#you cannot possibly tell me this does not have

[hitlikehammers]

SOMETIMES: you just can’t say the words ♥️❓💕

(but that doesn’t mean they’re any less true💖)

But, like, it’s always that. The same dude delivers the pizza, expects Steve to have the cash out and tell him to keep the change—whether Eddie’s slipped a ten inside earlier or not; Steve’s given up fighting him on it because he understands he got a government payout, too, and he also has some small shred of pride left, even if that’s not really why he does it. He does it more for…reasons far too humiliating, and vulnerable, and worse-still too tender, too fucking domestic, to own to in real words and cogent enough to appropriately or accurately imply his…deeper and-or larger feelings on the matter. So. Steve lets him get away with it, and just sometimes smiles at the bills, sometimes rolls his eyes, and it feels… Ways that Eddie’s doesn’t put words to. He just explained that, Jesus H.

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, friends-to-✨more✨, softness, feelings reveal, you don’t always need words to know that it’s love, fluff, slice of life, cuddling, casual intimacy, hint of angst (in eddie’s head and eddie’s head alone), smitten boys, pining over pizza 🍕 , prime date night, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: "Come sleep with me: We won't make Love, Love will make us.” ―Julio Cortázar

Steve’s at the door, paying for the pizza: one classic pep-n-sausage, one supreme, and one half-meat lovers, half-Hawaiian—not because they disagree about toppings—they actually agree too perfectly, and that that culinary heathen Argyle can never know his outrageous suggestion was taken on board; they cannot risk any stray leftovers giving them away, just in case.

But, like, it’s always that. The same dude delivers the pizza, expects Steve to have the cash out and tell him to keep the change—whether Eddie’s slipped a ten inside earlier or not; Steve’s given up fighting him on it because he understands he got a government payout, too, and he also has some small shred of pride left, even if that’s not really why he does it.

He does it more for…reasons far too humiliating, and vulnerable, and worse-still too tender, too fucking domestic, to own to in real words and cogent enough to appropriately or accurately imply his…deeper and-or larger feelings on the matter. So.

Steve lets him get away with it, and just sometimes smiles at the bills, sometimes rolls his eyes, and it feels…

Ways that Eddie’s doesn’t put words to. He just explained that, Jesus H.

Can’t be a fucking surprise by this point. At least not to Eddie.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it. They have a routine. They have a, a…this is a standing engagement. Like a meeting marked on a calendar, save that they don’t have to mark it down or call to confirm: it just happens. They just know.

And Eddie sees the Party is various combinations throughout the week—more and more as his rehab is actually starting to make progress, as he’s lasting longer off the couch and even sometimes outside the house entirely, might even get behind the wheel again all on his own within the month. But by Friday, he’s more than spent. He’s gotta take the breather, still, and Steve sees it. Never says so.

But makes sure Eddie’s comfortable on his own motherfucking couch with the most scintillating new release Family Video has to offer, and their regular pizza order already on the way.

Steve always comes to him. Every fucking Friday, when he knows Eddie’s still not, maybe never willprefer being entirely alone ever again, and knows just as sure that Eddie can’t be anywhere but here.

So Steve is…always here.

Eddie doesn’t know what prods him to open his mouth about it now, of all possible times; doesn’t know what prompts the thoughts themselves to weave into words at all.

But as soon as they’re out, he knows that he means them. Which means they’ve been living under the surface, festering in wait, longer than he probably could have known.

“Don’t you ever get sick of this?”

It’s such a fucking sigh that stream from Eddie’s lips on the question, too. Self-pitying. But also a little bit of an accusation, like: why the fuck is Steve even still here, when anywhere else would be infinitely preferable?

Steve turns toward him, slice of pizza hanging from his mouth. He’s…he’s fucking beautiful.

How he’s fucking beautiful with a mushroom falling from between his teeth is beyond Eddie, but fuck all: it’s the god’s-honest truth.

But Steve takes a proper bite and puts the other half of the slice back in the box because of course they don’t bother with plates, and finishes chewing what he’s got on this tongue with an extra layer of thoughtfulness; takes an extra batch of seconds before he swallows. Weighs his wine words carefully when they come:

“What do you mean?”

It’s not evasive. It’s not even trying to force the ball back into Eddie’s hands. It’s…Eddie can tell Steve has different answers, depending on how Eddie responds.

So he decides to weigh his next words extra-careful, too.

“Just like, this, man. Same ol’, same ol’.”

It’s not what he wants to say, he knows that as soon as it’s put out there to be heard. But he doesn’t know if he actually knows what he wants to say, or ask, let alone how. He gestures at the room around them, winces at the tightness it tests up his left side—hopes maybe Steve will get some inspiration and find his words for him.

Like he’s found so much of Eddie these past months, pieced him back together when he was sure in the beginning he’d never be whole again.

“Sick of seeing you hurt this bad?” is what Steve comes up with, and…no, that’s not what Eddie was going for, but he’s gonna let it ride because it tingles like a sparkler in the Center of his chest.

“Of course,” and Steve says it as straight and definitive as Eddie thinks those words can be said by anyone, for anything; the way he figures maybe they were made to be said when words started in the first place.

Then Steve leans in, and Eddie…this is just how it always is, right? They do this every week. Almost exactly the same.

Steve doesn’t have to lean far to be close enough for Eddie to feel the breath of him, and swear to fuck, Eddie never realized they sat quite this close for the movies, crowded around the pizza. Knew their legs touched but…not this much.

Close to…tangled, almost. Fuck.

Eddies heart trips a solid five times before it remembers it ever knew a rhythm.

“But I’m never of being here to at least try to make it ache that little bit less,” and Steve’s hand lands soft on eddies thigh, and fuck, eddies breath les catches, more than just fuckin’ stops—steve reads it the wrong way, pulls back and grimaces from the heart, has the gorgeous audacity to say, all apologetic, and with feeling:

“Even when I can’t.”

Eddie does kind of suspect a lack of being useful is one of Steve Harrington’s biggest fears in life. But this…even just the sound of this lands different.

“No, no,” Eddie tries to sort out his thoughts, shake his head enough to clear it but not amp up a headache, something Steve’s taught him to be particularly attentive to that shit; “I mean, like,” and he huffs, closer to growls than anything more civilized.

“Can’t keep my shit together,” Eddie bursts out with, apparently finding the shape of the thing that’s been festering, surprising himself with it a little, but not…much.

Not really.

“Months later, almost a fucking year,” he spits, disgusted now that he’s unearthed the core of it, “and you,” he turns to Steve, still Leaned so goddamn close—

“It’s prime date night,” every Friday; “and you’re always here,” on prime date night, wasting his chances, wasting his time, wasting everything on—

“I’m ruining it,” Eddie realizes, heart in his throat plummeting to his fucking stomach, appalled as he sees it all in the light of this new obvious truth, this truth that once Steve sees it too he’ll leave, and what if he doesn’t come back at all because eddies been hogging him without even meaning too, just been to selfish and wrapped up in his own bullshit, and he’s—

“I’m ruining you,” Eddie’s voice cracks, fucking appalled, goddamn devastated—and it’s not courage or anything, that lets Eddie reach out and fit his sometimes-shaky palm to Steve’s cheek and hold him there; it’s not some brave declaration of the way he wants things he still can’t name.

And the man he’s feels the unnamable thing for? He’s fucking taking up all his time, monopolizing his light, taking him away from the future he was talking through when he thought he was gonna fucking die, driving a goddamn RV, Eddie is a horrible fucking…worm, a pathetic excuse for a person, he is  ruining—

“Kinda.”

Eddie feels everything in him somehow…tense and start to disintegrate at the same time because…he knew it was true, but Steve, Steve’s agreeing—

“You’re kinda ruining me for anyone else.”

And Eddie blinks, blinks some more: because Steve sounds…happy.

Like…punch drunk.

Eddie chances breaking his heart for the thing he can’t name, and turns the little bit to took and—

Oh.

Oh, that smile. Steve’s smile.

At him.

It’s lazy sunlight. It’s syrup slow and sweet. It’s quiet and it’s comfortable and he’s only looking at Eddie. Not the TV. Not the pizza. Not the kitchen where the sink drips a little in the background but Eddie can’t hear it over the thump of his rabbit heart.

Just him. Like he’s…worth it.

Worth…being ruined. Like he’s—

“You’re ruining me for anything that isn’t this,” Steve says low, because he is brave, and maybe he can’t say the thing either but he can talk closer near it, like a hand pushed through Eddie’s ribs to calm his pulse and call it worth something.

Maybe worth a lot of somethings, even. Possibly, impossibly, even, worth everyth—

“That isn’t this, with you,” Steve breathes, and he looks like he thinks about leaning in that little bit more, like he was really thinking about pressing lips too eddies hair, his temple, maybe lower, maybe set to ruin him because Eddie feels a little ruined already, because Steve hadn’t meant ruined the Eddie was so fearing, so sure of; he was talking about something that rang out a key that echoes in his ribs like the thing he can’t name—

Steve doesn’t press lips to Eddie’s skin, though. Eddie tries not to be disappointed.

Steve stretches out across the couch instead, though, and props his legs up on the arm opposite where Eddie sits, socked feet crossed as he settles his head in Eddie’s lap.

He’s never done that before. Eddie’s heart takes a fucking flying leap when Steve’s lashes flutter and he looks up and Eddie like he’s exactly—somehow exactlywhat Steve wants for the ruination, as much as the ruining.

He grins up at him a little, and presses a little extra close to Eddie’s crotch as he shifts to reach his abandoned half-a-pizza-slice.

Eddie watches, transfixed. Enraptured.

His heart hasn’t even landed from the fucking leaping yet, while Steve’s biting and the tip of his pizza, the pouty part of the triangle, getting sauce at the corner of those lips—

“This feels like,” Steve talks with his mouth full; “like I always imagined home would feel like.”

He finishes the slice and chews while he settles his head closer to Eddie, and…and that’s where Eddie’s heart lands, settles too: down half in his stomach again, tapping frantic, close to Steve, closer closer closer—

And Steve just leans in.

And Eddie is…ruined.

How the fuck did he forget that word could mean something this…this.

Steve finally does press his lips to something; Eddie’s wrist when he reaches for his own slice of pizza, when he thinks his pulse is calm enough that he can swallow right.

Then Steve grabs it, pauses it in midair, tilts his head around the crust and just…kisses that heartbeat right up to making it difficult to breathe.

“Home,” he sighs a little, then looks up at Eddie again, wipes his lip off with his thumb and sucks the stray sauce off as he turns to the television with a hum as he exhales:

“That’s you.”

And Steve Harrington, spends prime date night at Eddie Munson’s house. Every week. Orders pizza: same place, same pies.

And the thing that Eddie couldn’t find a name for suddenly’s the only word his blood knows how to beat, and it’s not even scary that Steve has to hear it, pressed so close.

Because Steve is pressed that close.

And on prime date night—every prime date night—apparently?

Steve Harrington happily comes home.

To him.

♥️🖤♥️

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[leighsartworks216]

A Bargain Struck

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Chapter One

I almost forgot to post this today!! When I say it's been a day y'all, it has been a day

Warnings: swearing, fear of infection, intimidation, child death (mentioned), implied murder

Word Count: 923

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AO3

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You think this is some joke to him. He’s walking ahead of you, albeit incredibly slowly, while you shuffle along the wall, scraped hands guiding you through what you can only assume is a cave. The walls are rough and jagged, not to mention winding. You think you feel doorways, but every time you start to turn into one to try getting any vague impression for what’s inside, he chastises you with an amused, “Over here, pet.”

You huff when your toe hits stairs. “This is your home?” you bite. You shuffle one foot forward to feel for the next step. What a nightmare. “Were you raised by Wanderers or something?”

He chuckles deeply. It reverberates around the hall. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“Hmph. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful, pet. Your god is watching.”

The cave is cool, seemingly untouched by the sun outside. The chill numbs your feet, bites at your fingertips. Even your ceremonial garb does little to keep you warm. You just bite your cheek. You’re already a prisoner here, best not allow yourself to be too weak around him. A difficult task, indeed.

You misjudge one of the steps. Your toes just catch the edge, but it’s not enough to support you and they slip. With no railing to hold, you cannot grasp for support. You tip backward with a shout.

Something hard wraps around your waist again. It holds you tightly, shoving you forward and onto a solid platform. Had that been the top step? You’re sick and tired of landing on your hands and knees like this.

You’re released as you sit up, back finding a solid wall to lean into as you cover your heart and will it to stop racing. “Ah,” you pant, “thank you.”

The “wall” suddenly steps away from you, and you catch yourself in another heart-stopping moment to save yourself from tipping backwards. “I won’t save you next time.”

“Let me go and there won’t be a next time.”

He chuckles, but it lacks any real mirth. “Get up. Or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

You sigh. Still, he doesn’t rush you when you sit a moment longer to calm your heart. Ever since you were a child, your health was of the utmost concern. You couldn’t do anything with the other kids, and not because of your lack of sight. Even braille books were considered too dangerous. The risk of a paper cut getting infected and killing you was a risk nobody was willing to make. As such, this much excitement was a shock to your system.

And suddenly, you find yourself worried about the tiniest cut getting infected and killing you out here.

You reach out, feeling for the real wall this time. Loose sand scrapes beneath you as you bring yourself to your feet. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

He starts walking again and you follow.

“Would you be able to use them if I said yes?”

You wish you could see, just so you could smack him upside the head. “You keep underestimating me. I suggest you stop now before you embarrass yourself.”

“That’s a gamble I’m willing to take.” He sighs, sharp and tired, annoyed. “I might have some around.”

“Well, do you have water, at least? Clean cloth?”

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an insufferable bastard. Neither of us are too happy with each other, but if you won’t let me go, I suggest you do the bare minimum and allow me to clean my injuries,” you hold out your palms, unsure if he’ll even see them, “so I don’t get sick and die.”

His steps come to a stop. You stop with them. Your skin prickles and crawls, unsettled and on edge. His steps approach. You lean your shoulder into the wall, holding your ground rather than being backed up to some other possibly dangerous or deadly area in the cave.

“Tell me a prophecy, and I’ll get you your medical supplies.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple. It’s Astra who picks and chooses what futures I see. I know nothing of you. All the prophecies I know right now are for the people in the city.”

Is that his breath fanning across your face? You flinch back at its heat. You feel like an injured rabbit facing down the maw of a starved wolf.

His voice is low when next he speaks. “Then tell me one of them.”

You turn your face away. His breath hits your cheek, though tendrils of the air brush down your neck. You suppress a shiver. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “There’s a scholar there. He studies the heavens and tracks their movement. His parents are anxious for him to conceive an heir. His wife is pregnant now, but…”

“But…?”

“... The child… will be a stillborn. They won’t know the cause of death, and that shame will fall to the mother. She won’t live long after, either, once the scholar crumples under the disappointment.”

He hums. The heat of his breath disappears. “I’ll get you your medicine. Next time, I’d be interested in hearing a prophecy of my own future.”

“Then you’ll have to pray to Astra. Only he can grant you the knowledge you seek; I’m just the messenger.” “Well, messenger,” he steps around you and nudges you with an elbow, “this is where you’ll sleep. Try not to fall down the stairs looking for me.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

Sleep Study | Buddietommy 5+1

1.

Buck is seriously perplexed at how his boyfriends are able to sleep like they do. He looks over from his side of the bed, furrowing his eyebrows because how? Eddie and Tommy are so impressively tangled together that Buck cannot tell them apart. Eddie is currently on his back with Tommy laying half on top of him, Tommy’s huge arm wrapped around Eddie’s head in as close to a chokehold he can be without actually choking him out.

Since getting together, it took some time to figure out their sleeping arrangements. It was soon discovered that no matter how clingy and touchy Buck is with them during the waking hours, he basically wants zero contact while sleeping. Partially because Eddie is fucking furnace when he sleeps, radiating heat like the goddamn sun and Tommy moves around too much.

Sometimes it’s Tommy trapped in Eddie’s chokehold to which Buck helps out by tickling the back of Eddie’s thigh so Tommy can be released when need be. Tommy learned quickly to cup himself because he’s gotten Eddie’s knee to the balls one too many times.

The hold on Eddie’s head Tommy has right now looks painful, but Eddie’s face is totally relaxed with sleep, so how can Buck argue. He does watch to see if Eddie’s chest is rising and falling just to make sure.

He gets up to make breakfast for the three of them. When he returns, Tommy is somehow snuggled closer into Eddie’s side; their legs a mess of alternating limbs.

“Baby, breakfast is ready,” Buck says to them brushing a hand through Eddie’s hair. Eddie inhales and stretches, raising his arms above his head. Those beautiful brown eyes flutter open, offering Buck a sleepy smile. Eddie turns his attention to Tommy who’s still passed out.

“T, wake up,” Eddie rasps and Tommy grunts in response. Eddie finds that sensitive spot at Tommy’s armpit and pokes in making him squirm away.

“Fuck you,” Tommy mumbles.

“Later, now up,” Eddie teases and untangles himself from the large man half pinning him down.

2.

Most mornings Buck relies on his phone vibrating under his pillow to wake him up. He’s learned to sleep with earplugs in because unfortunately Tommy snores like no other. At least with earplugs it’s dulled to a soft roar that he can easily ignore.

This morning his phone vibrates, waking him up - Buck turns off the alarm and removes his earplugs to be greeted with loud snores coming from Tommy beside him. It’s always the worst when he sleeps on his back.

The snoring doesn’t draw Buck's attention; it’s Eddie who is dead asleep on Tommy’s chest with his ear not five inches away from Tommy’s open mouth. Eddie is possibly in the loudest spot he could be, not to mention his other ear is pressed to Tommy’s chest, so it’s like he’s getting surround sound of Tommy’s snoring. Buck just shakes his head and makes his way to the shower.

Later at work Buck asks Eddie, “how the hell do you sleep with Tommy snoring like directly into your ear? He was loud as fuck this morning.”

Eddie just shrugs, thinking about how well he’s been sleeping with Tommy. “It’s soothing actually. The barracks in the army were way worse, try 20 plus guys snoring like that. I guess I got used to it,” he smiles. Buck doesn’t try or want to understand Eddie’s insane sleeping standards.

3.

“Babe -,” Eddie pleads in the darkness of their room. Tommy is on duty so it’s just him and Buck in bed tonight.

“I said no,” Buck huffs and punches the pillow, facing away from his boyfriend who is creeping over onto his side of the bed. Somehow, defying the laws of physics, Buck has more room to himself when there are three of them versus just two.

“Come on, I can’t sleep.” Eddie isn’t touching Buck yet, but Buck can feel him just from the body heat he is radiating.

“If you’re on top of me, then I can’t sleep. You make me sweat,” Buck complains.

“How? It’s like 67 in here and you have the fan blowing in your face.”

“Because you are a human oven. I seriously don’t know how Tommy sleeps with you on top of him every night.”

“Because he loves me,” Eddie says and Buck doesn’t need to see his face to see the pout.

Buck rolls over seeing a hopeful shine in Eddie’s eyes. Just like magnets their hands seek each other out - Eddie’s hand sliding in place over Buck’s heart. Buck leans in and pecks Eddie’s lips. He presses his forearm to line up in the middle of Eddie’s chest. Eddie takes the opportunity and hugs Buck’s arm, pressing his cheek to the back of Buck’s hand, relaxing further into the bed.

“This good, baby?” Buck whispers. He supposes he can sacrifice his arm to help his boyfriend sleep.

“It’ll do,” Eddie says, voice already sleep heavy.

**

Eight hours later Buck wakes up drenched in sweat unable to move.

During the night Buck had shifted onto his back; Eddie took advantage and sprawled across his chest, puffing hot breath against his neck.

“UGH, get off me,” Buck groans, pushing Eddie to roll off him.

Eddie yawns awake, looking like a Disney princess, and opens his eyes. “Sleep well?”

”Slept fine,” Buck says, sitting up pulling his t-shirt away from his overheated skin. He looks over to Eddie, glaring. “Do you see how sweaty I am right now?”

“Yeah, you should do something about that,” Eddie comments, dodging the pillow that’s hurled at his head.

4.

A foot connects to Buck’s calf in a hard kick, waking him up.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Buck turns his head to see Tommy still fast asleep laying on his side, limbs all spread out haphazardly.

Tommy must be dreaming judging by the movement of his eyes under his eyelids. He groans low, with arms twitching. One thing Buck has learned very fast about sharing a bed with Tommy is that he has very active dreams that sometimes manifest in him doing Muay Thai in his sleep.

Buck shakes Tommy awake gently. “Honey, wake up, you’re sleep fighting again,” Buck laughs softly. Tommy catches his hand, kissing the back of it.

“Sorry, baby,” Tommy says without opening his eyes. He adjusts and falls back asleep in under five seconds. This time Buck gets whacked with a hand. Buck sighs because he’s not going to win the fight against dream Tommy. He concedes rolling Tommy over onto his side so he spoon up behind him. Buck locks a hand around Tommy’s wrist to hold it tight against his chest while pushing his knees into the back of Tommy’s knees to limit his range of motion.

For his own safety Buck is forced to be big spoon with Tommy more often than not, but now he’s gotten used to starfishing on his own side. He wishes Eddie were here to hold Tommy down. But the way Tommy sighs and relaxes into Buck’s chest makes his heart flutter, so it’s not that big of a sacrifice he decides.

5.

Buck is holding back his laughter as he leans in the doorway of the bedroom with a mug of coffee in his hand. The scene before him is both adorable and head scratch worthy because how is Eddie breathing?

Tommy and Eddie are still both still asleep - dead to the world. Tommy is on his back with one hand resting on his stomach and the other arm stretched above his head. It’s Eddie’s position that confounds Buck - since his entire face is buried deep into Tommy’s armpit.

Their weird sleeping positions make Buck all the more grateful that they figured their shit out and decided to all date each other. The three of them are so compatible in so many different ways; they’re sleeping habits are a prime example of this. Where Buck likes room to sprawl out - Tommy and Eddie are perfectly content with seemingly trying to bury themselves under each other’s skin.

Buck shifts his weight making the floor creak, waking up Eddie first. He picks up his head, showing off the absolute mess that is his hair. This time Buck doesn’t hold in his laugh because Eddie looks so cute all bleary eyed with his crazy bed head. Or in this case armpit- head?

“Huh?” Eddie says still mostly asleep looking around until his eyes land on Buck. He looks so dazed.

“You good there, babe?” Buck asks with a chuckle.

Eddie rubs his eyes and face. “Mmm yeah, weird dreams.” He resettles his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“I think that might be the lack of oxygen or Tommy’s pit stench,” Buck says. Eddie takes the opportunity to investigate - taking a big whiff of Tommy’s armpit, shaking his head. “Nah, he doesn’t smell.”

“I don’t understand you two,” Buck says with all the affection in the world.

“Good, then you won’t get in between us,” Tommy adds, eyes still closed. His hand strokes down Eddie’s side then hooks under his chin to pull him into a sleepy kiss. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

“Morning,” Eddie says back against Tommy’s mouth.

“Hey where are my good morning kisses?” Buck mock pouts.

“Get your ass over here then,” Tommy says and pats the empty side of the bed. Buck can’t help but set his coffee down to crawl across the bed to join in on the cuddle sesh.

+1

“How’re you feeling, babe?” Tommy asks as he sets down a mug of hot tea along with some flu medicine.

”Bad,” Buck replies, body hunching over with a coughing fit. He caught the flu from some kid at Jee’s birthday party.

“I’m sorry, honey. Is there anything else we can get you?” Buck only shakes his head and pulls the blanket around his shoulders tighter; he’s so cold. Tommy presses the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead. “My god, you are burning up. You need to break that fever then you’ll feel a lot better.”

After a little while of trying hot tea and heating pads, nothing seems to get Buck through his fever. Then Tommy has an idea. He wordlessly pulls Buck off the couch and into the bedroom where Eddie is lounging against the headboard reading a book.

Eddie looks up and takes pity on the sight of his boyfriend shivering, wrapped up in a blanket looking like a sad puppy. He sets his book on the nightstand, opening his arms to summon Buck to come onto the bed. Buck wordlessly slips into Eddie’s arms, curling up against his chest, settling between his legs. Eddie is already so much warmer than anything else and Buck just nuzzles his face into Eddie’s neck.

Tommy flits around the house, getting ready for an early night in. Before getting into bed, he turns off the lights and turns the tv on to a show Buck’s been watching. As he settles against Eddie’s other side, Buck’s eyes are already looking heavy as he struggles to keep focused on the tv. Tommy scratches a hand through Buck’s messy curls, getting a soft hum in response.

Within the next hour Buck’s fever breaks - Tommy notices the beads of sweat forming on Buck’s forehead as he breathes in and out evenly against Eddie’s chest. Eddie seems unbothered at Buck’s now tacky skin as he drifted off too slumped against the headboard with arms wrapped tightly around Buck.

The next morning Buck wakes up pressed between Tommy and Eddie. Maybe they are onto something with their sleeping habits. Before Buck misses his space he pulls them both tighter around himself and drifts off again.

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63043915

[lily-jaxk]

Part TWWOO of me yapping to the LADS men if I was in Linkon as myself and not MC

(if you cannot tell I'm trying to heal from alien stage)

Me: Ok so I know you said mpreg isn't possible for you but I gotta ask. If we do have kids, will I give birth to eggs?

Rafayel: Cutie what

Me: It's just a QUESTION DON'T JUDGE ME FISH BOY

Zayne: Lily. . . .what are you doing?

Me: *looks up from computer* Writing a fanfiction

Zayne: . . . . About Caleb and I?

Me: Look. I love you, and I know you love me, but Caleb is right there you cannot TELL ME you haven't thought about kissing him at least once.

Caleb: Pipsqueak why did you get an email about your 'Zayne x Caleb' fanfiction? You're writing a fanfiction about Zayne and I?? Together??

Me: . . . . Why do you have my email? Did I give you?

Caleb: I asked you first

Me: I asked you second

. . . .

Caleb: Am I at least the one on top?

Me: You switch

Me: Ok so. I have an idea babe

Xaiver: I'm listening?

Me: We order take out and watch Parents Trap. I'm too tired to cook.

Xaiver: Oh! I can cook for you -

Me: If you take one step towards my kitchen I will end you.

Me: . . . . Dragon eggs?

Sylus: No.

Me: Oh thank goodness. I mean if it was dragon eggs then sure, but like, pregnancy is scary enough with human babies imagine with eggs.

...I think I'm funny

[viridisjam]

Many more birthdays to come.

“Wake up,”

“Wake up, Carlos,”

“Baby, it’s 9:00 in the morning,”

He heard those sweet voices calling him, making him open his eyes and look at two figures who mattered the most to him, sitting on the bed adjacent to him. TK was dressed in a soft navy blue sweater and jeans, and Jonah was in an organic green shirt and black pants.

“I had only two hours of sleep the day before yesterday,” he mumbled, face down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

Almost a decade ago, if he had told his past self that he got to sleep-in, in the future, his past self would have called him delusional and also frail. But that’s not the case right now and he is so happy that his life turned out this way. The best way possible.

“But you need to wake up,” he heard his husband taunt him.

“Yes, it’s your birthday,” Jonah added, excitedly.

“Exactly, you people should let me sleep,” he said and secured the comforter firmly against him.

“C’mon, Carlos,” Jonah pulled the comforter.

“You have slept enough,” TK stated when he cracked an open at those hooligans.

“Yes, you’ve slept for,” Jonah paused and counted on his fingers.

“10 hours,” he declared later, triumphantly.

“Actually, it’s eight hours,” His husband amended without really thinking. Now, that stirred him awake from his slumber and made him alert.

“What? You guys celebrated at midnight,” Jonah looked disappointed.

“No, that’s not what he meant,” he said, glaring at his husband. He does not want Jonah to know the reason. No second-grader should know the reason.

“That’s cheating,” Jonah huffed and scowled at his big brother.

They never allowed Jonah to stay awake after 9:00 pm despite the boy refusing to sleep. He is so much like TK, a miniature ball of fire whose energy exceeds everyone in the room.

“We really didn’t,” TK affirmed.

They need to change the topic. He cannot, for the sake of God, explain why stayed up.

“Then why-”

“Hey buddy, there’s some surprise in the living room, I guess,” He asked the boy who mirrored his eyes.

Jonah nodded, enthusiastically, forgetting about the entire façade that was previously going on.

“Why don’t you check it up? We’ll be there shortly,” TK said, smiling at his brother.

“Absolutely,” Jonah proclaimed and ran out of the master room.

“Careful,” They both called in unison.

When he knew that the little ears were away from the room, he turned to his husband who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“What are you speaking in front of our seven-year-old?” he said, his tone accusatory.

“What? You, yourself said we should tell the truth to our child,” his husband replied, a little too amused.

“That does not involve this,” he rolled his eyes and flopped face-first on the bed.

“Well, I knew that would kinda wake you up,” his husband shifted towards him and ran his hand in his dark curls.

“To wake me up you don’t have to give me a minor heart attack,” he looked at the gorgeous face.

TK just laughed at that. Carefree and ecstatic.

"Stop," he said, which must’ve sounded abrupt to TK, judging by the face his husband pulled.

"What?" his husband questioned, a cheeky smile playing on his face.

"Stop being so smug," he turned fully towards him and said it with false exasperation.

"I didn't even say anything," TK voiced, totally cocky.

"It's written all over your face, Mr. Husband," he gestured with his right hand at the magnificent face that bore a naughty smile.

“Is it? Oh, how well you know me, my dear husband,” TK sounded like an 1800s maiden who was in love with the gardener.

“Ugh, today is my birthday and I’m supposed to have a good time,” he aired, looking at the love of his life.

“I did give you a good time,” his husband whispered in his ears, his voice fervent and seducing, bringing back all the memories. He bit his lip trying to hide how affected he was by all the teasing. Five years of marriage and his husband still manages to take him apart and turn him into a stuttering mess.

His husband was the finest person he had ever laid his eyes on, both in kindness and beauty but he was also a troublemaker and someone who was perfectly satisfied by teasing him several times until his cheeks hurt from blushing. So, he removed himself from the bed and folded the comforter, TK watching all the while, not moving an inch. It always left him wondering how him doing the most possible mundane things could affect TK, in the most delicious way, which also had an effect on him when he was the spectator.

After doing that job, he approached his husband, slowly, TK’s eyes nowhere near his face, and hovered above him far enough from their lips touching. TK craned his neck further, closed his eyes, and urged his mouth for a kiss when Carlos stopped him with a finger on his lips, wearing that smirk. He looked so adorable, his mind supplied.

“You need to get out,” he said looking into those lush green eyes.

“What?” TK asked, quite offended.

“I need you to go out, so I can shower,” he replied, leaving his husband hanging and he walked toward the closet.

“We are married,” his husband said, now standing.

“Yeah, I know, babe,” he said, content with the way things were going and skimmed through the cupboard.

“I have seen you naked plenty of times,” TK said, his brow furrowed.

He let out a laugh and turned back, facing TK who was now walking toward him.

“And?” he asked, light-heartedly when TK was only arm’s length away from him.

“So, why should I go out?” TK questioned, completely confused.

“Because I’m going to shower,”

TK sighed, puzzled.

“You’re making me ask the same question again, but, if want me to head out, I will,” TK started in the direction of the door and he stopped him, holding his hand.

“Because there is a pre-schooler in our home who is awake and we cannot afford to go for another round in the shower,”

“Oh, so sure of yourself Ranger Reyes,” TK smirked.

“Get out,” he said, no real malice in his voice.

“Oh, before going though, I should get something from you,” his husband put into words.

“Isn’t it my birthday? If anything, I should get things from you,” he commented.

“It is a good morning kiss,” TK announced and cupped his cheek.

He stopped the man, again, with his index finger.

“Baby, why are you stopping me?” his husband was totally vexed now. Who knew denying his morning kiss would aggravate TK Strand this much? Certainly Carlos Reyes.

“Is this revenge for yesterday’s night? Because I thoroughly remember you requesti-,”

He swallowed whatever TK was going to say next because the key to stopping Tyler Kennedy Strand from being a cheeky bastard and shutting him up is only kissing him. So, he did that precisely.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” TK wished him after the kiss.

“Thank you,” he replied mirroring the smile on his husband’s face.

“Big brother,” a voice broke out from the kitchen.

“Now, go,” he said, later, causing TK to leave the room with a wink.

What a beautiful life, he thought.

[pseudospaceship]

I have thought extensively on the subject. Here goes.

Grave gold seems to be a necromancer thing, not a general-populace Nevarran thing (as far as I can tell?). If Rook is also MW, all good. Emmrich gives Rook ALL. THE. GOLD. until Rook is like, "My sweet, my love, this shit is heavy and my arms now do not move. Help."

If Rook is any other faction, shit gets sociological. Because mortalitasi dowry can't possibly just be "here's a visual representation of my wealth and also some pretty stuff to bury me with." It's a ritual thing. It's got taboos. You should wear most of it all the time except maybe for sleep and definitely not for times when you absolutely shouldn't wear it, either because the occasion pollutes it or vice versa. Maybe there are pieces you never remove. Maybe there are pieces you never wear because of who gave them to you or for what occasion. There are rules around who gives to whom and how much and rules around how much you can buy for yourself. There are rules about whether and how you can give pieces away while you're still living. You definitely can't sell your own dowry, unless the alternative is literal starvation. There might be certain patterns or metals associated with particular orders.

Although (ritual, not medical) corpse contamination doesn't take the same forms in Nevarra as it does in other societies, it or some analogue clearly exists in some form in, for example, the popularity of vegetarianism (corpses are friends, not food). So it's reasonable to assume there are some events/activities/modes of being with which necromancy is not supposed to mix. So maybe, as a compromise, every necromancer removes their dowry for, like, the winter solstice festival or something. Now they are, ritually and temporarily, not a necromancer and they can go party.

BUT SPOUSES, not being mortalitasi, are not beholden to these rituals. Their jewelry is not, in a strict sense, dowry. Therefore it is neither necessary to wear nor under the same restrictions. Rook can choose to wear or not wear the pieces Emmrich gives them in any combination they like, and can wear them on occasions when Emmrich cannot. If there are particular forms or patterns that are restricted to the MW, it stands to reason that Rook can't wear them, unless it's understood that the privilege extends to family.

However, a long time ago some smart people figured out that, on the rare occasion one of these nerds gets out there and attracts one of the Surface Dwellers, it looks really weird for Partner A to be decked out like the worst kind of Christmas tree and Partner B to be wearing less than a first-year novice would consider the bare minimum. Plus all the rest of the nerds are marrying each other, so giving your partner gaudy jewelry is a super basic and normal part of necromancer life. There are poems about it. There are whole epic romances about it. Which means that in Emmrich's mind, NOT giving Rook gold is tantamount to saying, "I don't think you fit in and I wouldn't want you to." The idea wouldn't even occur to him. If he saw another necromancer with an unadorned partner he would privately be very concerned about the state of that relationship, and he might not even identify why at first.

Which also means (and I haven't written this into a fic yet but maybe I will and so should you) that eventually Rook has to set a "no gold as a default gift" rule, because they're building up way more than they can wear and they have a LOT of other interests, and while Emmrich is certainly the World Champion Thoughtful Husband, it would be very easy for our busy professor of Fade studies to rush out and buy a couple of bracelets like stopping by the gas station for some flowers.

Has anyone discussed how a romanced Emmrich would gift Rook their own grave gold (especially if Rook is also MW)? And how they would definitely have sex in nothing but their grave gold? I haven’t seen anything on it but there’s no way this is an original thought.

[coldtortelloni]

doomed yuri.....

[silusvesuius]

nnnnnnnnnnnnno maa'am

[novantinuum]

continually annoyed by how every single post i've seen supporting the notion that "the journal pages in BoB were fakes" just feels like thinly veiled anti material

[prodixal]

"I would be a hypocrite to berate you in any way Lorent, as I'm sure you're aware. I know a thing or two of women and undesirable betrothals. Birds of a feather, you and I --" a quick roll off eyes passed her features and she did not care to dig further into hidden meanings and possible deflection. "You may find this shocking but some of us can enjoy company without hidden agendas." Rhaena could not tell if his assumption was offensive or tragic. It must have been a horrible way to live -- thinking every interaction came with hidden motives. "I do not fear marriage, just as I do not fear fish -- and yet I have no taste for either." she said matter-of-factly. "I’ve no issues with attachment, vulnerability, love, intimacy. -- If anything, I am the most attached, vulnerable, loving and intimate person I know. Why should I fear such things? No, I do not deflect nor do I fear. What is the worst that can happen? A broken heart? Breaking a heart? That is ridiculous." people have survived worse. She shifted in her seat, eyes narrowed as she took another sip of her wine. "My lack of flavour for marriage stems purely from my desire to exist in a more polygamous setting. As my ancestors did. -- This simplistic idea of marriage is so...strict, so crude." she paused, thinking it over some more. "It is apparent to everyone I am no lady, though I certainly look the part. I wish to love freely, many people, many times, within a marriage. But Westeros has no taste for it. Everyone wants the confines of monogamy. Who does it benefit truly? Where do these notions stem from? Innate human desire? It cannot be that, I am human, I have this desire. Religion? Possibly, yet there are Valiryan religions perfectly fine with polygamy. Is it to prevent inheritance disputes? Favouritism? Alliances? Conflict? I truly do not know. All I do know is that marrying for love is not a possibility, not for me, because marriage here is primarily political in nature. And I shall do my duty, as does everyone else of noble name, and yes I will complain somewhat, but I shall do it anyway. Unless my beautiful betrothed and I find a way to end our predicament. She does seem most eager. -- After all, our marriage right now would not be politically advantageous. And if we cannot have love or advantage, what is the point truly?" She almost asked for forgiveness, for speaking so much and yet, why should she apologise for providing input into a conversation? Why were people taught that expression was somehow inconvenient?

"You mean to say you’ve avoided death through the sheer fact you are pretty? Now be truthful Lorent, I did not take you for a liar." She jests. "Lust and love, love and lust — perhaps you’ve simply a magic cock." she had sincerely doubted that. "I am certain lady Stark has not kept her true affections hidden from you as much as you make it seem. You took advantage of her love with your lust. It is human. But if you wish to feel less horrid about it, just let her be." it was simple enough, certainly not worth drinking over. "She will quickly find another and forget all about you and your magic cock. I mean, Lyanna Stark is far too beautiful and sweet natured to be wasted on someone who is anything less than obsessed with her. Some women just deserve that…don’t they? Someone who will drop everything for them? Someone who will overcome their own flaws, fight tooth and nail to keep them happy? Someone who will make them feel loved and...desired." Rhaena prided herself on being good at reading people. "She deserves a man who will not have her acting like a man. A man who will not have her uttering proposals, or have her seem so…desperate, as you do. She is not desperate, she does not need you. She wants you, gods know why." she gave him a look then, curious of the way her words would land. "So do not fret pretty boy, she will not want you for long. Women go where they are wanted and, well, you seem to have made it very clear this time around that you do not want her the same. Pity, truly, perhaps she could have even made you happy. But alas you exude the energy of someone under the impression she’s not good enough for you. I hope she does not internalise that, such insecurities could fester.”

"what do i deserve? an endless stream of women berating me for my offences? i never purported to be wise, or good." playfulness was replaced by feigned indignation for a moment, but even in his melodrama, lorent didn't care enough to render the act convincible. he wasn't interested in heightened emotion, in investment of any sort, so he reverted to the boyish banter soon thereafter, debonair smile he wore so well. "would you consider me mediocre? i've not begged for your love nor does my heart bleed at the prospect of being snubbed by you, and yet here you are, entertaining my company. you seem to know exactly what i am, and why i am what i am. i find it curious you would sit here and endure my presence, given there's so little in it for you." head craned in ostensible contemplation, again, he didn't care for her answer, why she'd dignified him with her presence at all. he'd relish it as long as she allowed, and seek to replicate the feeling the next day, with her, or another. "see, i think you enjoy diverting from your misery and have come to revel in mine instead, because it is easier than facing whatever it is you fear in marriage."

there was a youthful quality to the way his laughter filled the distance between them, warm and clear. dimples stretching deep into his cheeks, brilliant blues crinkling with amusement -- at being called a whore. "i may have no dragon at my disposal, but i am also very pretty. it is why my head still sits upon my shoulders." he was certain there was a veritable string of scorned parents, daughters, and sons who would've liked to adorn their halls with his head. what a legacy to leave behind. "i lay with her, reprehensible rake that i am. i shared a woman's bed who very clearly, articulately, expressed her repeated desire to sleep with me. she mistook lust for love. that is my misdeed. tell me, rhaena, am i to wed every person i've ever fucked?" at her proximity, he lifted the cup he'd stolen, dangling it before her face -- while his arm snaked about her shoulders and brushed across soft skin, figuring she'd dislodge it herself, if it offended. "highgarden would burst at the seams."

[yellllowstar]

slowly I'm recovering the beauty of discovery

(creature by half•alive)

(textless + timelapse below cut)

[teyrnacousland]

I have no idea why but when my other Rooks smile they look sweet and happy and precious, and when Asha smiles she looks like an alien trying out a human face for the first time

And when she's not doing that, she looks like this:

My Rook was assigned Resting Bitch Face by the character creator

[sokovianfortune]

elsa yelling at jack that she doesn’t care about his systems is so funny to me. like ohhhh girl you will though. you’re going to care so much.

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @jimin-gaon <33 here's the december list

apologies for being late again new year same me: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @pauls-mccharmly @thvinyl @visionsofgideontheninth @btsbs @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi 💜 and anyone else who feels so inclined MWAH p.s. please do tag me anyway if you've already done it

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about my Rook hours </3

[subway-boss-jericho]

I don't think I'll ever be a proper Content Creator because of the way my brain works, but my biggest goal is to somehow make a story that makes someone so mentally ill about a thing that they can't think straight. As I do. Every couple weeks or so. Someday it will happen and I will do skitter around dancing and cheering wildly on the subway platform in my brain