and singing and screaming at everybody. And my daddy. Sometimes my mommy. Is your mommy loud?”

Now, this is where things get tricky. Nobody really asks Eddie about his mama anymore. Not about how they used to dance and sing and talk and talk and talk. They don’t ask what her favorite color was—baby green, a sage, he remembers: the color of her nail polish, her hair ties before she lost her hair, and the gemstone on her wedding ring. Or her favorite meal to make, which was always a big pot of chili that she’d invite his uncle over for, and he’d bring the cornbread, and his dad would smile with his eyes and they’d have sodas instead of the sour, bitter canned juice. They don’t want to know why she died or how it got that bad or if he believes whether or not his life would be better if she stuck through it, if she fought with everything. They don’t know that he cries and cries and cries and he seldom talks. There’s not much left without her—he wishes it was all different.

Her funeral was in their local church. And he wore a suit like Steve’s, pressed and prim and proper. He held his uncle’s hand. Said peace, hung heads in prayer, shared stories. And then they went out for Chinese food; the man who owned the shop had her plate made at the end of their lunch—assuming she was at home resting—Eddie had broke open his fortune cookie, which told him to stay happy, and he didn’t have the heart to tell the man what happened. They took the food home anyway, and Eddie let it rot.

“She…uh…she’s dead,” Eddie says, “but, no, she wasn’t very loud.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry, Eddie.” There’s a handful of sticky macaroni in his hand, his fingers tense around it. His eyes get impossibly sad. “My Grandpa Otis is, too. I miss him lots.”

“‘M sorry about your grandpa,” Eddie murmurs.

They sit in relative silence at that. Shoulder to shoulder. Eating their macaroni. The patrol car door slams, but Steve’s dad seems to keep dragging out the shouting. He wonders if it’s like this for Steve at home—it wouldn’t surprise him, but it’s hard to figure with how bright this kid is.

“You miss your mommy a lot,” Steve pipes up.

“How’d you know?”

Steve shrugs. “Assumin’,” he says softly, “when Mommy leaves with Daddy, it always makes me sad. I like Mommy, she’s nice to me, and she shouldn’t have to go. Was your mommy nice?”

“The nicest. She liked to give me hugs and hold my hands. Papa doesn’t do that. Says it’s stupid stuff for babies.”

Again, with little warning, Steve is moving. He throws his non-macaroni, yet booger-riddled, arm around Eddie’s shoulders. Bringing him in firm and fast. “I like hugs, too,” Steve murmurs, “Mommy gives me hugs. Not all the time. Sometimes she’s busy. Sometimes she’s gone.” He sighs through his nose, then he rests his head against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie wonders how lonely Steve must feel, hopefully not too much—thinking about it makes something turn sour and hard in Eddie’s stomach. “We should be best friends. So that we can hug all the time. Are you good at hugging?”

He lays his own arm across Steve’s shoulders. The comfort is…nice…and warm. “I think so?”

“Good. We can hug all the time. And we can be happy.” Steve nuzzles into Eddie’s shoulder, his handful of food dropping back into the container—he wipes the cheese from his fingers all over his pristine suit jacket, doing it until it’s completely clean. And then he squeezes his cleaned up hand, wrist, and arm over Eddie’s middle. A true hug. Softly, “If your daddy is in trouble and your mommy is…Who will you go to?”

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie answers. “They said I’m staying with him for a while. They had’ta call him on the restaurant phone. I hope I stay with him forever. I love him lots.”

“I wish I had an uncle,” Steve whispers, “you’re so lucky.”

“I don’t think I’m very”—

“You have an uncle and a nice nickname and your hair is cool and you give good hugs and you like cheese and you’re nice”—Steve sighs—“you’re lucky because you’re Eddie.”

“Well, you’re lucky because you’re Steve.”

“I wanna be your best friend forever. We can see Goose and we can eat cheese from the bag and we can hug and we can talk and talk and talk.” Abruptly, Steve sits back up, looking deep into Eddie’s eyes. “When you go to your uncle’s, will you call my home so that we can set up a play date?”

“I don’t have your”—

Steve pulls away, retrieving a pen from the inside of his jacket. It’s a nice jacket, all things considered, though Eddie didn’t pay too much attention to it, too busy being entranced by Steve’s eyes…something about his face makes Eddie’s tummy feel funny. “Daddy says to always have a pen. I dunno why. I just use it to draw pictures on my arms. He doesn’t like it when I do that. But I don’t care. It’s my pen and I like to draw kitties.” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, bare and exposed from only wearing a t-shirt. Steve’s hands are wonderfully warm. “You’re so cold,” Steve comments. “I wish I had my coat. I’d let you wear it. But I gotta wear my stupid suit. It’s too tight. Your t-shirt is cool, but now you’re cold. And I’m gonna make it all better by drawing a kitty on your arm. What kinda kitty do you like?”

“I like…I like black cats. They’re pretty.”

Smiling, Steve murmurs, “Black cats are very pretty…you’re pretty, too. But don’t tell my daddy I said that…’m s’posed to think only girls are pretty.” The pen clicks and then Steve is pulling completely away.

Eddie’s arm reads a scrawling phone number, messy and nearly illegible. And, indeed, there’s a black cat, too. He gently traces the outline of the cat’s ears with his finger tip, as if he could will it to stay forever—maybe there’s a way he can.

“My daddy is waving me over,” Steve states, something sad around his words. “But we’ll play together one of these days, okay? Here”—he shoves the, now closed, leftovers into Eddie’s hands, forcing them into his lap—“keep the food. I probably won’t finish it. I’m too full. Now you don’t have to steal cars. But…maybe you should steal my daddy’s car again, so that we can talk and talk. ‘Cause I like talkin’ to you. I have to go now, though, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but once more, with no warning, Steve is encroaching Eddie’s space. He hesitates for a moment, as if looking for his dad—or his dad’s furious gaze.

A kiss is then pressed to Eddie’s forehead. It’s sticky and warm and short.

“Bye, Eddie,” Steve whispers, “be safe.” And then he gets up and leaves.

He doesn’t know it yet, but Eddie will cherish this day forever. The food, the suit, the boogered finger, and the little black cat. Though, he will remember this day for one other thing.

The day he fell in love with a boy named Steve.

——— “You should bring that Harrington boy over.”

Eddie startles on the sofa, bent like a shrimp over a mini figure. He hastily drags his magnifying goggles over his mane of curls. They’ll get stuck, probably, but that’s a fight he’ll train for later. Now, though—“Why do you say that, Wayne?”

His uncle shrugs, leaning against the corner wall leading to the kitchenette. He’s ready for work, it looks like, yet his face is slack with exhaustion. “Think it’d be nice for you to have company over here that’s your age. ‘Sides, that boy played a part in saving your life. Don’t you think he should be comin’ ‘round more often? Sure as hell would be better than you spooning macaroni from a pot, bent over one of those little characters of yours.”

“Hey! It’s a hobby, Wayne! It’s not like I’m miserable.”

“Oh give me a break, Eds. You’ve been nose deep in all these damn projects of yours since you got that call about your fuckin’ dad. Sleaze bag gets to breakout and fuck everything up again.” Wayne huffs, his arms crossed over his chest as if his heart is a fallen bird between his palms. “Motherfucker better stay away if he knows what’s good for him.”

They don’t like talking about Eddie’s dad—Wayne’s own brother—not since that day in the restaurant parking lot. It’s weird, he knows, considering that restaurant isn’t even standing anymore, yet the carnage has been spattered in its parking lot. The carnage aside from that boy with the sunshine-y, gap-toothed smile of his. Their playdate had never happened, the phone number had smudged on the way back to Wayne’s—and Eddie had sobbed when it finally disappeared; gone just like his mom, like his dad, like the life he once had.

Living with Wayne has been for the better, though. And he’s right, he should call up Steve. See if he’s busy. If he’s wanting to come over.

It’d do him better than moping around the only place that ever felt like home.

“I’ll call him when you leave, how’s that?” Eddie concedes.

“If you don’t, I’m dragging your stubborn ass all the way to that hideous house of his and making you climb up to his fuckin’ window.”

Eddie scrunches his nose and eyebrows. “Don’t say it like I’m in fucking love with him, Wayne!”

Wayne raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I think I’d know”—

“Sure, right. Because writing Mr. Harrington”—he pitches his voice just for that, Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes—“all over my steno pads is definitely not you falling in love with that kid. I swear, Ed, sometimes you’re more dense and exhausting than a twelve hour shift on Christmas—and that is saying something, considering I’m dead to the world as soon as I walk back in through that front door.” Wayne scoffs and pulls himself off the wall. His arms unfurl from his chest, dangling loose and long at his sides, before he—what Eddie has since known as an eerily similar Steve pose—sets his closed, wound fists on his hips. He’d look like he was scolding from any outside figure, but this is just Wayne. Good old passionate Wayne. He could run for mayor, at least Eddie thinks so, but the last time he suggested it, Wayne had gone to bed early—as if the day of his death had finally caught up to him. He’s still going with, “You’re more full of shit than a port-a-potty. Also, I hope you know, writing that boy’s last name like that makes it look like you’re talking about his vile dad—what’s worse is that it makes me look like I’m in love with good ol’ bag of Dicks.” He strides across the living room, stopping short beside Eddie. He sets a firm hand into the top of Eddie’s hair, shaking around his head until his magnifying goggles come loose and fall right back where they started. Wayne chuckles at it—the laughable sight Eddie must make right now. “Stop being a dumbass, Ed. Just invite the kid over. I know for certain that he’s probably doing fuck all on this shitty Wednesday evening. Considering, especially, that his parents aren’t home.”

“Oh my God, Wayne! Can you just shut the fuck up for a second?” Eddie finally rolls his eyes and completely removes his goggles, tossing them to the coffee table. “I will give him a call! I don’t know how you know about his parents, you fuckin’ weirdo, but if it’ll get you off my back about how lonely I must be, then fine! Fine!”

Wayne grins like the cat who got the cream. “Atta boy.”

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, pulling exaggeratingly at the skin under his eyes. “Go to work, Jesus H. Christ. You’re gonna give me an aneurysm,” he mutters. When he looks back up at Wayne, he’s still smarmy and proud. “What? Stop looking at me like that…or else I’m gonna get Steve to come over and I’ll suck his dick right over there”—he points at the recliner under the window, Wayne’s recliner—“and force you to sit on this lumpy, sad couch while you watch reruns later. You want that, old man?”

It does exactly what Eddie hoped it would—Wayne’s face finally falls neutral again and all is right in the world. “If you make a mess on my furniture, I swear on everythin’ that I will make you replace it.”

“I’m gonna spill so much shit on your couch when you’re gone,” Eddie snarks. “Just leave a whole abstract painting made of blood, sweat, tears, and other…mediums all over the place.”

“Boy, I did not raise you to be so calloused.”

“No, but you did raise a hard-ass. This is me, being a hard-ass. If you want me to shut it, you’ll leave my hopeless heart twenty feet away from all conversations about Steve.” Eddie rolls his left wrist towards himself, catching the numbers on his watch. “Hm. You’re gonna be late for work if you keep standing here, Wayne.”

Wayne sighs. “You are both the best and most chaotic thing to have ever happened to me. I don’t know how I do it most days.”

Eddie smiles, teeth and all, a menacing shape to his features. “Because you love me.”

“That I do,” Wayne concedes. “But, uh, yeah, invite Steve over. Don’t use the beef in the fridge, I’m thinking of making a meatloaf tomorrow night. And…don’t be a nuisance for Ms. Madison next door, she’s under the assumption that you’re the one putting bugs through her window and if she catches wind of you doing something—oh, I don’t know…annoying as you are prone to do—then she’s gonna come complain and I do not care what she has to say. At least, not tonight.”

“Got it,” Eddie says, “I’ll put extra bugs that I somehow manage to carry in my pockets through her window and I’ll make sure they’re equipped with a speaker playing Metallica’s hits. Really set the stage.”

Another long, heavy sigh emanates from Wayne, but he doesn’t have anything to say. He simply meanders to the front door, slips into his work boots, ties them up all neat and tidy, and promptly lets the screen door hit him on the way out—if the, “Ah, shit,” he yelps is anything to go by.

After a little tidying, and a lot of consideration, Eddie finds his way to the phone on the wall. Sitting down in one of their rickety dining chairs. Dialing Steve’s number.

That’s strange, he notes, this number always looks so familiar.

On the third ring, Steve finally answers. “Hello?” It’s gruff and tired. Like he just—

“Aw, did I wake you up, man?”

“Nah…just…” Steve gives an unwavering, hard sigh. “Finished getting chewed out by my dad. Didn’t even realize he still knows how to use the phone, it’s been so long.”

“Hm. Would it make you feel better if we hung out? I could…uh…pick up a movie and come to yours?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Yeah, that would be…that would be nice. I was about to make some macaroni and cheese, if you wanted some. There’s three cheeses in it. I just needed something that was gonna make me feel better.”

“Well, a guy’s favorite food is definitely going to make him feel better, yeah?” Eddie chuckles just as Steve snorts, too. “You sure you want me to come over?”

“Please, Eds. It’s so fucking quiet over here,” Steve says softly, “I mean, I guess I get the house to myself, but…feels like the novelty ran out a long fucking time ago.”

Eddie’s always wondered how a guy like Steve manages to stay mostly sane in a setting like that. How he manages to not feel as alone…but considering how many people are in his corner now, it’s no wonder that he’s getting by a lot better these days. At least a lot better than what he heard of Steve growing up.

“I’ll be over in, like, fifteen minutes. Just gotta change my shirt—hot weather and all that.”

“Ooo, you gonna show me your big biceps?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, big boy?” Eddie tries to snark, but—

Steve goes eerily quiet on his end for a long moment. Worried that Eddie overstepped, he goes to correct himself, then—“Of course I would, Eds. You’re pretty and I think you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice, yeah. Doesn’t rival to you, I’m sure”—

“Oh just shut up and come make me feel better. Just having you over here would be the highlight of my day, your good looks are a bonus.”

“You’re certainly feeling flirty today.”

“Maybe I just want to flirt with you, you ever thought of that?”

“If you’re being serious, I could turn it up a few notches.”

“You could kiss me and make me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Eddie reaches for a strand of his hair, curling it tight around his finger until his knuckles pop. “I could do that.”

Steve’s voice is finally bright and energetic when he responds with, “Really? That worked on you? I thought I’d have to keep sending you subliminal messages until the day I died.”

“Hey! I’m very observe—wait! What do you mean messages? Have I been missing”—

“Okay, come over, bye!”

And then the dial tone screeches out.

Screw Steve and his stupid pretty face, for leaving Eddie on such a cliffhanger. Even his own novels couldn’t rival something like this. It’s enough, though, to have him scrambling around the trailer—putting all his mini-figures away, changing his Hellfire shirt for a muscle tank, and throwing his hair up so it’s out of his face on the drive over.

While he did say he’d be over in fifteen, it’s realistically ten with how fast he tears through stop signs. Not that Steve needs to know that. He’d have a cow if he realized how reckless Eddie was being to get over here.

Especially considering Steve worked damn hard to keep Eddie’s heart beating.

It’s another odd thing in a sea of odd. This isn’t the first time somebody named Steve even gave Eddie’s heart purpose. Something tangible and willing to hold onto.

Not that the little boy from almost fifteen years ago needs to know. Hell, Eddie’s not even sure if that kid still lives in Hawkins. If he does, he’s well older now. Hopefully still as sweet, if his parents didn’t muck around. It’d be a bitter thing, finding out if that kid suffered more in breathable silences than he did on the surface of what Eddie saw and heard.

That kid had a lot to say, though. And Eddie, contrary to now, would’ve rather been quiet.

When Steve finally opens the front door to his place, he’s as exasperated as Eddie’s heart feels. “Did you even stop on the way over here? I’m not gonna kiss you at all unless you tell me you were marginally safe.”

“I was buckled. And had both hands on the wheel. Can’t do any better than that.”

“Eddie.”

“What? I was excited! You can’t tell a dog to stay down when they’re excited!”

Steve levels him with a questioning stare. “You’re the dog in this scenario?”

“I’ve got puppy eyes! So, yeah, I think I’m objectively the dog.” He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps flexing with the movement. Steve’s eyes dart to his left bicep, something like pride sweeps over Eddie. There’s a different thing that flashes over Steve’s face, then, a lot like shock—belated surprise at what he sees. “Well, with how you’re trackin’ me right now, I’d say that maybe I’m the bone, and you’re the dog.”

Abruptly, Steve pulls Eddie inside, hands flexing around Eddie’s left bicep. The door slams shut behind them. And then Steve is just ogling the chicken scratch tattoo on Eddie’s arm. “Where’d you get this drawing?” Steve asks, tapping on the tattoo.

Eddie stares down at his arm, twisting it in Steve’s grip.

The tattoo in question is a simple black cat. Some little thing he had Wayne take a photo of, what felt like, eons ago. That kid had a lot more impact on Eddie than he probably realized—why not hold him forever in a way that matters…through art, of course. First loves and all that, people who change the perspective on a life that had felt so hopeless. It was a lesser known tattoo, one he wasn’t freely waving around. It didn’t match his hard exterior, not that he had much of a chiseled outside as he thought he did.

Honestly, he thought he could get by with nobody seeing the black cat. Just one of those little shitty pieces that no one wants to pay attention to, especially when he’s got so many other tattoos that take the cake. The bats may have been taken by those other-worldly bats. But the puppet on strings and the skull head and the spider all remained. Those ones people were drawn to.

He figured Steve would be the same. Ogling Eddie’s puppet with questions on what it means, what it represents. Why the hell would a cat catch his eye, though? As far as he knows, Steve’s a dog person through and through. He whines constantly about wanting his own little lap dog to cuddle up with and he loathes the way cats ignore him.

“It’s just a drawing,” Eddie says, “some kid drew it on my arm years and years ago.” He swallows hard, muscles spasming around his words as Steve’s finger begin to gently trace the cat’s ears. “It was the same night my dad went to jail. When I started living with Wayne. Kid was so nice to me. He tried to give me his phone number, but…it smeared away. I never did see him again. But he sorta made that night worth it.”

The reverence in Steve’s touch is enough to make Eddie weak. But he was already a weak, weak man. Every part of Steve makes him weak—in the knees, in the stomach, in the heart. He’s pumping enough blood at the sight of Steve alone that he may just die—can you do that? Die from too much love?

Steve’s face makes Eddie’s stomach flip, though. His droopy eyes. Equally droopy hair. The moles, the smile, the way his scruff grows in patchy before it becomes uniform.

“What else do you remember about that night?” Steve then asks. His voice is soft, softer than Eddie’s ever heard it. He doesn’t take his eyes away from Eddie’s tattoo, but there’s a small grin on his face. Almost like he’s welcoming in the cat as his own, a cat he hasn’t seen in forever. 

“Umm…he had macaroni and cheese. We ate with our hands because his dad wouldn’t let him keep the spoon. There was this suit he was wearing. He wiped his cheesy hand on it. He also picked his nose, I watched him do it—I thought it was gross.” Eddie chuckles at the memory. How cautious he had been about where that kid’s fingers were going while they ate. “And he hugged me…he…he kissed me on the forehead before he said goodbye to me.”

The hands on Eddie’s bicep travel down slowly to his left hand, holding and squeezing it in place. Then, without warning, Steve drags them upstairs to his bedroom. He shoves them inside quickly, with little to no care. And then he begins rummaging through the back of his closet.

“What’re you”—

Something is tossed at Eddie.

It’s fabric, starchy, and wrinkled. He flicks it with his wrists to get the full image of what he’s been given. It’s a suit. A tiny suit. With a giant patch of orange-yellow crusted sauce on the left side, where, when Eddie turns it to closer inspect, it looks like finger tracks have made themselves home.

“We talked about your mom,” Steve murmurs, “about how she was nice. She let you eat shredded cheese out of the bag. And my nana had a cat named Goose. You told me you liked cats, you thought black cats were pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen at the fabric, what he’s hearing. “That was you,” he whispers.

“Yeah…yeah, that was me.” Steve stands behind the suit, where it’s being held up in the air. Eddie lowers it to better look at him. “I…I told you about my dad. About how he”—

“He’s mean and scary. Threatens you with that stupid spoon. You were worried it’d happen that night.” Eddie swallows hard. “I never forgave myself for that,” he speaks quietly, “you were so nice that night. You gave me your leftover dinner. And I…I was there to steal your dad’s car with my dumb dad. But you sounded so…so scared when you were telling me about when your dad gets angry. And he was…god, he was really angry that night.”

Steve’s gaze has fallen to the floor. His hands twisted in front of him in a nervous knot. “It happened all the time, it’s not your fault. It’s just who he was.” He goes to try and mend that ugly of a statement, but—“I waited for you to call me. So that I could play with you. Or so that we could…could…I don’t know, really, I just wanted to be your friend or…or something. I thought you were so pretty. Your eyes were huge and shiny and I could see your ears, they didn’t quite fit the shape of your head yet, but they were so cute. And your voice was so quiet. Your giggle was so raspy, so small, I wanted to hear it all the time. I prayed I’d hear it on the phone, y’know, like maybe I could get my tape recorder and hold it up to the speaker.”

He shuffles side to side on his feet, scrunches the fabric of the suit jacket in his hands. “I’m sorry I never called”—

“Did you get to stay with Wayne? Or did you have to go back to”—

“No, no…I stayed with Wayne. My home’s been with him for years.”

Steve gives an enthusiastic, yet slow nod. “I’m really glad you got to where you were supposed to.”

“Yeah, Wayne’s been”—

“No, back with me,” Steve murmurs. He quirks a small smile, teeth and all. There isn’t a gap between them anymore and his fang grew back in. But it’s still a dorkishly sweet smile. “Now we have all the time in the world with each other. And…and you got my cat drawing as a tattoo…you’re so cool, Eddie.”

“Funny, I feel like I’ve heard that before,” he gently teases. “I’m honestly shocked you recognize the drawing. It’s been so long.”

“Not too long, though.” Steve steps closer, getting into Eddie’s personal bubble. He takes the suit back, when Eddie relents his grip on it, and then tosses it over the back of his desk chair. Then, he places his hands—shaky, they are—on either side of Eddie’s face. They aren’t small hands anymore, bigger than he could’ve figured. His palms are calloused, but not cruelly. And his face, so darling, so open, and oh so honey-sweet. “My dad told me that I was only supposed to think girls are pretty,” Steve whispers, “but I could never get your face out of my head. I don’t know if you’ll ever truly know how much I wanted to hold you that night.”

Eddie matches his volume. “Tell me?”

“Forever,” he answers immediately, “I wanted us to be happy.” His thumbs make little circles in Eddie’s soft cheeks. Gentle. Reverent. “Do you think we’re allowed to be happy now?”

“We can be whatever we want, Stevie.” He places his hands on Steve’s waist. Be steady. “And we can do whatever we want now. Nobody is here to stop us.”

Steve’s eyes bounce. They’re half-lidded and shiny. But, mostly—

Happy.

Quietly, “Kisses really do make me feel better,” Steve says, “will you kiss me now?”

And who is he to deny them this gentle pleasure?

He leans in, slow and hesitant just as Steve did all those years ago. Their breaths puffs against each other, mingling. Steve closes his eyes first, expectant. And when Eddie closes the gap, he knew he made the right decision to let himself fall in love—all those years ago, even when he didn’t have the language, the understanding, the momentum of crushes entering and exiting his life like revolving casts; there was always something there, though, about Steve. Something fragile and unearthed, yet just as necessary as breathing.

There had been a lot of unnecessary pain before Steve. Lots of what-ifs and whens and hows. Unknowns that took ruling over his life—when that next meal was going to be, where the money would come from, if he’d be learning a lesson for not holding the flashlight still enough.

And then there had been the sharp in and out of the needle going through his skin as he marked himself with the only remnants of a boy lost to time he had. Never to expect an outcome or an ever-after; not like those fairytales his mama would read to him; not like the sure tell that he’d be hugged at the front door by his mama’s arms.

This kiss is warm, soft, delicate between them. It’s the curtains pushed aside for the sun to pour in like lemonade and quench the room in light, in summer, in smiles. A million eyelashes on the cheeks and wispy wishes blown from the pale fingertips of summers spent with Wayne. Canned jam on early morning toast, a pot of coffee burbling, knowing he made it out alive in time to graduate—to unearth greatness from the soul in the aftermath of so much bad. This kiss is, in metaphor, a lot like coming home.

To forever with little boundaries, clouds taking the shape of smears above them, nothing to define them. Because black cats are pretty, and Steve thinks of Eddie the same.

Because there’s good, nestled and dormant, in the bad.

He had been looking to Steve a lot in the Upside Down—as if there was a pull, a need to do so. Steve was the safety, the calm within calamity, and actually a good dude; case in point, good within the bad.

Steve resuscitated Eddie twice.

And kissing him feels like the third.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Steve is smiling quietly to himself, eyelids shut against his flushed face. His eyelashes spread wide, fanned. Eddie could make wishes from his eyeballs and be none the wiser, he’s got his hands on the everything else he needed. What more could he want?

“You can look at me, pretty boy,” Eddie whispers.

Steve chuckles, but does what he’s told. “I was worried I’d be six years old again,” he murmurs, “waiting by the phone.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that anymore, do you?”

“Hehe”—yes, Steve actually giggles at him when he asks. “Yeah, I guess I don’t.” His smile, the rosiness of his cheeks, the squint to his eyes—it makes him look drunk; tipsy with pride.

“You feelin’ better?”

“Peachy,” Steve answers. “And you?”

“Feel like I never have to steal anything again. Like a million bucks, baby. Rich.”

Steve leans again, noses against Eddie’s. Whispers, “I’ve got macaroni and cheese downstairs. You wanna eat it with our hands?”

“As long as you don’t pick your nose anymore,” Eddie returns at the same volume.

“I don’t, but…I’ve also got those soup spoons finally. You wanna do that?”

Eddie’s hands tighten over Steve’s waist. “Sure, yeah…yeah, okay.”

“Good.” And then Steve pulls away, gliding back to the door to head downstairs.

Except—

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve looks back. And he’s shrouded by the warm, yellow light from the hallway. There’s a smile on his face. He’s not exasperated or tired or afraid. Just…just happy. Eddie’s sure he matches.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Eddie murmurs, “like…half-way there.”

“Yeah?” Eddie simply nods his head. “I think I’m half-way there, too.”

It started like a horror movie in the dark, yet it ends…

It ends romantically in the light, in warmth.

On the day he fell impossibly more in love with Steve.

🫂—————🫂

[vaztori]

mingi reading list / fic recs !

don't forget to like + reblog fics that you like to support the authors <3

navigation

FICS ! ✧*

Counting Stars (smut, also so fucking fluffy & soft you'll get butterflies) by @min-gis

My Way (fluff, angst, suggestive, bodyguard!mingi) by @sorryimananti-romantic

We Fell in Love in August (fluff, smut, brother's bestfriend!mingi) by @mingigoo

The Library Illusion: The Temple Guardian (smut, fantasy, naga!mingi) by @kwanisms

Inked Up (tattoo artist au, smut) by @huihuiheart

Nothing Compares To You (smut, fluff, established relationship) by @noramoons

Slow Down (smut, established relationship) by @strawberryya

Thique (smut, fluff) by @gojosnympho

Numb My Pain (smut, friends to lovers) by @yeonjuns-beanie

Bound In Blood (smut, angst, fated lovers au, vampire!mingi) by @nateezfics

Grant Me The Light (smut, angst, a lil' fluff, dystopian au) by @mingiswow

Skinny Dipping (smut, fluff, gentle dom!mingi) by @byuntrash101

For Me (smut, fluff, angst, sugar daddy au) by @hwanchaesong

Late Night (smut, fluff) @binniesbobastay

Sexual Feeling (smut) by @robyn-core

Jealous (2/2) (smut) by @cyberpxnk

Such A Tease (smut) by @call-me-bha

See Me After Class (angst, smut) by @ateezreactionsandscenarios

Use Me (smut, angst) by @hwaightme

Punishment + Dacryphilia (smut) by @hongism

Sour (smut, angst. with continual parts and different endings) by @itsbeeble

Kinkuary 21 (smut) by @kwanisms

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*

written by @min-gis :

i've never felt alone with you (smut but also so fucking fluffy & soft i got butterflies)

12.27 am (smut, fluff!)

written by @mimgi :

and you're here (smut but also so fluffy i'm cryin) by

pretty please (smut, fluffy!)

wedding buddies (smut, fluff, fake dating au) by @idyllic-ghost

rainy morning (smut, established relationship, soft dom! mingi) @nateezfics

7.36 (smut, fluff) by @riboism

make up sex (smut, fluff) by @nateezfics

somnophilia (smut, lil' fluff?? ig) by @hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf

written by @ateezreactionsandscenarios :

thigh riding (smut, soft dom!mingi i'm cryin bc of how soft he speaks)

orgasm control (smut)

fingering (smut)

you're blushing (fluff) by @biaswreckingfics

written by @danihow :

fix you (fluff, simping, reader is mingis's spouse)

24 to 25 (fluff, dad!mingi)

face time (smut) by @byuntrash101

sleep habits (smut) by @cas-skz

the night doesn't belong to god (smut) by @straykids-97

obsession (perv!mingi) by @cybrsan

00.12 (smut, in which mingi wanted fem!reader to sit on his face) by @kwanisms

ungodly hour (smut) by @nabis-dreamscape-world

hard thoughts (smut) by @ateez-melody

22.36 (smut, fluff) by @star1117-archives

the star (smut, professor!mingi) by @flowerboykun

good morning (smut, fluff) by @mingisval

sixty-nine (smut) by @ocean-ai

written by @last-words-ofashootingstar :

sweet dreams (smut, sub!mingi)

don't make me beg (smut, sub!mingi)

use it (smut) by @a-soft-hornytiny

written by @ateezscupid :

random thoughts (smut, soft dom!mingi)

seductive (fluff, smut, crackhead energy)

hard hours : mingi eating you out (smut) by @soobberries

hard thoughts : kiss me thru the phone (smut, fluff) by @kpopscruggles

cold coffee (smut) by @cyberpunkhwx

stop staring (fluff) by @blu-joons

dom!mingi x innocent!reader (suggestive) @/sluttywonwoo

choco ice cream (fluff) by @/woosluv

caramel popcorn (fluff, bestfriends to lovers) by @/leejungchans

model student (fluff, tutored!mingi) by @/itgetsquiet

"don't read that, the lyrics aren't ready yet" (fluff) by @/imaginidol

sick (fluff) by @/lovelyjaem

thoughts on mingi : fucking you for the first time (nsfw, fluffy) by @/minranghae

[mysticstronomy]

HOW FAR BACK IN TIME CAN WE SEE me cryIN SPACE??

Blog#469

Wednesday, January 8th, 2025.

Welcome back,

The Hubble and James Webb Space Telescopes have observed the most distant star ever seen – Earendel – whose name means morning star. Even though Earendel is 50 times the mass of our sun, and millions of times brighter, we would not normally be able to see it. We can only see it due to an alignment of the star with a large galaxy cluster in front of it whose gravity bends the light from the star to make it brighter and more focused. The galaxy cluster essentially acts as a lens.

Astronomers see into the deep past when we view distant objects. Light travels at a constant speed (3×108 meters per second). So, the farther away an object is, the longer it takes for the light to reach us. By the time the light reaches us from very distant stars, the light we are looking at can be billions of years old. Thus, we are looking at events that happened in the past.

When we observe Earendel’s light, we are looking at light the star emitted 12.9 billion years ago. We call this the lookback time. That’s just 900 million years after the Big Bang. But because the universe has also expanded rapidly in the time it took this light to reach us, Earendel is now 28 billion light-years away from us.

Hubble’s successor, the James Webb Space Telescope, may be able to detect even earlier stars. However, they would have to be nicely aligned to form a gravitational lens so that we can see them.

One of the main goals of Webb is to know what the early universe looked like and when early stars and galaxies formed, thought to be between 100 million and 250 million years after the Big Bang. And, luckily, we can get hints about this by looking even farther back than Hubble or Webb can manage.

We can see light from 13.8 billion years ago, although it is not starlight, because there were no stars then. The farthest light we can see is the cosmic microwave background. The cosmic microwave background is the light left over from the Big Bang, forming at just 380,000 years after our cosmic birth.

The universe before the cosmic microwave background formed contained charged particles of positive protons (which now make up the atomic nucleus along with neutrons) and negative electrons … and light. The charged particles scattered the light, which made the universe a foggy soup. As the universe expanded, it cooled until eventually the electrons combined with the protons to form atoms.

Unlike the soup of particles, the atoms had no charge, so the light didn’t scatter and could move through the universe in a straight line. This light has continued to travel across the universe until it reaches us today. The wavelength of the light got longer as the universe expanded … and we currently see it as microwaves. This light is the cosmic microwave background. We can see it uniformly at all points in the sky. The cosmic microwave background is everywhere in the universe.

Originally published on https://earthsky.org

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, January 11th, 2025)

"IS SPACE DARK OR BRIGHT??"

[costelloschoice]

Mizu x Cowgirl! reader headcanons -Mizu x fem!reader -hi so I totally don't have a self insert that is a cowgirl and want to share my ideas about this LMAO -but seriously, I love this idea and idc if a cowboy wouldn't be here during this time period. We're here to have fun -comments and reblogs are appreciated :](pls I love readin comments and interacting with yall)

Sfw:

Okay so....wow

You are a completely different life form to Mizu

Your clothes? Crazy.

Your cowgirl hat will be the first thing she would notice, cause what type of that???

Leather pants with chaps on top

damn bro? who dressed you?

Your accent is also strange, why do you talk like that?

Ofc she will see you as a threat at first cause who are you and where did you even come from...plus that revolver in your side holster ain't helping

But once you proved yourself to her you don't mean harm, you're allowed to hang- you would score more brownie points with her

Mizu would def be intrigued by your backstory and why you're here in Japan

Late night talks by the fire

Even sneaking off to show her star gazing and small stories to share about the stars

Play guitar? Show off to her

Sing her songs and little bops you've learned or made on your own

Would die if you wrote one about her

You tame horses like it's nothing and its impressive to her

impressed more in you can ride without a saddle

Your lasso?

See wants to see you use it

has some thoughts of you tying up your enemies while fighting...

Once you guys develop a romantic relationship, she'll be excited but nervous

Excited cause you're great and accept her, but you guys are from two different cultures and lives

Will it work out?

Ofc it will...cause I say so

Will try on your cowgirl hat and do finger guns, even do impressions on you

Hasn't smiled this much in so long, it's like you casted a spell of some sort

Let her ride your horse with her

You have a fun side but also your serious side

Impressed when she sees you FINALLY use a sword like she taught your

speaking of that

she will force you to let her train you to sword fight instead of always relying on that damn revolver

She is impressed you can fight, but just not sword fight

Will hug and praise you in private about it later

"You should've seen yourself...You did so well, so beautiful wielding the sword,"

Will be willing to try your culture's food, even if she doesn't like it, she will appreciate it

When you get mad, and your accent gets thicker...sorry she can't keep up with what you're saying

But!!!

She loves to see you defend her, even if you're really outspoken

Specially with Taigen? Yeah, even though she can fight her own battles

Her favorite line? When you yelled at Akemi for crying too loud during the tea house situation

"Stop cryin' before I give you somethin' to cry about, girl.."

idk she loved see a spoiled girl being put in her place

but she knows you mean well

You were different but a good difference in her life <3

Nsfw:

going back to that damn lasso

wants you to tie her up, she's seen you do it and trusts you fully

would want to learn from you, for sexual and non-sexual reasons

LOVES to ride your strap

and yes

you make her follow the "hat rule"

hates it

but in the moment, she doesn't care too much, and will wear it

when you ride her? You wearin' it

now she sees why you love it

Your accent with dirty talk? Makes her weak in the knees

especially when your whisper in her ear

Your soft yet rough nature makes the sex life 10x better to her

You tell her something one night as a joke

"Save a horse, ride a cowgirl"

and she did

and loved it cause you made sure the ride was rough and wild

making love after star gazing? Yes pls

By the fire? Mhmm

Your soft voice with after care as well? Makes her so giddy and helps put her to sleep fast <3