#DA ficlet

[stevebabey]

Eddie has a test.

It took some time to formulate, a few too many times with guys careless with his heart, who leave behind more heartache than happiness littered in their memory. It’s fucking hard to tell.

More than once, there’s been a dude who promises between kisses i’m not going anywhere and takes more than his fill during a night which Eddie desperately hopes is passion and not some misguided lust. Only to wake a familiar empty side of the bed, them gone — skipping town, back in the arms of their parent-approved girlfriend, or back to spitting his name out with the word freak.

It’s what the test is for.

It’s specific, purposeful, all intending to weed out the straight boys who liked to dip their toes in the pool of queerness and leave Eddie to any consequences of the heart. Eddie doesn’t want to turn cruel, to be too jaded after feeling used too many times. It’s what the test is for. Protect the heart, see what interest is genuine.

Right now, he’s putting the test on Jared. New in town and in Eddie’s life, he’d captured the metalhead’s gaze from the glint of his pierced ear and light eyes that lingered. Kissed a little mean, and with too much teeth, but Eddie chalked it up to excitement. Jared seemed good. Nodded and smiled when Eddie found himself wrapped up in yet another DnD spiel. Said he found it endearing.

The test is simple.

A bid, a nudge, for attention. Never anything big or too exciting— that always got him specifically warped smirks designed to lead him along. Just something minuscule, like will you come take a look at my notes? or can i play you that riff once more? to see if it gave.

The pattern runs deep in Eddie’s dating history; same ol’ jerks who couldn’t bother to come and look at his new DnD sketches are always the ones who are only leasing a new sexuality for a month. It’s like setting a minefield and seeing who stumbles on a landmine, the bids getting ignored is as early as a warning sign he’ll ever get.

He tries the test on Jared.

It’s a Thursday night and Jared’s round at the trailer, lounging on Eddie’s sheets and still a little flushed from the night’s earlier activities. Usually it’s a good sign when the guys stick around after sex, not flying out the door once they’ve got what they want. By now, Eddie has drifted away from his bed, skittish thoughts already off and away with new campaign ideas.

He’s scrawling in a character design, some new boss, half troll, half hellhound, that requires a lot of finicky details worked out. The page is covered in scribbles, nothing in any semblance of lines and a crude first sketch is in the middle. It’s not quite the vision he had in mind but it took him an hour, so he’s hardly going to erase it. Besides, it looks pretty fucking metal to him.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, a bit soft. No pet-names used— most of the time boys didn’t like them and wrinkled their nose. Those that didn’t mind, never returned them. “Can I show you the sketch I’ve been working on?”

He pauses, then launches into an explanation without waiting for a response, “It’s for the new campaign I’ve been planning, one of the bosses, and honestly, those little shrimps have no idea what’s coming for them.”

Jared, still slouched on the bed, peeks up a bit at the noise. He hadn’t really been doing much, just leafing through some of the junk beside Eddie’s bed. If Eddie let himself hold any hope, he would say it’s because he wants to know more about Eddie.

“Huh?” Jared asks, genuine enough that Eddie thinks maybe he didn’t hear him.

“A DnD boss?” Eddie says, eyebrows raising. He barrels on, thinking about how Dustin had helped propose the new boss, with a grin spreading across Eddie’s face. “Dustin, the little twerp, challenged me to pick a random combination of creatures and mash em’ together- see what crazy abilities come from it.”

“Who’s Dustin?” Jared asks, failing to sound like he cares. His eyes have wandered elsewhere, head falling back on the pillow and Eddie’s initial question about the sketch is long, long gone.

Oof. And that’s like 3 failed bids at one time because Eddie talks about Dustin all the time. Jared clearly isn’t interested in Eddie Munson, just what he can offer. Eddie’s heart grows a little colder.

“Look, I think I’m gonna get going, yeah?” Jared says, maybe sensing Eddie’s mood change as he begins to sit up and tug his shirt back over his bare skin. His sticks his feet in his shoes, laces them up. Eddie nods, tucks his notebook behind him and walks him out, plastering on a smile the whole time.

After ambling down the stairs to the trailer, Jared turns back, after searching the surrounding area for leering eyes, and he reaches out and gives Eddie’s hand a squeeze. Just a split second, before it flies back to his side.

Eddie would like to believe that he’s at least worthy of a goodbye kiss. Even if some wicked part of his brain says he’s not, that boys like Eddie Munson don’t get sweet goodbye kisses. Don’t get good relationships, just mindless flings.

The thought makes hurt flares in his gut, Eddie so desperately trying to protect his hope, and so before Jared can say anything, some pitiful goodbye, Eddie leans out the doorway and says, “Don’t call me.” then slams the trailer door.

It follows him around for the next week, his own personal storm-cloud to keep his head grey even when it’s sunny out. He mopes to Robin about it during her shift, probably the only other person he can talk to about it.

“So, you tested him? What does that even mean? Is there a gay test you know about that you haven’t told me about? That would be so uncool, man.”

She’s talking as she types, half paying attention to the computer. Steve is out in between the shelves, putting out a new batch of films— Eddie knows because he’d instinctively sought him out when he came in. Harrington was a pretty boy, sue him for wanting to enjoy the view.

Didn’t help he was also decidedly declared not-a-douchebag by Eddie during the whole upside down spiel and had the duality of biting off that bat’s head and somehow being the world’s biggest sweetheart for his friends. Friends that now included Eddie.

 What can you say? Going through that much together, including killing a death wizard and getting dragged out of an alternate dimension certainly forms some strong bonds. Plus, Steve was hot.

(Eddie denies the crush on the basis that would. never. happen.)

At the reminder of Vecna, Eddie winces and supposes he should be lucky he gets any sort of attention after that whole scandal. But it doesn’t stop him from draping himself across the front counter, laying pathetically with a pout on his lips. He shakes his head fervently at her question.

“Not a gay test, Robin.” He stresses. “It’s the Eddie-Munson-is-this-boy-gonna-stick-around-test.”

He rolls up onto his elbows and props his head into his waiting palms. “Gotta make sure I’m not being treated like some common whore.”

It’s meant to be a joke, a usual joking lilt to his voice, but the end of the sentences comes out a bit too bitter to land that way.

Robin’s sympathetic expression makes Eddie’s chest twinge in a way he doesn’t like. He waves her off. Slumps back down a bit before deciding he’s done enough wallowing in the public eye.

Robin doesn’t say anything as he pulls out his usual notebook, pages weathered and filled. Eddie usually hangs around the store on days without plans, flits between Robin and Steve, and scribbles in his notebook. She bites her lip, gaze moving between the book and the resigned expression on Eddie’s face as he turns to the latest page— the strange hellhound troll mashed up boss.

“Okay, I’ll bite—what’s the test involve?” She asks, pausing in her typing for a moment. Her hands don’t stop moving, still stressing the fabric of her pants twitchily. Eddie perks his head up, clutching his pencil a bit tighter and rolls right into it.

“It’s not even really a test, technically, but doesn’t matter- that’s just what I call it - it’s like a bid?”

Robin raises her brows and they disappear under her fringe. “A bid?”

“Yeah! A bid!” He waves his arms around as he speaks, gesticulating a bit wildly. “It’s like— like asking them to come look at something stupid and small, just to see if they’ll give your interests time of the day, yanno?”

He punches a finger down into his sketchbook. “A guy who can’t even be bothered to look at a sketch I worked on for an hour? Douchebag.”

Eddie’s tone turns a bit sing-song as he continues, like it’ll somehow distract from the bleakness of them. “Ergo, not sticking around.”

Robin’s hands finally stop their messing, becoming completely still against her legs. She finally swivels her body to face Eddie, a furrow between her brows. Her lips are quirked up, just a bit, like she knows something Eddie doesn’t. He feels his apprehension grow as he slumps his chin back into his hands.

“You mean, like how Steve is with you?”

Eddie stands a bit straighter at that, some flushed combination of disbelief mixing with delight flooded his body.

“What?” It comes out a bit more squeaky than intended. Eddie clears his throat, waves his hands, anything to stop that smirk from spreading across Robin’s face — he can feel his cheeks glow a bit warmer at the mere idea. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Robin smiles a bit and nods over to where Steve is. “Try it, test him.”

Eddie follows her nod, casting his eyes across the store to find Steve. He finds him situated in the romance section, a pile of cardboard box stacked beside him, the top box open and ready to be unpacked.

But Steve’s clearly been distracted by the first film in the box — he’s sunk deep into his mom-stance with one hip popped, one hand on his hip, the other holding the film as he reads the back cover of it very intently.

Eddie watches for just a moment, watches Steve squint and pull the case just a bit closer, wrinkle his nose adorably, snort a little laugh at whatever he’s reading — and dammit, this is just a fast track to insanity if Eddie watches him any longer.

“Steve,” he calls, too hesitant and too quiet. Steve’s head doesn’t move, he just flips the cover back over, marveling at the front. Eddie tries again. “Harrington!”

Steve’s head pops up, eyes skirting about to see who’s calling him. He doesn’t move when he sees it’s Eddie calling, just raises his brows. “Yeah?”

Eddie swallows, tries not to think of Robin paying close attention to both him and Steve. He grips his notebook a bit tighter even though he’s not entirely convinced Robin’s right. Steve Harrington doesn’t like DnD — not even for Dustin who has self-proclaimed himself Steve’s ‘adorable little brother that he never had’. Steve is hardly going to care if it’s Eddie asking.

“Do you wanna take a look at this sketch I’m working on?” He asks, as casual as he can.

Steve’s features give away just a hint of surprise, a blink as he comprehends what’s been said. Eddie holds his breath, ready to turn to Robin and say ‘I told you so!’ and to pretend that he’s not secretly hoping Steve will say yes.

“Sure,” Steve says, slotting the film back into the cardboard box and beginning to meander between the shelves towards the front desk. Eddie doesn’t even get time to be surprised because Steve’s suddenly there, in front of him, all expectant.

Eddie opens his mouth, thinks the better of it, and snaps it back closed. Instead, he thrusts the notebook to the side along the countertop, opened to the page of the sketch and doesn’t say anything. In the background, Robin snorts lightly. Eddie shoots her a glare.

If Eddie could look at Steve, he’d see the lightly amused expression on his face, but Eddie only focuses on the book. Really focuses. God, if he looks at Steve he’ll probably get some stupid mooned expression on his face that would totally give away his tiny stupid not-a-crush.

In his peripheral, he can see Steve sidle a little closer and lean over to peer at the page. And while he looks over it intently, Eddie let’s his eyes drift up, taking in the side of his face.

Curses his stupid handsome face. Then curses it some more when Steve lights up in recognition, turning to Eddie, excited to have a sliver of an idea what Eddie’s showing him. Normally, it’s all mumbo-jumbo to Steve. Not that he hasn’t tried to keep up but those kids are ahead of the curve and Steve wasn’t about to embarrass himself asking them to slow down their explanations.

“Woah, is this that one that Dustin was talking about?” Eddie thinks there might be a bit of genuine excitement leaking into Steve’s words.

“The weird like, mashed up, uh, what’s the word? Hyp- hypb—“

“Hybrid,” Eddie supplies, voice cool. His heart is not feeling so cool. Jesus Christ, Steve wasn’t supposed to pass Eddie’s test— he wasn’t even supposed to be tested. In order for that happen, they’d have to even be fooling around and Eddie blames his building blush on that mere suggestion.

“Yeah!” Steve raps his knuckles against the countertop and takes a second look at the drawing, closer this time. He looks back up at Eddie, so he knows he’s completely sincere when he says, “This is really cool, man.”

“Okay.” Eddie breathes, sounding a bit stupid. He remembers himself, remembers Robin watching him essentially bluescreen at the praise from Steve and wrenches his awed smile into a familiar smug type of grin. 

“Of course it is, Steve-o,” He quickly amends, reaching back and tugging the notebook back. It’s closes with a quick snap, like Eddie’s afraid Steve will take another look. “She’s not finished yet, of course.”

Eddie had to bite his tongue to keep it from either taking an insanely egotistical route to pretend Steve’s praise hadn’t had a profound effect on him, or even worse, start trying to suddenly be humble — oh this ol’ thing? it’s nothing really, just threw it together quickly— Eddie nearly melts against the counter in relief when the bell on the front door saves him.

A customer enters the store, instantly taking Steve’s attention and he bounds off to help them, an easy smile on his face.

Eddie waits until Steve and the customer wandered off into the aisles to release his breath. He doesn’t look at Robin, just turns and presses his forehead down against the countertop. Then raises it just a bit, and thunks it back down, a couple of times for good measure.

“Okay, okay—“ Robin’s gone a bit wide eyed and she waves her hands at Eddie’s pathetic form, his head still bonking against the counter. “Stop doing that. Jesus, Eddie, are the dramatics always necessary?”

His motions stop at Robin’s words and Eddie’s whips his head up. He narrows his eyes at her, and as if to prove his point, exaggeratedly jabs a finger at her.

“Hey! Never deny my right to be a drama queen. It is my god given right as an American citizen—”

“He passed.” Robin says, cutting off what was about to be a very long rant about god knows what. Eddie just didn’t want her to say what she was about to. “Your test. He passed, didn’t he?“

That. He didn’t want her to say that.

“He’s being a good friend! A very good nice friend!” Eddie counters, only sounding a little bit whiny which takes half the conviction out of his words. He slams his hands down against the wood. “That test is for— it’s not for him! It’s for—”

An annoyed noise comes out of Eddie’s throat and he aims for one more thunk of his head against the counter before tugging it back up and meeting Robin’s smug expression. She’s too smug. Her whole face is smug smug smug and Eddie scowls. He points a deliberate finger at her again.

“Different context, alright? That—” He waves an arm behind him, in the direction of Steve carelessly. “—doesn’t count. Nope. Not- that’s not how the test works.”

Robin sighs, as if she realises how fruitless it is to keep chucking this argument between the two of them. Her hands finally resume their typing and Eddie lets his head drop again, this time resting it against the wood a tad more gentle. He slumps, blowing a pointless raspberry as he tries to evacuate every thought that’s entertaining Steve as more. Or Steve wanting more of Eddie.

“Look,” Robin says suddenly, halting her typing once more. Eddie rolls his head so he can see her but doesn’t bother to lift it. She’s sideways in his vision, but still barreling on in that Robin way. “One last thing and then I swear, I’ll leave it.”

Eddie raises his brows. Says nothing.

“Have you considered,” She pauses, and appears to be trying to pick her words carefully. “whether anyone else is putting their bids on you?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, knowing exactly what she’s hinting at. Subtlety has never been Robin’s strong suit. It’s even more obvious when her eyes dart across the store — Eddie seriously doubts she’s talking about the random customer that had just entered.

“Just think about it?” She pleads, and Eddie feels his annoyance at how easily he can feel his heart roll over. “See if you notice any bids from... anyone! Anyone at all.”

Eddie picks his head up, chances a glance towards Steve and admits, there’s no harm in trying. Even though, Steve had surprised him today Eddie can find a dozen reasons to chalk that up to. A dozen reasons that don’t include mutual feelings.

Eddie mulls it over, because because what are the chances really? Steve putting bids out to him? To specifically Eddie? The chances are slim to none.

So the answer he gives is, “Sure.”

He’ll get to tell Robin later she can stuff it and wipe her smug expression off with the most righteous i told you so on the planet. There was no way she was right about this, right?

Part two. Part three.

#this is not nearly as edited as most things that come out this blog #but i was going for those rambly posts i see of them all da time #<3 #steddie my beloved #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #posting this at an odd time bcos it’s not what da usual followers expect #anyways i trust the gay ppl…… they will find this

[ghosttotheparty]

everything you need, anything you want

also on AO3 based on this post

So eighty-six wasn’t his year.

It’s not like Eddie’s never been wrong before.

He lives in the Harrington home. After the “earthquakes,” Steve’s parents move to Norfolk. They leave Steve in Hawkins. Not that he would have gone with them anyway, but an offer would have been nice.

They leave him the house. And enough money to get by. His mother leaves him a kiss on the cheek. He wipes it off when she’s gone.

Eddie stays in the guest room.

Steve’s parents’ old room remains empty, save for a bare mattress, a bed frame, two dressers and his mother’s vanity. Steve contemplates taking it all out back and having a bonfire.

When they found Eddie in the Upside Down, cowering in the shadows, no one thought he was real. Eddie didn’t think they were real either, after all the tricks the Upside Down has played on him. Robin said his name.

He hadn’t used his voice except to scream in the past year, so it was rough and scratchy and dry when he spoke.

You’re real?

They were.

Solid and breathing when they embraced him, and then he was crying, and for some reason it was Steve on the ground with him, his arms around Eddie tightly.

He’d been whispering to Eddie.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eddie, I’m here now, I got you.

As if he’d known at all how much of Eddie’s mind he’d occupied the whole time he struggled to survive. As if he’d known that he was what kept Eddie warm at night. (Or, what Eddie assumes was night. Time seems to move differently in the Upside Down. Simultaneously slower and faster, five years passing in an hour, twenty minutes in three weeks.)

The reunion had to be put on pause. They’ve all gotten too good at stopping their emotions, at shifting gears at the blink of an eye.

It resumed in Steve’s house, late at night, after they’d all nursed their wounds and drank some water and showered off the Upside Down.

Eddie sat on the coffee table. He was wearing Steve’s clothes now, his own too ripped and worn and disgusting. (He threw them into a bag after dressing and told Steve to burn it all. Steve swore he would.) Steve’s sweatpants were warm, soft, and his hoodie was too big, the sleeves hanging down over Eddie’s hands. His hair was wet and cold against his skin, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease in his own body.

Except that everyone was staring at him like he was about to explode at any given second. Except Steve. Who looked like he was about to burst into tears.

Dustin spoke first.

You died. I— I watched you die, I heard you stop breathing.

Eddie gripped the ends of the hoodie sleeves tightly.

I know.

Did you not? Robin had asked weakly, like she was going to be sick. Did we just…

No, I did.

He did.

He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows.

I died, but then I just…

All their eyes were wide. Confused. Sitting in an awful fucking silence that made Eddie want to rip his skin off.

I’m not the same. As I was. There’s something… Off about me.

What is it? Nancy asked. Her voice was quiet, almost just a breath but still audible in the silence.

He had squeezed his eyes shut, his legs drawn to his chest. How the fuck was he supposed to explain it? That he wasn’t quite human anymore? That he could smell all their blood, and then he wanted to consume it? That he was fucking starving?

He just shook his head, shivering, letting his head fall to his knees, and then Steve was touching him, sliding his hand over Eddie’s back in front of everything. Eddie could feel the heat of his skin through the hoodie. He spoke to the floor without lifting his head.

I’m a fucking vampire or something.

And the room was silent, until Nancy spoke again.

Explain?

So he explained.

It’s all fucking insane, but Eddie guesses in the grand scheme of things nothing is fucking insane anymore.

Steve stayed close to him the whole time, his hand on Eddie’s back, and after a while, Eddie reached for his other hand, taking it as he spoke. No one said anything about the way he held it for the rest of the time they were in the living room, playing with Steve’s fingers as he talked about the place he already knew he’d have nightmares about.

He stayed in Steve’s room that night. Neither of them said anything as they found their way toward each other, as Eddie held onto Steve’s arm, as Steve slowly pulled away so he could wrap his arm around Eddie, pull him against his chest.

I’m sorry, Eddie. I—I wanted to bring you back, but— but the gate was—

I know, Steve. ‘S okay.

It was probably better that he didn’t wake up in some morgue in town or something. Better that no one else (especially Steve) had to witness him discover that he’s not human, had to witness him learn how to kill creatures just to drink the blood from their still-warm bodies.

He woke up the next morning with his head on Steve’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat. Steve was playing with his hair, combing through his hair and untangling his curls gently. Eddie could hear some noise downstairs, clattering in the kitchen, steps in the hallway. And it was warm.

It was so, so warm.

There were tears on his skin before he even processed his eyes burning. He squeezes his eyes shut, turning his face into Steve’s chest, and tried not to cry, but Steve could feel him shaking, could hear his soft breaths, and Steve slowly sat up, holding Eddie to himself.

It’s okay.

Eddie clutched at him. Gripped his shirt in tight fists, hid his face in his neck.

He sobbed.

Steve was crying too, his arms tight and firm around Eddie, listening and understand him even though his voice was cracking and weak.

It was so cold, Stevie, it was so— it was so cold.

You don’t have to be cold anymore, Eddie.

The sun was shining brightly in Steve’s room. Eddie could feel it on his skin. He’d missed the sun.

They spent almost the whole morning in bed, even though they can hear the others downstairs. Steve kept his arms around Eddie the whole time, until they both stopped crying, until Eddie just sat next to him, leaning against him. Eddie looks at home. Gazed at him. The sunlight hit his eyes in a way that made them glow, and his hair in a way that made strands of it look like golden thread. His eyelashes were clumped together with tears, and Eddie remembered why he always thought Steve had princess eyes.

Steve’s hair was longer than it was when Eddie died. Overgrown carelessly and pushed back, and Eddie’s eyes got caught before he reached up and pushed it up from where it had fallen over his ears. The side of his head was shaved.

Eddie’s eyes widened, and Steve was laughing even before Eddie was sitting up and manhandling Steve’s head to check the other side.

You cut your hair?

Yeah, I… I wanted something different.

…It suits you.

You think?

Eddie nodded. Ran a hand under the overgrown hair and over the shaved part, watched as Steve tilted his head up into the touch. They were quiet for a moment before Steve spoke again.

When my parents left, I… I kinda started acting out. They always cared about keeping appearances, so I… I don’t know. Kinda weird to have a rebellious phase at twenty one.

Is that why your walls look like Polluck paintings and the rest of house looks like a museum?

Robin helped.

I assumed.

Eddie had continued petting his hair. Steve had seemed to like it.

What else?

I, uhm. …You’re gonna laugh.

I won’t laugh.

Even if you say you won’t, you’re gonna.

Okay, I might, doesn’t matter. Tell me.

I… I started listening to, like. Metal and stuff.

Eddie laughed. Steve hit his chest.

How’d that happen?

…I missed you.

That had hurt.

Eddie exhaled and his hand fell from where it was pressed into Steve’s hair, falling to rest on his neck. He could feel Steve’s pulse. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He ignored the desire.

I, uhm… I remembered you mentioned Ozzy, so I went to a music store and asked about it, and…

You like it?

It keeps my head quiet.

Steve had directed him to the other side of his room, where his tapes and records were. Eddie looked through them while Steve watched. Ozzy, Metallica, Dio, Motörhead, Twisted Sister. Eddie’s face had hurt. He hadn’t smiled in a long time.

I kept your vest.

You did?

Yeah. Wore it sometimes when I missed you more than usual.

Eddie wanted to cry again.

Got some t-shirts and shit you might like.

Can I look?

‘Course.

Eddie looked. Carefully rifled through Steve’s shirt drawer. Looked at the worn, probably second-hand t-shirts. Grinned at the Judas Priest shirt and the AC/DC shirt.

You’re a regular punk, aren’t you, Stevie?

Maybe a little. …Maybe more than a little.

What’s that mean?

Steve paused, his cheeks flushing prettily as he shrugged. Eddie just raised his eyebrows, and Steve stared, his jaw working for a moment before he opened his mouth to reveal a metal stud at the centre of his tongue.

Eddie let out a loud What? and rushed across the room to see, dropping the AC/DC shirt, and Steve laughed. Eddie landed on the bed next to him, on his knees, and grabbed Steve’s chin.

Open up. Let me see.

He repressed the urge to tell him what a good boy he was when Steve immediately followed directions. The stud was black, shining. Eddie wanted to touch it. He wanted to spit on it.

Did it hurt?

They shoved a needle through my tongue, Eddie. Yeah, it hurt.

Alright, attitude. Very metal, Stevie.

Thanks.

So that was that.

Neither of them are the same anymore. Eddie’s teeth are a little sharper, his skin a little colder. Steve is a little more rough around the edges.

They figure everything out. It takes some time, but everything gets sorted. The fridge in the garage is stocked with blood at all times for nights that Eddie can’t go out and catch squirrels or deer. They sleep in separate rooms, but immediately find each other in the morning. Eddie leans on Steve’s back while Steve makes coffee in the kitchen. They sit with their legs locked between them under the table. Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s leg while they watch TV or movies together.

Eddie always ends up pulling Steve against himself. Steve always ends up falling asleep.

Steve doesn’t sleep often.

Eddie knows he doesn’t sleep much at night. He doesn’t either, plagued by nights and memories, staring at the ceiling in the dim light of a lamp that sits on the floor.

Steve leaves his bathroom light on night. When Eddie leaves his room to get water he can see the glow of it under Steve’s door, and he wonders what he thinks about late at night. If he stares at the the ceiling like Eddie does. If he sleeps with his blankets wrapped around him tightly. If he gets cold too.

•••••••••••••••Eddie rolls onto his side and pulls his blanket around him tighter. All of his bedding smells like the rest of the house, almost like Steve but not quite. (Steve smells better.)

Eddie hates nighttime. He likes that it’s quiet, that it’s calm, that nothing is really expected of him, but it’s too dark. Darkness is suffocating. Even with a lamp on.

He looks across the room when there’s a shuffle in the hall, looking over his shoulder. He holds his breath.

After a few moments there’s a soft knock on his door.

“Steve?” Eddie says quietly, and the door opens slowly. Steve is still holding the doorknob, his eyes shining, and he looks so tiny it makes Eddie ache. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Steve pauses, blinking at him and taking a breath. He’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt and some shorts, his hair tousled, looking sleepy and pretty. He also looks like he’s going to cry, which Eddie hates, but can’t deny that it also looks pretty. “Are you okay?”

Eddie blinks at him.

“I’m fine,” he says quietly. “Are you? What’s happening?”

Steve continues to stare at him, his eyes tracing him almost desperately.

“I just— I had…”

He’s breathing hard, like he’s been running.

“You had a nightmare?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods. Eddie pauses, looking at the anxious shine of his eyes, at the way his hands are trembling. “You wanna come over here?”

Steve just steps inside and shuts the door wordlessly, using both hands to make it quiet, like they’re keeping it a secret from the rest of the house. (Which feels like it’s watching them sometimes, if Eddie is honest.)

He sits on the edge of Eddie’s bed, facing the wall, his eyes blankly tracing the posters pinned to the wall. Eddie moves closer to him, watching his chest rise and fall quickly.

“Steve,” he says, sitting cross-legged, facing him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You were gone,” Steve says quietly, his voice breathy and rough. “We— We were in the Upside Down, and we found—“ he cuts off, taking a small gasp, and Eddie leans closer, placing his hand on Steve’s back gently. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his breath stuttering in his chest. “We found your body.”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, running his hand over his back, catching the folds of the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m right here.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, and Eddie’s chest clenches. He moves closer, carefully pushing his hand up Steve’s neck into his hair to run over the shaved part, furrowing his brows with Steve takes a gasping, stuttering breath.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly. “Stevie.” Steve opens his eyes, his expression so pained it makes Eddie’s bones ache. “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“You died, Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “You were dead, you…”

“I’m alive, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, running his fingers through his hair. Steve just whines, his eyes closing as tears fall. “Hey, I got a heartbeat,” Eddie says quietly. Steve’s eyes open. “You wanna feel it?”

Steve takes a breath, turning to look at him, and he nods.

“Come here, gimme your hand.” He takes Steve’s trembling hand, pulls it toward himself so Steve shifts to face him, and presses it to his own chest, his fingers holding Steve’s hand tightly. He takes a deep breath, and Steve’s eyes watch his chest rise and fall.

“You feel it?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, when Steve’s breath has slowed, and Steve’s hand presses harder, his lips pursing as he frowns, almost pouting, and Eddie tilts his head fondly, almost smiling. Steve’s hand slides up after a moment, over the collar of Eddie’s sweater, until it’s sliding over Eddie’s neck.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when Steve’s fingers wrap around it, his fingertips pressing into his skin tightly. Steve is still panting, his eyelids fluttering. It takes a moment for Eddie to realise Steve’s fingers are pressing into his pulse.

Steve nods, closing his eyes, breathless.

“I feel it.”

Eddie nods. He can’t breathe. Steve’s hand is hot against Eddie’s skin, holding him tightly.

“I’m okay, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, sliding his hand to rest on the side of Steve’s neck. Steve exhales shakily, his fingers tightening, and Eddie thinks he might pass out. His lips part, and his eyes flutter closed before he reaches for Steve’s wrist.

“Steve, you gotta stop.”

Steve’s eyes open and he looks up at Eddie, hurt snd worry shining in his eyes.

“‘S just—“ Eddie tries to fix, squeezing his wrist. “It— This… feels good.”

Steve’s eyes are glazed over, and his fingers shift. He doesn’t let go. His voice is slurred when he speaks.

“If it feels good, why would I stop?”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

“Just…” He squeezes Steve’s wrist again, tugs it away. “You had a nightmare, Stevie, you need…”

“Need this,” Steve mumbles, twisting his hand to hold Eddie’s. “Please, Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes flick back and forth between Steve’s, like he’s trying to see into him.

“I just—“ Steve cuts off, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes shine with unshed tears again. “I just wanna feel your heartbeat, Eddie, please.”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. Steve exhales as if in relief, his hand finding Eddie’s neck again, and Eddie wants to cry. “C’mere.”

Steve crawls closer, moving so he can lay against Eddie heavily, taking a shuddering breath.

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs softly, wrapping an arm around him and laying down, pulling Steve with him so he lands on top of Eddie, his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Steve giggles softly, his hand tightening on Eddie’s neck, and Eddie exhales sharply, closing his eyes.

“Are you still gonna be here in the morning?” Steve’s voice says quietly.

Eddie pulls him in tighter. He could be sarcastic. That they’re in his room, that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. But Steve’s voice is so soft, so small and vulnerable, that he can’t.

“Of course.”

•••••••••••••••The others notice it too, that Steve isn’t entirely okay.

Steve insists he’s fine, that everything is under control.

Eddie does what he can to help, cooks and cleans and does everything he can to make sure Steve can relax at home, but it doesn’t really seem to help at all. Steve is always tense, fidgeting anxiously, picking at his skin and lips and nails until he’s bleeding. Eddie reaches over to take his hand, holding it gently to stop him.

Even Robin does it, laying across his lap and holding his hands in her own while they talk.

Eddie’s heart hurts. The skin around some of Steve’s nails is red and raw, his lips cracked.

“I’m just saying, Steve, maybe you should take a break,” Nancy says, watching him cross the room. He’s chewing on a nail, looking at her.

“From what?”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. Steve shrugs at him, and Jonathan lowers his head to his knees. “Come on—“ He cuts off with a soft breath, stopping himself from saying sweetheart in front of everyone. Argyle looks at him. He can probably tell.

“You just gotta relax, man,” Argyle says, looking away from Eddie. “Smoke some weed or something.”

“I can’t walk around high twenty four-seven,” Steve says, frustrated. “I have— responsibilities, I gotta— I gotta take care of the kids, I’m…”

“Stevie,” Robin says, sitting up from where she’s laying on Eddie’s lap. “We don’t mean to move to Florida or something permanently, just… relax.”

“I’ve tried,” Steve says adamantly. He’s pacing. “I’ve— I’ve smoked, I’ve tried fucking reading books, and listening to music, and I’m—“ Steve cuts off, tossing his hands.

“I can try something,” Eddie says before he can even think, and everyone looks at him. His face burns.

“What?” Steve asks quietly, biting his nail again.

“I…” He looks up at Steve from the sofa, ignoring the others’ stares, and he takes a deep breath. “It’s gonna sound fucked, but there’s… this thing I do when I hunt, that’s…” Steve is staring at him intensely, his eyes shining. “It’s like putting them in a trance, it… calms them down.”

“Like hypnotising them?” Nancy says, and Eddie looks at her. Steve keeps staring at Eddie.

“I guess, but it’s—“ He rubs his cheek anxiously. “It doesn’t have to be weird. It just calms them down so they don’t run away, and it kinda makes me feel better because they’re not scared when they die, but, I mean… Obviously I’m not gonna kill you,” he adds, looking at Steve again, who stares. “But it might… help.”

“Okay.”

Eddie blinks.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” Steve says almost breathlessly. Eddie’s eyes look back and forth between Steve’s. “Please.”

“…Okay,” Eddie says softly. “Uhm.”

He stands slowly, standing in front of Steve, his cheeks hot as everyone stares. Steve’s hand lowers from his mouth, and he looks at Eddie anxiously. He looks the same way he looked when he spent the night with Eddie: small and vulnerable and scared, and Eddie’s chest hurts.

“If you… change your mind,” Eddie says softly. “Tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve breathes.

“Okay.”

Eddie takes a deep breath.

“…Relax, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and his shoulders slump, and then he’s falling.

“Woah.” Eddie catches him as the others shout, and he falls to his knees, holding Steve, looking at his face desperately. “Steve?”

“Oh my god,” Nancy says, standing as Argyle sits up.

Steve exhales heavily, his head rolling as Eddie tugs him carefully into his lap. Robin kneels next to Steve, touching his face worriedly, saying his name.

“Stevie?” Eddie says softly as Nancy and Jonathan look over his shoulder.

“‘M fine,” Steve mumbles without opening his eyes.

“Steve,” Eddie says, finding his hand and holding it. “Can you open your eyes?”

Steve lets out a soft noise that makes Eddie’s breath catch in his throat.

“Steve, open your eyes.”

Steve’s eyes open, and it takes a moment for them to find Eddie above him. They’re glassy and glazed over.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Feel good.”

“I feel like we shouldn’t be here anymore,” Robin says quietly, looking up at Nancy, who frowns with a soft, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Argyle agrees. “He’s, like, super vulnerable right now.”

“Yeah, we should go,” Jonathan says when Steve blinks blearily up at Eddie, his fingers shifting on Eddie’s.

“Okay,” Eddie says softly, gazing down at him. Robin gets up and leans down to rustle Eddie’s hair affectionately.

“Take care of him, Eds.”

“‘Course.”

They all leave quietly, Jonathan and Argyle patting Eddie’s back gently as they pass.

“You feel okay, Stevie?” Eddie murmurs when they’re gone. Steve hums a soft mhmm. “Use your words, honey.”

Steve swallows, taking a breath, looking at Eddie with glassy eyes.

“I feel okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I feel so okay.”

Eddie smiles softly, letting go of Steve’s hand and reaching to gently push his hair back.

Steve’s eyes close again, and he’s smiling, his face more relaxed than Eddie’s ever seen him. He traces his fingertips over Steve’s face, over his eyebrows and cheekbones and jawline and the bridge of his nose and his lips. Steve’s lips part as Eddie’s fingertip is trailing over them, and Eddie scoffs, moving to hold his chin.

“You wanna stay here for a while?”

“Please.”

“Can I lay down with you?”

“Mm.”

Eddie moves, letting Steve lift his head off his lap so he can shift to lay on the floor next to him, his arm bent under his head.

“Hi.”

Steve just exhales, blinking at him, smiling softly.

“‘S it okay if I touch you?” Steve lets out a short hum. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Touch me,” Steve breathes. “Please.”

“I got you,” Eddie whispers, moving closer. He reaches out and touches Steve’s face again, watching his eyes flutter shut as he trails his fingertips over his cheek. “Pretty boy.”

He waits for a moment, pushing Steve’s hair back, petting the shaved part gently.

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just exhaling and tilting his head so it presses into Eddie’s hand.

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, hesitating. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“So good,” Steve says softly. “‘S so quiet.”

“What is?”

“…My head.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” It almost sounds like a moan. “Wanna stay here.”

“Where?” Eddie whispers.

“The clouds.”

Eddie can’t fight his smile, and he carefully drags his nails over Steve’s skin, watching Steve shiver.

“You can stay here for a while.”

Steve closes his eyes.

Eddie can tell that he’s not asleep. He knows what Steve’s breathing sounds like when he’s sleeping, which maybe could be weird, but he doesn’t worry about it.

He keeps trailing his fingers over his hair lightly, gazing at him, tracing his moles with his eyes like he’s stargazing.

He lets him float. Waits for him.

Until Steve sighs, and slowly opens his eyes, blinking at Eddie like he’s waking up.

“Welcome back,” Eddie says quietly.

“Sorry,” Steve says.

“Don’t apologize,” Eddie whispers. “Was it nice?”

“Yes,” Steve says without hesitation. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Steve looks like he might cry.

“We can do it again sometime.”

“Can we?”

“Yeah, Stevie.”

“Okay.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Where are the others?”

“They left a little while ago,” Eddie says quietly. “Wanted to give you some privacy.”

“Oh.”

Steve closes his eyes again. Presses his hand up against Eddie’s, holding it to himself.

“Are you comfortable here?” Eddie asks softly. “The floor isn’t too bad?”

“No, ‘s fine.”

“You wanna…” Eddie pauses. “You wanna come closer?”

Steve smiles, and he moves closer, sighing as Eddie lifts his arm to set around him. He tucks his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie almost shivers when he feels Steve’s breath on his skin.

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Like it when you call me that.”

“‘S good, I like calling you that.”

Steve nuzzles into his neck, his hands tucking against Eddie’s chest.

•••••••••••••••They talk about it the next day. Eddie asks if it was okay. If he took anything too far, if Steve was uncomfortable with anything. Steve just smiles. And hugs him.

Tell him that it was perfect, Eds.

They don’t talk about it again.

They don’t really need to.

The others seem to just pick up on it, how something has shifted between them, without anyone saying anything about it. Steve sits closer to Eddie than he used to, leans against him and holds his hand wordlessly, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The others all see it. Eddie’s face flushes with heat every time.

He’s started kissing him. His cheeks, his forehead, the top of his head, every time Steve floats away, every time he rests against Eddie and hides his face in Eddie’s neck. It makes Steve smile. The first time Eddie does it, he tucks Steve’s hair back and presses his lips to his cheek, just under his eye, and Steve’s face turns pink even though his eyes are glazed over and he’s swaying.

So Eddie does it every chance he gets. Of course.

He’s not sure what they are.

Eddie’s never even come out to him, and Steve’s never mentioned liking men, but somehow Eddie doesn’t worry about it.

They sleep together more often than not, usually in Steve’s room. Eddie steals Steve’s clothes to wear during the day while he’s gone, and Steve sleeps in Eddie’s t-shirts and sweaters. He leans against Eddie’s back while Eddie plays guitar, humming along, listening.

It seems to get easier for Steve.

It makes Eddie happy, getting to see him relax, getting to see him smile and sigh and laugh at Eddie’s stupid jokes and puns. He still has days, days where he just comes home and curls up on the sofa, hiding his face and staying silent when Eddie tries to talk to him. And he has other days where he comes home and just won’t stop, cleaning and cooking and rambling until Eddie stops him.

Sometimes while he’s floating he holds Eddie’s neck, feeling his heartbeat. It’s nice.

•••••••••••••••“Hey, sweetheart.”

Steve just responds w a soft groan, falling against Eddie’s back. Eddie laughs lightly, looking over his shoulder, pausing with the dishes.

“Long day?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment before he sighs, and his arms wrap around Eddie’s torso. It makes Eddie’s cheeks heat up.

“Scars have been hurting all day.” He presses his face to Eddie’s shoulder, squeezes, squishing his cheek and muffling his voice. “‘Nd my head hurt for a while at work, ‘n just… nothing was working for me. ‘M tired.”

Eddie finishes with the dishes, leaving a pot full of water so he doesn’t jostle Steve while he cleans it, and he shuts the water off, reaching for the dish towel and drying his hands before he turns around.

Steve hugs him before he can say anything, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulling him close, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, hugging him back tightly. Steve slumps against him. Eddie kisses his temple.

“Alright?”

“Can you put me under?” Steve asks softly, lifting his head.

Eddie kisses his cheek.

“‘Course. Want you to eat some dinner first, though.”

“Okay.”

They eat together at the table, D&D materials pushed out of the way for their plates. Steve tells him more about his day. Eddie admires him across the table. He sits with his legs crossed on his chair, leaning over them so he doesn’t spill anything. (Steve once said he was never allowed to sit like this as a kid.)

Steve changes while Eddie finishes cleaning up. He wants to help, but Eddie refuses to let him.

“How do you wanna do it?” Eddie asks when he’s finished, when Steve is back, wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a Sabbath shirt that Eddie thinks might be his.

“Wanna sit on your lap,” Steve says, his voice already a little slurred. Eddie grins.

“Sofa?”

“Mm.”

Eddie leads him to the living room, their fingers hooked together. Steve gently pushes Eddie to the sofa, and Eddie looks up at him, smiling, but Steve doesn’t sit across his lap the way Eddie expects. Instead, he lowers himself to Eddie’s lap with his knees on either side of his hips. Eddie’s cheeks flush with heat.

“Hi,” Eddie says softly as Steve settles, setting his hands on Steve’s hips gently.

“Hi.”

“This okay?”

Steve’s hands find their places on Eddie’s shoulders, holding him.

“…Take a deep breath for me..” Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a moment as he inhales, his hands loosening on Eddie’s shoulders. “Good boy, one more.”

Steve smiles as he does it again, his cheeks pink.

“There you go,” Eddie murmurs, his thumbs brushing back and forth over his hips. “Do your scars still hurt?”

There’s a moment before Steve shakes his head.

“Your head?”

Another shake.

“Everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, his eyes half shut. “I feel good.”

Eddie smiles, tilting his head so he can press a kiss to Steve’s wrist.

“Can I do something?” Steve asks quietly, his eyes glazed.

“Anything.”

Steve smiles softly, his hand sliding from Eddie’s shoulder to his neck, where his fingers wrap gently around his throat. Eddie inhales, his head falling back. Steve’s smile grows, and his fingers tighten.

Eddie’s hands grip Steve’s hips, his eyes locked with Steve’s, and Steve releases him, watching him intently.

“Does that feel good?” he asks quietly, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “It feels good.”

Steve smiles brightly, his fingers tightening again. Eddie exhales sharply, smiling.

“Thought I was supposed to be putting you under,” he mutters. Steve giggles, shifting closer, his fingers loosening, and Eddie bites his lip as heat flushes his cheeks. “What are you smiling at?”

“I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Ah.” He swallows, feeling Steve’s fingers press and rub at his neck. “So you know I’m dying.”

Steve just grins lazily at him, tilting his head almost curiously, his fingers lifting to trace Eddie’s jaw lightly. Eddie slides his hands up his waist, catching the thin fabric of Steve’s (Eddie’s? Their wardrobes are starting to combine.) shirt, and Steve hums.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods, his eyes closing.

“Your hands feel…”

Eddie hums questioningly, squeezing gently as Steve puts his hand back on his throat, his other hand holding the side of his neck lightly, his fingertips in Eddie’s hair.

“Good.”

He squeezes, and Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He closes his eyes.

He can hear his own heart pounding, can hear Steve’s soft breaths. Steve is heavy on his lap, his weight almost grounding as Eddie’s head fills with clouds. A soft noise escapes Eddie, a weak choked off moan, and Steve giggles again.

And then he’s kissing him, and Eddie thinks he might die.

He doesn’t even open his eyes, just exhales and reaches up to push his fingers into Steve’s soft hair. His head tilts, and his other hand tightens on Steve’s waist, but just as his lips begin to part, Steve pulls away sharply.

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at him to find him wide-eyed and red-faced.

“‘S wrong?” Eddie asks softly, his hand shifting to Steve’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, his voice heavy. “I didn’t ask, I—“

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You don’t have to ask, it’s okay.”

Steve blinks at him, looking like he might cry, and Eddie’s chest tightens.

“You can kiss me,” he breathes. “If you want.”

“I can?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie nods, smiling.

Steve stares, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s, and Eddie exhales, leaning up and lifting his chin to kiss him softly. Steve’s breath stutters in his chest, and Eddie holds his face, pulling him closer.

Steve’s arms wrap around Eddie’s neck, and he raises up on his knees as he kisses back desperately, and Eddie’s whole body aches. Eddie’s lips part as he grins, and Steve’s tongue slides between them, tracing his teeth. Eddie clutches at him, his hands gripping his t-shirt and his hips before they find his thighs, squeezing and slipping under the hem of his shorts.

Steve pulls away for a gasp of air, tilting his head and kissing him again so hard their teeth clash. Eddie’s brows furrow, and he sits up straight, his head falling back.

Steve lowers back down to Eddie’s lap, and one of Eddie’s hands slides to the small of his back, tugging him closer as Steve’s teeth catch Eddie’s lip. A whimper escapes Eddie, and his face burns.

One of Steve’s hands slides into Eddie’s hair, gripping it like he’s holding Eddie in place, and Eddie exhales sharply, his jaw dropping enough for Steve to lick into his mouth.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie gasps. His voice is embarrassingly high, breathy and soft, and Steve pulls away. His eyes are shining, his lips red.

“What?”

“I, uhm.” Eddie closes his eyes, breathing hard. “I forgot about your piercing.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses, holding Eddie’s head in his hands. “Should I take it out?”

“No,” Eddie says quickly. “No, don’t, it’s… It’s nice.”

“Oh,” Steve says again. “Okay.”

“Come here.”

Steve kisses him again, catching Eddie’s lip between his own for a moment before he pulls away and looks at him. Eddie encourages him with a gentle tug at his back, and Steve leans back down again.

Eddie relaxes against the sofa when Steve’s hand finds his neck again. He isn’t squeezing, isn’t choking, just holding him almost mindlessly, like it’s where his hand belongs.

Eddie’s brows furrow again, listening to the soft sounds of Steve sucking on his lip, the soft sounds that escape Steve’s throat. He’s almost shivering, chills hovering over his skin like there’s static in the air, and he’s breathing so hard he might start hyperventilating.

“Stevie,” he chokes when Steve releases his lip. (It’s sore. Eddie loves it.) Steve just whines in response, squeezing his neck gently. “I…” He stares, his eyes burning as he looks at Steve’s flushed cheeks, his shiny lips.

“Eddie, please,” Steve chokes, taking short, stuttering breathes. His eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

“‘S okay,” Eddie breathes, lifting a hand to Steve’s head, pushing his fingers into his hair. “I got you.”

“Please,” Steve whimpers. “Please, please, Eddie, please, I—“

“C’mere,” Eddie mutters, pulling him down and kissing him desperately, biting his lip. “It’s okay, baby, I got you.”

“Please—“ Steve whimpers, his fingers tightening on Eddie’s neck, and Eddie gasps. “Please, I need—“

“Take it,” Eddie says breathlessly, squeezing his leg and letting his head fall back as Steve leans close enough that Eddie is swallowing his breath. “Take what you need, baby, it’s okay.”

He expects Steve to start rolling his hips, or to tear his or Eddie’s shirt off, or to lean in and slide his tongue back into Eddie’s shirt, but Steve just squeezes his neck, leaning down to press their foreheads together.

“Deep breath, sweetheart.”

Steve inhales deeply, his other hand holding the back of Eddie’s head gently, his fingers wound in his curls.

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“My parents—“ Steve starts, taking a short breath. Eddie rubs his leg gently, his other hand pressed firmly against his back. “My parents always talked about— about queers.”

Eddie looks into his eyes. They’re swimming with tears.

“About how—“ He cuts off to swallow. “How disgusting they are, and how— how sinful they are, and—“

“Steve,” Eddie whispers. He’s heard the same things. Of course he has. He’s never understood it.

How somehow could hate something as beautiful as love.

“But this…” Steve holds Eddie’s face between his hands. He wipes a tear that Eddie didn’t notice falling from his eye. “I’ve never felt like— like there’s anything wrong with this.”

“There isn’t,” Eddie chokes. “There’s nothing wrong with this, baby.” Steve exhales, his thumbs brushing over Eddie’s cheeks. “Come here.”

Steve leans in and kisses him softly before he pulls away just enough that their lips brush when he whispers.

“I love you.”

Eddie’s eyes open slowly, and pulls away to look at him, his hands holding him.

“…Really?”

Steve swallows, his hands falling to hold the collar of Eddie’s shirt, resting on his shoulders, and he nods. Eddie blinks tears back, letting out a soft laugh.

“Oh.”

Steve hesitates, holding onto Eddie’s shirt, looking across his face.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie laughs again, a tear falling from his eye, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Yeah, it’s okay, Stevie, oh my god.”

“Oh,” Steve says, relaxing, smiling. “Okay.”

“I love you too,” Eddie says, his chest tight, sliding a hand up to hold the side of Steve’s neck, his thumb resting on his jaw.

“Oh,” Steve says lightly. “That’s…”

Eddie laughs softly, leaning in and letting his head fall against Steve’s chest.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, tugging his hair gently. Eddie hums softly, pressing his hand against the small of his back. “Wanna kiss.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, holding his tighter, and he lifts his head, pressing kisses to Steve’s neck. He can hear his heartbeat, can smell his blood beneath his skin, can almost taste it as he drags his tongue over his pulse.

Steve whimpers, his hand tightening his Eddie’s hair, and then he tugs sharply, pulling Eddie away and leaning down to kiss him so hard it almost hurts.

Eddie groans quietly, slipping his hand under Steve’s shirt to the warmth of his skin, and Steve licks Eddie’s mouth open, breathing hard. Eddie shivers when their tongues slide together, and Steve grins, sliding a hand to Eddie’s throat.

He squeezes gently when he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, and Eddie thinks he might die, letting out a strangled whimper at the pressure, at the smooth slide of the metal stud of Steve’s piercing against the underside of his tongue. There’s a string of spit connecting them when he pulls away, and Eddie is panting, and Steve is grinning.

“Christ, Steve.”

Steve giggles softly, tears still in his eyes, and his fingers tighten gently. Eddie takes a breath, his head falling back.

“Okay?” Steve asks softly.

“Harder.”

Steve squeezes harder, his head tilting curiously as Eddie’s breath catches and he whimpers, letting his eyes close. Steve’s hand is warm, but Eddie shivers anyway. He taps Steve’s back gently after a few moments, and Steve releases him.

“God.”

Steve smiles, his finger brushing up and down his neck so gently it almost tickles.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

Eddie is breathing hard, his eyes still closed, and Steve leans down to kiss him, licking into his mouth and sucking on his lip even though Eddie can’t kiss back.

Steve drags his lips across Eddie’s cheek, trailing wet kisses over his skin, until he’s kissing his jaw and just under his ear.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, tilting his head, listening to the wet sounds of Steve’s lips on his skin. He rubs his hand across the small of Steve’s back. Steve hums softly, his lips finding Eddie’s earlobe.

“Should get your ears pierced,” Steve whispers, his breath against Eddie’s skin, and Eddie shivers again, chills running down his spine.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” He sucks on his earlobe softly, his piercing running across it, and Eddie bites his lip, furrowing his brows. “Would sound so pretty, don’t you think?”

Eddie agrees, tensing as he imagines the soft clicking of Steve’s tongue stud against his earring.

“Shit.” He can feel Steve smile against his skin. “How do you know me so well?” he wonders out loud, his head tilting so Steve can kiss down his neck sloppily, leaving spit and bruises in his path. “Like you know every fuckin’ button I have.”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn, and Steve’s teeth close on his skin gently, nibbling between puffs of hot breath. Eddie slides a hand into Steve’s hair, holding the back of his head gently.

“‘M in love with you too,” Eddie murmurs.

“Fuck.”

Steve licks across his neck, dragging his piercing over his skin, sucking a bruise into his skin before he pulls away and tilts his head to switch sides.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs, his hand slipping to Steve’s hip and pulling him closer. Steve hums softly, his teeth digging into Eddie’s skin.

When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, admiring his work, tracing the bruises with a light finger before he falls forward and his forehead presses to Eddie’s.

Eddie closes his eyes, holding him close, breathing him in. He smells masculine and warm, like something Eddie would like to eat. Like home.

“Who would’ve thought?” Eddie murmurs when Steve nudges their faces together. Steve pulls away to look at him, and Eddie gazes at him, admiring the flush of his cheeks, his kissed-red lips. “Ste-e-eve Harrington.”

“Surprised?” Steve whispers, holding Eddie’s face.

“Hm.” Eddie takes a deep breath, gazing up at him. “Honestly, not really.”

“No?”

Eddie reaches up, touching Steve’s face, holding his chin.

“We cuddle almost every night, sweetheart.”

“‘S true.”

Steve holds his hand to his face.

“So you’re my boyfriend?” he asks almost shyly. Eddie smiles, pausing to swallow before he speaks.

“If you want me to be.”

“Yes, please.”

Eddie leans up and kisses him softly.

“You already act like my boyfriend,” Steve says quietly when they part.

“How so?”

Steve leans back, looking at him, his cheeks pink.

“You take care of me,” he says softly, averting his gaze, down to where his legs rest on either side of Eddie’s hips. “Make me feel safe. Make me feel beautiful,” he adds, his voice almost just a breath.

“Come here.”

Eddie kisses him chastely before he wraps his arms around his waist, sighing as Steve hugs him, relaxing against him. Steve tucks his face back into his neck, his breath warm against Eddie’s skin.

They fall asleep on the sofa, after moving to lay down, wrapped completely around each other, with Eddie’s pulse against Steve’s fingertips.

It’s bright when Eddie wakes up, his face covered by Steve’s hair. He squeezes his eyes shut, sighing heavily, moving his hands. They’re resting on Steve’s back as Steve lays on top on his, between his legs.

There’s noise in the kitchen.

Clatter of dishes and soft voices and the scrape of a chair over the tile floor, and Eddie blinks his eyes open, looking up at the ceiling.

Steve makes a quiet noise under him, a sleepy noise that’s rough in his throat, and Eddie runs his hand through his hair. He sits up heavily, pushing himself up over Eddie and looking down at him. His hair falls around their face like a a curtain, blocking the sunlight out, and Eddie wants to kiss him.

“Is that Robin?” Steve grumbles. Eddie pauses, listening, and he hears Robin’s voice, speaking indistinctly, and a soft laugh from Nancy.

“Sounds like it,” he says quietly.

“What are they doing in my house?” Steve mumbles, leaning down to kiss Eddie’s forehead before he gets up, groaning as he stretches.

Eddie follows him to the kitchen, rubbing his face and squinting as sunlight reflects off the white walls. Robin is sitting on a counter, talking as Nancy makes coffee. Argyle is sitting on the dining table, following a joint while Jonathan watches. Nancy sees them first, looking over as they walk in.

“Morning, sleepyheads— Holy shit.”

Robin looks around her and bursts into laughter as Eddie raises an eyebrow in confusion. Jonathon looks up at them, his eyes scanning both of them vaguely, unimpressed, and Argyle grins at them.

“Jesus, Steve,” Robin says. “I thought Eddie was the vampire.”

Oh.

Eddie’s face burns as he looks at Steve, whose face is red.

“Shut up,” Steve snaps at Robin, who cackles, and he goes over to smack the back of her head as he reaches into the cabinet behind her to get his medication.

Eddie hesitates in the doorway, watching Steve pop the pills into his mouth and sip from the faucet while trying to avoid Robin’s kicking feet. He pushes his hair back, stepping to Nancy and asking quietly for a hair tie. She’s grinning as she stirs her coffee and she just holds her wrist up for him to take it. He kisses her hand when he does.

After tying his hair up, he goes to sit on the table behind where Jonathan is sitting backwards on a chair, using Jonathan’s head to hoist itself up, and Jonathan laughs lightly.

“Morning, fellas.”

“It’s past noon,” Jonathan says dryly.

“Oh, perfect, ‘s not too early to smoke.”

“It’s never too early, my friend,” Argyle says, handing a joint out to Eddie, who takes it with a smile.

Eddie watches while Steve pours coffee into two mugs, while he scoops the perfect amount of sugar and pours the perfect amount of cream into one of them. He watches while Steve banters with Robin, his cheeks still red, while he dodges her hand that’s reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Steve brings the coffee over to him, greeting Jonathan and standing next to Eddie as he sets the coffee down. Eddie lifts his chin, pulling the joint away from his lips as Steve leans down, and Steve smiles, leaning in until his lips brush Eddie’s.

Eddie blows smoke into his mouth slowly, smiling, and he kisses him before he pulls away. Steve blows the smoke into his face.

Eddie turns to find Argyle gazing at them as he lifts his mug to sip his coffee.

“Dude.”

“I love love,” Argyle says simply, and Jonathan snorts.

“Yeah, me too, man,” Eddie says, lifting his mug.

Steve cooks while Robin and Nancy drink their coffee, and Eddie follows him, sitting on the counter. He watches Robin mindlessly play with the ends of Nancy’s hair while Nancy takes a drag from Argyle’s joint.

Eddie cleans the dishes after they eat, and Steve takes his place on the counter, and Eddie leans against it, between his legs. Steve sets his arms over Eddie’s shoulders while Eddie watches the others laugh and talk across the table. Argyle is telling some story, and Jonathan is hiding his face behind his shirt as he laughs.

“Alright?” Steve asks quietly, leaning down so his mouth is right by his ear. Eddie tilts his head, relaxing against his chest.

“Mhmm.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, his hand moving to trace soft lines over Eddie’s neck for a moment before it stops and presses into a spot that’s no doubt bruised red or purple. Eddie bites his lip, his cheeks flushing as it hurts, and he wants to let Steve do it harder, but he smacks his hand away, and Steve giggles.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Eddie shakes his head fondly, looking back at him as Steve leans forward and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve’s fingers run over the back of his exposed neck before he hugs him.

“I love you too.”

Steve buries his face in Eddie’s neck, kissing him gently, and Eddie’s hands find Steve’s forearms, holding him and smiling, his eyes fluttering shut before Robin’s voice says loudly, “Oh my god.”

Steve laughs without lifting his head, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin, and Eddie opens his eyes, laughing when he finds her staring at them.

“You guys were already insufferable with the PDA.”

Steve laughs again, looking up and setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it, Buckley,” Eddie says dryly. “I’ve got a hot boyfriend, I’m not gonna keep my hands off him.”

She just gives him an immense eye-roll, and Nancy grins, her eyes sparkling as Steve hides his face back in Eddie’s neck.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Argyle says, giving them a nod of approval.

“Thanks, Argyle.”

“Wait, does this mean your guest room is up for grabs now?” Robin asks, leaning so she can see them both around Nancy.

“Uh.” Steve hums a soft mhmm into his neck, and Eddie grins. “Let me take my posters and shit and yeah.”

“Nice.”

She moves in the next week. She often joins Steve in napping on Eddie.

tagging: @allbimyself26 @th3-r4t-k1ng @marvelmwah @papermachedragons @symbioticsimplicity @hereissananxiousmess @telidina @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @messrs-weasley @suikatto @fandemonium-takes-its-toll thank you all sm <3

and just bc i thought everyone might wanna know, the person that tweeted the post that inspired this also wrote something based on it too!! you can find it here :)

#ta da #i already have another wip for them #not including the ficlet series thing i’m doing #:) #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

“He’s Changed You” 🩵

an excerpt from my unpublished long fic 🩷 i was inspired to post this ficlet by this post today, so i hope you like it!

for context, i’m working with a world state where Alistair is King, and Warden Cousland married him and became Queen. through a lot of set up (and magical intervention) they were eventually able to have a pair of twins, despite the taint. mc here is Inquisitor Miri Lavellan :)

——————————————————————————

Snatching a sandwich from a platter laid out in the hall by the kitchen staff, Miri ate it as she wandered through the gardens and took a seat on the steps of the gazebo. Her thoughts drifted through the planned journey into Ferelden she and a handful of her companions were to take in a few days, after the King’s departure. Miri was beginning to worry there wouldn’t be enough time to complete all the tasks her companions had asked of her—some of them were certainly more pressing than others, but she could tell how much each of them mattered to her friends, and didn’t want to delay attending to any of them, really.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice reaching her ears from behind a shrub that concealed Miri from view for anyone standing in that half of the garden. “That’s him?” the voice gasped, sounding rather breathless. “I thought he’d look… I dunno, more demonic. Tentacles and fiery breath.” King Alistair. Who was he talking to?

“He is a normal boy, Alistair,” came the irritated reply. Miri knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it… She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but if she got up now, they’d know she was there, that she’d been listening. Better just to stay put and try not to listen. Right?

“Uh-huh,” the King answered. “And what does he know of… how he was made?” He sounded… shocked. Miri had never known the man to be so inarticulate. What in the Void were they talking about…?

“He knows his father was… a good man. I… I thought you deserved that much,” the woman answered. Miri’s mouth fell open as understanding came over her. The voice belonged to Lady Morrigan. And they were talking about Morrigan’s son, the King’s son, the boy she’d seen with Alistair from the battlements crossing the bridge with his mother earlier this morning! Dirthamen ash halani, she really needed to stay hidden now…

The King chuckled, then sighed wistfully. “He’s changed you.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Morrigan countered. Miri could hear the scowl in her voice.

The King’s laugh was stronger now, warmer. “There’s no need to be so defensive! I just mean… I know the twins have changed me. Elissa, too. Everything changes, once there’s a child depending on you for everything…”

Morrigan hummed in agreement as he trailed off, then after a moment, she asked, “Is it everything you thought it would be? Being a father?”

“Not at all,” Alistair replied. That wistful note was back in his voice now. “It’s so much harder than I ever could have imagined. I… I’m terrified I’ll mess it all up. Everyone always said that was all I was ever good for. I thought being king would be frightening…” He chuckled ruefully, then continued, “I had no idea. Still, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. It’s harder than I thought, but it’s… it’s better than I ever hoped.” His voice caught on the last word, and he cleared his throat, sniffing slightly.

Morrigan sighed. “You aren’t going to ‘mess it all up,’ Alistair,” she murmured.

“What?” the King laughed. “You mean to tell me you, of all people, think I might do alright at something for once? Alright, who are you and what have you done with that horrible witch I once saved Ferelden with?”

There was a loud thwack of flesh striking flesh and the King laughed harder. “If you tell anyone I said so, I will deny it,” Morrigan hissed. “But… you have a good heart, Alistair. You do not give love by half-measures. It may be the only thing you are good at,” she continued, softer now, a playful smirk evident in her tone. Her words carried a certain brusque affection, though Miri was certain she must be wearing a twisted expression that would send most people running in fear. She sighed, then finished, “Besides, your children plainly adore you. I can think of nothing you are better suited to than fatherhood.”

“He has changed you,” Alistair repeated softly after a moment’s pause. Then, when Morrigan didn’t answer, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell him?”

Morrigan tsked disapprovingly. “If I wasn’t certain I never wanted to tell him before I knew you would survive your encounter with the Archdemon, I most assuredly am now that you have taken the throne. What good would it do to tell him now, hm?”

“I suppose you’re right,” the King murmured. Then, after another small pause, “He’s a fine boy, Morrigan. You should be very proud.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” she intoned, almost warmly. After a moment or two, Miri heard the soft sound of retreating footsteps, and knew the King was gone.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #da fanfic #ficlet #dragon age inquisition #dai #alistair theirin #morrigan dragon age #kieran dragon age #inquisitor lavellan #alistair is a GOOD DAD okay #and morrigan is a way better mother than flemeth was 💖

[conquerthenight]

Danvich cuddling fluff ‼️ (i need to cure my sadness inmediatly)

Not me using this as an excuse to write an AU where Rebecca actually did kill herself.

TW: Discussion of suicide

“I watched her do it”

Ileana hadn’t guessed that Mrs. Danvers would refer to Rebecca’s suicide so openly. She had always thought the housekeeper to be a rather private person, just as Maxim was, even whilst she was currently being shown around Rebecca’s room, which she had quickly learned to be Mrs. Danvers’ sanctuary for the last year. Maybe it was just something about the room, being in such close proximity to Rebecca’s things, that had caused her to open up. The only thing Ileana could think to do was to comfort the older woman, offer her condolences. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea”

Mrs. Danvers acknowledged her with a very slight nod of the head, turning away from Ileana so as not to allow her pained expression to be seen for longer than a moment. “I saw her slip something into her tea. I tried to stop her, but she told me she’d rather die on her own terms and then…” She didn’t finish the sentence, and Ileana knew she didn’t need to.

Ileana watched as the normally stoic and stern woman vigorously wiped away her tears. She immediately approached and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Danvers. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything more” She hoped this would soothe her a little.

To her surprise, Mrs. Danvers returned the hug. “Thank you, madam” Her voice wavered as she attempted to retain her composure.

“Why don’t you sit down for a while? I could leave you alone if you like” Ileana offered, gesturing towards the bed.

Mrs. Danvers immediately gripped her hand. “No, I’d rather you stay” Her tone was quite insistent, almost back to her usual commanding self, though there was a softness to it that Ileana had not expected when directed towards her.

Ileana did indeed stay, taking a seat next to the housekeeper at the edge of the bed, all the while the latter didn’t let go of her hand. Neither woman spoke for a few moments, but Ileana was glad to notice that Mrs. Danvers was beginning to feel better. “I hadn’t expected you to confide in me of all people, but I’m glad you did” She broke the silence.

“Neither did I” Mrs. Danvers trailed off for a moment, and after a brief pause, she laughed just the slightest bit. “I wanted to hate you when you arrived at Manderley. Turns out you’ve made that an impossible task”

Ileana didn’t know whether it was the vulnerability of the moment or something else entirely, but the fact that Mrs. Danvers was continuing to share confidences with her made her smile. She squeezed the other woman’s hand. “This is rather silly to admit, but I was afraid of you for a while” A laugh of her own escaped her. How could she have been afraid of Mrs. Danvers when the woman had merely been lost in grief the entire time they’d known one another?

“You and half of the maids, madam” Ileana was stunned by the housekeeper’s lighthearted remark. She hadn’t taken Mrs. Danvers for one to make jokes at all. In any other scenario, being compared to the maids may have been a slight, just as it had been when Ileana had gone with Clarice to visit the latter’s mother, just as it had been when Maxim had asked why she hadn’t just gotten ahold of Mrs. Danvers after breaking the cupid, but this was clearly not intended to hurt.

Mrs. Danvers continued after a moment when it was clear Ileana would not reply. “Though I must ask you, madam, are you still afraid of me?”

TIleana shook her head, and just to show that she wasn’t, she inched a little closer to Mrs. Danvers, putting an arm around her waist as they continued to sit side by side. “Not at all” She smiled once more as the other woman leaned into the touch. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, madam” A ghost of a smile formed on Mrs. Danvers’ lips.

“Good” Ileana replied, her eyes locking with her companion’s. They seemed to come to an unspoken understanding in that moment, for Mrs. Danvers wrapped her arm around Ileana’s shoulders. The two women remained cuddling just so for quite some time. Very few words were spoken, but for once the silence was not the least bit awkward.

Mrs. Danvers stood after a while, leaving Ileana a little disappointed. “I’d best take my leave, madam. Mrs. Rutherford will be needing me soon to oversee the dinner preparations” She said.

“Very well” Ileana sighed. “But if you need me, you know where to find me” She offered this last reassurance.

Mrs. Danvers nodded. “Yes, of course” She replied, turning to leave the room.

Ileana stopped her, not wanting her to leave just yet. “Oh, and Mrs. Danvers…” She paused, wanting to come up with some excuse to keep her there a little longer, and ended up saying the first thing that came to her mind. “I…never liked orchids. Would you be so kind as to get rid of the pots in the morning room?”

Mrs. Danvers stifled a laugh, her slight smile becoming more prominent. Ileana hoped to see more of that smile sooner rather than later.

“As you wish, madam”

#is it platonic or romantic? you decide #angst to fluff #danvich #rebecca das musical #daphne du maurier #one shot #short ficlet

[monsterrae1]

Hello lovely Rae! 💖 for the hesitant love prompts: "what can I get you? do you need water? a hug? space?" Pretty pls 💕

Ryan, Baby, I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this! Things have been, well, they've been better. Hope you like this!

_

Eddie Diaz had been shot more times than anyone should’ve been in one lifetime, he had been to war, he had been buried alive under 40ft of mud, he had nearly drowned while getting himself out of said 40ft of mud, he had survived so many near death experiences, but the tuesday night his appendix decided to burst? Eddie thought for sure he was going to die. 

It really came out of nowhere, he hadn’t been feeling bad at all, no fevers, no nausea, no abdominal pain, he had been completely fine one moment, helping out their vic into the ambulance and calming the nerves of the partner who had never seen a broken leg before, and the next thing he knew he was doubling over in pain, throwing up into the asphalt, his insides feeling like they were tearing open. 

If he didn’t know better he’d think that he had been shot again. 

Bobby and Chim were by his side in an instant asking him what was wrong, and if anything had happen, Eddie could only shake his head, but as soon as they tried to move him, he was hit with another wave of excruciating pain and dropped to the floor, curling into himself. That’s when he felt a couple of big hands cradle his head and brush their fingers over his cheeks.

“Eddie? Eddie, what's wrong?” Buck asked him, and Eddie made an effort to open his eyes again. 

“Hurts, stomach, i don’t know” He grumbled, wishing it would just stop. 

Bobby must’ve called for a second rig because next thing Eddie knew he was being rolled into a gurney and transported to the ER, 

“What the hell is wrong with him, chim?” Buck asked from next to him, Eddie was holding into his hand tight enough that he might’ve done some damage. 

“My best guess? Appendicitis?” 

The last thought of Eddie’s head was, oh fuck, before pain made him pass out. 

Next time he opened his eyes he was staring at the hospital’s room ceiling, he tried to move but he felt the very distinct pull of stitches in his abdomen.

“Ugh” He tried to say, but his throat was too dry.

“We’ll be home soon, ok, bud? Be good for Carla” Eddie turned his head following the sound of Buck’s voice, he had his back to Eddie, and was still wearing his uniform, he had his phone on his ear, and nodding along to whatever Chris was saying on the other side “I will bud, I’ll let you know when the doctor tells me anything, okay?”

“Buck?” Eddie tried again, this time managing to make more noise and startling Buck and making him turn around “What happen?” 

“Hey” He said softly “How are you feeling?” 

Eddie frowned, making a mental check of himself, his thoughts were too fuzzy for him to make a proper check, but he didn’t feel like his stomach was being torn open so he figured that was good.

“Alive?”  He ended up saying, making Buck laugh. 

“Yeah, gave us quite the scare there buddy” 

Eddie smiled at him “Sorry, when can we go home?” 

“Tomorrow maybe” 

Eddie hummed and closed his eyes “Chris waiting for you?” 

“Yeah, I’m picking up dinner from that Italian place you pretend you don’t like? Sorry you’re gonna miss out” 

“Mean” 

Buck was still laughing when Eddie fell back asleep. 

He ended up staying at the hospital for 2 days, it wasn’t by far his longest stay at the hospital but towards the second day he was already climbing the walls, he was fine, he was ready to go after the first 24 hours, but because his incision was slightly red and swollen. He was fine, the doctors were just annoying. 

“C’mon” Buck said, guiding Eddie into the house, he would’ve complained that he didn’t need the help, but the truth was that he kinda did. It was too early for him to be heading to bed, so he asked Buck to set him up on the sofa where he could watch Buck tinker around the kitchen or play video games if he got bored. 

“You’re all set up” Buck said once Eddie was laying down on the sofa, his back being supported with what seemed like every pillow in the house, “I’m gonna get you a snack in a second, what else can I get you? Do you need water? A hug? Space?” 

Eddie stared at him for a second “You know what, a hug would be nice” 

Buck chuckled, helping Eddie sit up and wrapped him in his arms, Eddie rested his head on Buck’s shoulder and breathed him in. 

“Thank you Buck, for everything you do for us” 

Buck hummed “You I love it, I love helping you guys out” 

Eddie hugged him tighter for a minute, promising himself that once he was better, he was going to tell Buck just how much he meant to him.

#my writing #buddie #buddie ficlet #i'm queueing this up at night so idk at which time it will come out #hopefully before the ep and the madness of that #da q #am i here? you'll never queue #the ghost of rae 🖤✨

[mizusjawline]

Wenn ich im Bett der Kaiserin tanzen will (dann tanze ich alleine)

Summary: Der Tod masturbates in Elisabeth's bed

Rating: Explicit, f/f

Fandom: Elisabeth - Takarazuka Revue, Elisabeth das Musical

Archive warnings: none

Relationships: Implied Sissitod

Characters: der Tod

Additional tags: Masturbation, written with zukatod in mind, Tod uses she/her pronouns, pwp, yeah der Tod more or less fucks Elisabeth's bedspread

Der Tod was bored. She had wanted to pester the Empress today, however Sissi had sent her away sharply in that commanding voice that the Reaper found so impossible to disobey.

So now der Tod was alone, trailing around Elisabeth's room, touching things and wondering how she could make a nuisance of herself. She could knock over that pile of books. In fact she could knock over the entire bookshelf. But that would make a loud crash and would send the servants running. No. She wanted to leave something discreet. A mess that only Sissi would find.

Her eyes wandered lazily over the room, snagging on the neatly made bed with it's flawless silk sheets. Tod grinned wickedly, a sordid idea forming in her head. Oh. The Empress was gonna love this when she found out!

Strolling over to the bed, she gently ran her hands over the soft sheets. The bed reeked of Elisabeth, sweat and perfume mingling seductively. Death closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the scent. An irresistible yearning bubbled up inside her, coming out of her throat as a low growl. She needed to get closer.

The sheets rustled as der Tod lay down, just like Elisabeth's skirts rustled when she was agitated or upset. Another soft growl of pleasure escaped the Reaper's throat and sliding her fingers into her mouth, she began to gently massage her tongue.

As she worked, fingers raking gently against her lips and teath, her underside started to pang with yearning, bubbling up into her stomach where is settled like a pleasant hunger. Tod took a moment to savour the sensation before letting her fingers slide out of her mouth, trailing them down her chin and throat, drawing a line of saliva. Her fingers snagged against the collar of her shirt and she gently ghosted over the fabric, past her shirt buttons, down to her trousers.

Finally her hands found her belt buckle and she fumbled it open. The thrill of doing something naughty and forbidden was going to her head and she giggled softly.

Rolling onto her belly, she buried her face into the pillow, the smell of the Empress's hair engulfing her. The Reaper inhaled it deeply, like a predator catching scent of its prey, and began to apply pressure to her underside. Gently at first, taking her time, enjoying the sweet sensations. With expert precision, her fingers dipped in and out, picking up moisture from deeper down and applying it to her clit, circling and rubbing.

Death whined softly as the sensations began to build up and beckon downwards, her right hand more than eager to follow whilst her left remained on her clit. Her breath was coming deeper and her hips were rolling and pressing rhythmically against those soft, delicious bedsheets, the scent of her own sweat mixing sweetly with the smells of Elisabeth.

Finally her fingers found her vaginal opening and she took a moment to tease herself before going in, muffled groans escaping into the pillow.

As she worked, she allowed herself to fantasize. How often did Elisabeth masturbate in this bed? Did the Empress lie in the same position that she was lying now? Did the Empress press her head into the pillow just like she was? What would her face look like when she reached her climax? What did her lips look like? What about her eyes? Would they be closed? Scrunched shut even?

Tod's body tensed up in response to her self indulgent fantasies, her legs cramping painfully and her spare hand coming out to support herself. She was hurtling rapidly toward her climax and for a moment, she forgot to breathe, overpowered by sensations. Then the orgasm had washed over her, leaving her gasping into the pillow.

Death caught her breath, rolled over onto her back and relaxed with smug satisfaction. Her fingers tingled, her body buzzed and her underside ached pleasantly.

She'd take a rest now, maybe take another round, and then she'd put the bed back into order only so far that the servants didn't notice a thing. But there would be hair on the pillow and stains on the blanket. Elisabeth would be sure to find them. She'd figure out what had happened, she was a clever girl.

Der Tod grinned.

#takarazuka elisabeth #elisabeth das musical #zukabeth #takarazuka #mizu natsuki #mizutod #takarazuka revue #fanfic #ficlet #uwe kröger

[nimthirielrinon]

DA2 fic, sort of an epilogue, because I’ve been having Thoughts and needed to get them on paper.

Set immediately after the events of Dragon Age 2. Hawke and Anders have a LOT to discuss after Kirkwall. This is the start of their new life, and the first of many discussions they need to have.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #Anders #dragon age anders #female hawke #Anders/female Hawke #my fic #short ficlet #ao3 fanfic #ao3 fic #dragon age spoilers #da:2 #da:2 spoilers

[greypetrel]

30. "I don't know where to put my love" for Raina c:

Oooooh, this was perfect for her, thank you!! (in this I discovered that a baby raccoon is called a kit)

Tis the prompt list

A good punch.

( 4.049 words | CW: blood - mentions of split lips and broken teeth )

So tell me where to put my love Do I wait for time to do what it does? I don't know where to put my love - Florence + the Machine, "My Love"

“I did want to punch him, dad.”

She uttered between her teeth, mumbling on the words because her lips hurt like hell right now. She glared stubbornly at her feet, hand clasped in her father’s and hating every step and how the skirt of her dress kept sticking to her bloody knees. She hated skirts, and she hated the feeling of her hair, long and tangled and dirty, sticking to her cheek. But her mother won’t let her wear breeches for the festival, and won’t let her cut her hair short as she did with Garrett, and she didn’t really understand why.

But, as much as her mother had been the first to find her and drag her away from Bobby Oswald who laid under her and had a black eye and lost his front tooth, and she sharply refused to say a word to explain herself… She couldn’t lie to her father. She didn’t want to lie to him. So, when he barged in, placated the Oswalds and Leandra alike and grabbed her hand to take her away and “Have a good talk, I’m sure she didn’t mean to punch Bobby”… she waited just until they were far from the crowd and told him.

Malcolm looked down at her, raising one eyebrow.

“You want to get me angry as well, young lady?” He asked her, but there was amusement in his voice. That note of amusement that was always there and she craved, right now.

“He called Garrett a freak, and you a failure.”

She confessed, anger still burning hot in her chest and raising tears to her eyes. Malcolm didn’t say anything, but answered in tow as her hand clutched tight on his, in a silent comfort. He didn’t say anything, and just lead her around the corner and deep between the stalls that were installed in the small square in front of the Chantry. People selling food, mainly, trying to earn some extra money during the fair even if they had no cattle to sell and show, no crops to offer. They already visited the stalls, and begged Leandra far and wide for a treat. Their mother had bought her and Garrett a full slice of pumpkin pie each, and the twins a big cookie with nuts and raisins she split in two for the three years olds. And that was it. The rest of the stalls kept being a dream, even if Raina asked and pleaded for some candy floss. It was coloured and it was sweet and it looked fluffy: surely it was good, even if she never tasted it. It was also pricey, and something only the more well to do could afford. Not them. The year hadn’t gone well, and she already had her more healthy treat.

So, she didn’t raise her eyes, pretending not to be interested in the food. Pretending that all those perfumes didn’t make her mouth water and terribly curious to taste everything. She hadn’t been good, her mother made it plenty clear as she yelled at her for starting a brawl and breaking Bobby’s tooth. She didn’t listen when her father stopped and started to chat with someone. She convinced herself she wasn’t interested, and her mind went flying and concentrating on other thoughts, fingers playing nervously with the cloth of her skirt. That was it: she decided to think of all the things she could do with her skirt instead of wearing it.

And yet, when Malcolm pulled gently at her hand to catch her attention, Raina could only gasp, mouth falling open.

He stopped right in front of the candy floss stand, and both him and the vendor were looking at her, expectantly.

“So? Red, purple or yellow?” Malcolm prodded, with a smile.

“But-” She objected, looking between the two men with suspicion. “But mother said-”

“Your mother isn’t here. Or do you wish me to go and call her?” Malcolm winked. “But if you don’t want it…”

“No!” She gasped aloud, and both men chuckled at her. “Red!” She declared, and stopped a while, adding a last, less concitated “Please.”

“Ah, I knew it!” Malcolm exclaimed with a big smile, and turned to the vendor again. “What did I tell you? Did I win a free stick for being such a good father to remember my daughter’s favourite colour?”

In spite of everything, Raina giggled, ignoring how the movement sent a jolt of pain on her split lip, and how she felt wet trailing down her chin from it. As her father winked and insisted a little with a vendor that wasn’t fooled by her father’s wit, she licked the blood away, quickly. It only made the wound bleed more, and she grew irritated by it.

She didn’t mind her father slipping some coins out of his pocket, absent-mindedly greeted the vendor goodbye, and trodded along her father. The more she licked, the more blood it seeped out, and the more she scowled at it. It just wouldn’t stop.

She paid little attention, too focused on stopping the annoying trickle of blood even if it started to hurt, to mind her father quickening his step all so minutely as they passed the Chantry. “Least those nasty Mothers see our treat and come to steal it!” He told her, whispering conspiratively. She nodded along and quickened her steps as much as the legs of a girl of 8 could go, following her father without looking where he was headed.

So focused she was, that when he stopped she bumped right into his leg, so hard it hurt her lip and bruised cheek.

“Ouch!” She yelped, stepping back and pressing a hand on her cheek.

“Shit-” He grumbled, stopping abruptly as he noticed the swear. “Fuck-” He grumbled. “For Andraste’s- Don’t tell your mother. I’m sorry, kit.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Mh.”

He hummed, and left her hand, nodding towards the low stone wall that sided the river. He offered to help her up to sit there, but Raina scoffed, puffing her chest up with pride. Chanting that she was not a kit, she climbed up on her merry self. Bobby’s tooth cut her knuckles something nasty, and even if the bleeding stopped, it hurt when she scraped it against the stone. She bit it down bravely, grunting for that and how sore she was, and complaining because the nasty skirt made climbing unnecessarily difficult. But she managed, rolling on her belly on top of the wall and collecting her limbs on top, so she could kneel and go sit with her legs dwindling on the other side, up the water. Malcolm was much more graceful, and as soon as he was sitting too, she scuttled closer

“Do you want to talk about it?” Malcolm asked, caressing her head.

“No.”

“Raina.”

“He was mean, dad!” She grumbled, crossing her arms on her chest and looking down at the water, legs moving quicker. “He picked on Garrett, he called him a freak and pushed him, and said you are a failure that can’t… I don’t know, he used a weird word. You can’t do something for us, and it’s not true, and so I told him you’re the best dad in the world and to leave my brother alone, and he called me a Bug-eyes and he just didn’t stop.”

A hand came around her back and closed on the opposite shoulder, keeping her still as she thrashed around on the ledge. She shoved him off: she wasn’t a baby, and she wouldn’t fall. She never fell when she climbed, not anymore. Understanding she didn’t want to be touched, now, Malcolm let her speak, listened to her as she kept on with her tale.

“He shouldn’t have said those things, you’re right.” He convened, in the end. “It still doesn’t make it right to punch him, kit. You hurt him pretty badly.”

Raina turned towards him, a deep scowl on her face, and looked in his eyes -the same blue as hers- as she told him, this time lowering her voice.

“He told he was going to call the Templars, dad. That’s when I punched him. And why I’m not sorry.”

She watched as his father’s face darkened, something harsh making his way in his expression. It was his serious face, and Raina knew he understood. He always understood, when her mother never did and only scolded her.

“Maybe he was joking.” He proposed.

“I am still not sorry.” She proudly declared, turning towards the river again. “I don’t want that you and Garrett will be brought away because Bobby is mean and stupid.”

“Punching him isn’t a solution.”

“I bit him, too.”

Malcolm stilled at the news, and as Raina side-glanced at him, she saw him with his free hand on his mouth, covering it as he tried not to laugh. She knew he was scolding her for what she did and he that he was serious, but she snorted too, covering her mouth with both hands.

“Raina, I’m serious.” He scowled at her, but his eyes kept an amused glint.

“But you told me I need to defend my little siblings!”

“I know, kit. But you’re not a raccoon. You’re a person, and people talk.”

“But I tried, dad. I tried to tell him he was mean, but he just didn’t listen. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Come here.”

He sighed, and pulled her closer to his side. More prone to be touched, right now, she let him, and turned to hug his bust, pressing her face in his side. He put the fancy waistcoat, the one he only wore for special occasions, and it was rough against her sensible skin. But it was warm and comforting enough, it smelled like the lavender pouches her mother kept in the wardrobes, and she didn’t mind that she was probably staining it. The comfort provided was more important, and the way he kept her close by her shoulder, rubbing circles with his thumb.

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course, kit, what makes you think I don’t?”

“Mom was very angry. Mom loves Garrett best.”

He sighed, heavily. It wasn’t the first time the topic came up, and it always made Raina cry. This time was no different, and she clutched on her father tighter.

“I do love you, kit. Very much. Your mother does too, I swear. Quite a lot. She gets angry because you’re always getting into trouble and she worries.”

“But she told me I had to be a good sister and protect my siblings!”

“I don’t think she meant getting into a brawl and splitting your lip open. That’s what she worries about.” Malcolm explained, gently pushing the child away from him enough so he could see her face. “Let me see.”

Her lip indeed left a stain on his waistcoat, darker than the grey wool it was made of. He paid it no mind, and didn’t let Raina either, gently pushing her face up towards his. She sniffed and blinked tears away from her eyes, putting up a brave face. She was 8, she was too old for crying, and she stood straight, offering herself for the careful examination like a big, brave girl. Stupid tears couldn’t really stop, but she did her very best. He gently pushed on her cheekbone with his thumb, and apologized when the pressure made her flinch. And rubbed her lower lip, without using any magic. Even with some pressure -and she was ready this time, she just scrunched her nose and eyes- the bleeding didn’t stop, and Malcolm huffed at it.

“We should really think of something better than punching, for you.” He grumbled, fishing his handkerchief from a pocket and dabbing her lip with it. “Defending the people you love is great and commendable kit, and I’m so proud that you jumped to it and that you stood up to your choices.”

A pause.

“Don’t tell your mother I told you so.” He casted her a look, but his eyes were still amused. “I am very, very disappointed you shut up the most annoying kid in the village, I’m absolutely appalled that you punched and bit him and kicked him, and I expect you to be very contrite and remorseful when we get back, ok?”

He winked at her, and she giggled, nodding enthusiastically. She took the handkerchief and kept on dabbing her mouth herself, heart lighter as her father huffed in satisfaction. As she did, with her feet kicking the air before her, alternatively pushing on the stone and skipping forward, she saw Malcolm ripping a piece of cotton candy, finally, and look at it, considering.

“My point is, you have all this love… We need to find a way to use it better than punching people that offend it, tho. Somewhere to put it.”

“Like a closet?”

He chuckled, and offered her the sugar. Raina looked at it, unsure, and at her father. When he nodded in encouragement, she was quick in picking the piece up and bring it to her mouth. It was sweet and crinkled under her teeth before quickly melting in the most thrilling way, and it was the most delicious thing she ever ate. Of course, it was red. Red things were the best. It made Malcolm chuckle more, as he too took a bite.

“We can try and put it in a closet, but closets get full so easily. We need to try something else.”

“Like what?”

She asked, not fully understanding his words, and how love could be stored or put somewhere rather than somewhere else. She shrugged it off, tho, not wanting him to think she was too little and didn’t understand a grown-up concept. She was the eldest and she was big, after all, even if Garrett had magic and that could maybe made up for a year less. She just stretched her arm, fingers sticky with sugar, to take another piece of the candy.

“I don’t know. Hug puppies. Take care of animals. Knit. Count to a hundred before you act. Run in the morning so you’re tired during the day and your love doesn’t burst. Let the bullies run after you until they trip and fall by themselves and you can keep clean. Insult them without them knowing.”

Raina considered, with her mouth full of sugar.

“So mom won’t get worried?”

Malcolm turned and poked her ribcage, annoyingly enough, and again until she turned to bat his hand away, laughing because it tickled. He laughed with her, and waited enough for her to stop thrashing -she did so much that he had to catch her by the shoulder lest she fell into the river. When it was done, he was there, a smile on his face and a look that was really serious in his eyes.

“So we all won’t get worried.” He told her, in his serious voice that meant what he told was important and she should listen.

She nodded and jumped forward, hugging him tight.

“I am sorry I got you worried, dad.” She told him, drowned as she was in his chest.

He caressed her hair, and right then, the world was good and she didn’t feel the urge to move somehow, to bounce her leg or play with her hands.

“It’s fine, kit.” He sighed, relaxing minutely. “Just keep in mind that if you put your love into punches, people you love won’t be happy, they will be worried. Ok?”

Raina considered. It made sense, even if the concept of love was still a little weird and abstract.

“… But what if I don’t let them punch me back?”

“Raina-”

---

Something less than twenty years later, a lifetime distant from that afternoon in Greenfell, Raina kept considering that day on the stream, eating red candy they couldn’t afford with her father.

She stepped forward, turning her daggers in her hands, bending her neck left and right quickly to warm up and get ready. Her heart beat hard and fast in her ears, in anticipation and, partly, fear. On the other hand, only an idiot wouldn’t have been afraid, in her place, to be doing what she was about to do. Maybe she was not as scared as she should have been.

It wasn’t the time to reason, tho, or to consider any better. She took her father’s words to heart, and had been mindful to put her love to good use. Ironically enough, she learnt to talk and outwit people, and she took up knitting and adopted a dog. And she stopped throwing punches so often, because she learnt to wield daggers.

She stepped forward in the throne room, bouncing from one foot to the other, turning fear into adrenaline and not thinking that she most likely chose the stupidest place to put her love. And yet, she kept her chin up, back straight, and looked the Arishok right in his eyes with a challenge.

Her love went into a city that didn’t love her, into a mother and Carver who both lied six feet under, Bethany in the Circle and Garrett that was about to be brought there too, since the Knight-Commander saw him. Her love went into a mismatched rag-tag groups of misfits, just like her. Her love went into them and into fucking things up for them and with them.

She put her love into turning her back to Merrill, screaming for her and beating her hands against the bars that closed the Alienage for the invasion. She put her love into keeping her safe, because after what she did, after taking advantage of her in such a way and leaving her as she did, that was all she could do to her. Perhaps it would have mildened her memory for the elf. Not that she would have been there to see.

She put her love, lastly and firstly and more stupidly, into a woman that didn’t want it, that told her from the start that she didn’t, but that had it anyway.

She put her love in Isabela and into a duel she couldn’t win, and she cared not for anything else. Kirkwall could go fuck itself: if it weren’t for Bela, she would have left it to the Qun and see if the Arishok could have found her a spot she could finally fit in.

She clutched her hands tighter on the hilts of the daggers, feeling the supple leather of her father’s gloves pressing on her skin. She wondered what he would have thought, and if he would still be proud of her. She guessed she was about to find out.

“Raina, please-”

She heard Garrett from behind. He was the only one, now, to call her by her name, and it was too little. She wasn’t a Hawke: Hawke had been her father, and she made a treasure of his words, she missed him like air, and she stubbornly decided that he was right, but not always.

Some people really needed a good punch.

#dragon age #dragon age II #da2 #female hawke x isabela #malcolm hawke #raina hawke #writing petrel #da fic #dragon age fanfiction #ficlet

[shivunin]

Between Strokes of Night

Title: “Love and Sleep” by Algernon Charles Swinburne (Full fic (explicit) on AO3 here)

CW:  Implied sexual content, brief references to past wounds/blood

(And here is the dress she's wearing c: )

Hawke was at the Viscount’s manor, but she wanted to leave. 

There’d been an invitation. She’d answered yes. At the time, it had seemed awfully important. But a month ago—or had it been two?—she hadn’t had Fenris. Or—well, he’d been there. Right at her side; two steps behind and one to the right, as always. He’d been there with her, but he hadn’t been…

With her. 

Hawke scowled down at her wine and took a sip. What a constant irritation it was, not to have hold of one’s own thoughts. For the last three days, it had been impossible to tear them away from him. It was bad enough when they were together, and far, far worse when they were apart. 

Like—now. When she was at the Viscount’s Keep in her fanciest dress, overheated by wine and velvet, and Fenris was…was probably cozy in his derelict manor, reading a book before the fire. Maybe the fire was soft in his hair, legs slung over the arm of the chair…maybe smirking in that way he had…

And she was here, desperately trying to patch the cracks in Kirkwall’s failing social structure. The Champion could do it if she tried hard enough; perhaps she was the only one who could. With a smile, a gesture, a joke—the Champion had no feelings. She was there to serve, to stand between this city and the abyss it so blithely wished to step off the edge of. 

She stood at the periphery now, looking at the little huddles of people talking and laughing. They had stood here and watched her defeat the Arishok in single combat. They’d watched her with her guts outside of her body. They’d cheered when she turned up to make a pretty speech—wearing this same red dress, in fact; red because she hadn’t known if she would bleed through her bandages and black was too solemn. They’d watched, and they’d cheered—

But Fenris had been the one to carry her home when she collapsed in that side hallway there. Fenris had been the one to tell her what an idiot she was the whole way, and he’d been the one to stay with her until Anders could be roused from the guest room to close her belly up again. 

Fenris had been there, and Fenris had stayed.

It seemed like a good idea now to set her cup aside, so Hawke did so, depositing it on a side table. Nobody was trying to talk to her anymore, so Maria began to slip through the crowds to the door without consciously planning to go. 

Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you, he’d said, just as serious as Fenris always was. It seemed impossible that someone could say such things aloud without a hint of irony; that someone could say them to her and mean it. And—and that it had been him saying so? 

Fenris, whom Hawke had accepted she’d be pining for until she died? 

Fenris, who’d melted away with the dawn like some sort of ghost story? 

Fenris, who’d clutched her to him like a dying man given reprieve when she’d told him she still wanted him, who would’ve—

It had been too much three days ago; she’d been scared, though she hadn’t told him so. To have wanted him for so long and finally have him within reach…She couldn’t. She wouldn’t; not so soon. So they’d kissed, on and on, one or the other reaching out again when they should have parted and gone to sleep. She’d spent the night, and she’d been in his arms, but they hadn’t…not again. Not yet.

“I’m an utter fool,” she muttered to herself, and slid the footman a silver when he gave her a startled look. The man’s mouth made a little “o” and he held out her cloak to her with a flourish. 

“Thank you,” she said, and waited until she was halfway down the front steps to go on.

“A fool, a fool; rubbing elbows with folk you hate while he knocks around that manor like a clapper in a bell? Foolishness.”

After a moment, she slipped off her delicate party slippers, dyed red to match the dress. She picked up the hem of her skirt, as she once had as a child running free through the fields with Bethany and Carver. 

And Hawke ran.

|

There was no reason for it, but Fenris could not seem to make himself comfortable. 

The skin between his shoulder blades itched and no amount of readjustment could dispel the discomfort. He grimaced down at his book, angled himself more fully towards the light, and tried again to focus on the words. 

Fenris had read this book before. He knew what happened. Hawke had given this to him; had, in fact, taught him to read using it. Still, his eyes scanned the words with little comprehension, tracing the familiar shapes again and again even when they refused to resolve themselves into a discernible pattern. 

If he allowed himself—if he tried—he could still smell the faintest hint of Hawke on his pillow. It could be nothing else; she smelled of the anise oil she used in her baths and she haunted him. He could have sworn the scent conjured her into his dreams, for he’d met her there every night since she’d left this room.

Fenris snapped the book shut with a disgruntled little noise and set it on the table with a snap. Outside, the night was quiet for Kirkwall, with only the occasional sound of people wandering past or the guardsmen’s boots on the cobblestone. Inside, the fire crackled in the hearth and the wind blew through the cracks in the windows. Fenris drifted closer to the hearth, since he had little attention for anything else. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want him—either at her side or in her bed. He knew that very well. But he had damaged some vital trust three years ago, and wanting or not it was not something that could be patched with words alone. Nothing would fix it, in fact, except time—and he feared they had very little of that left. 

Even less when she had not come to see him. 

“I am a fool,” he told the fireplace. The fire inside crackled merrily. 

He must be far gone indeed, that the happy crackle of flames reminded him of her, too. 

Perhaps he would have dwelled on this thought further, would have berated himself for his lovesick imaginings. He did not have time to try, for at just that moment the front door swung shut with a bang. 

Fenris did not reach for his sword. He didn’t call on the lyrium under his skin. He didn’t reach for armor, or search for a place to hide. He knew those footsteps all too well, and there was only one person in the world who let his door slam like that when she let herself in. Fenris closed his eyes as he heard bare feet on the stair, a quiet oath when she stubbed her toe on the tile she never missed, and then the slower steps when she neared his bedroom. 

“Hawke,” he said a moment before she swung open the door. 

A pause. 

“How do you always know it’s me?” she asked, pushing the door open. 

Fenris’s eyebrows lifted at the sight of her. Her hair might have been twisted into one of those braided crowns Fereldens seemed to enjoy so much, but it had begun to come loose now. Curls had freed themselves from their constraints and several stuck to her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. She held shoes in one hand, and her breath heaved, pressing the upper curves of her chest above the edge of her blood-red bodice. Even as he noted this in one amazed glance, Hawke tossed her shoes toward the corner and advanced. 

“I’m a fool,” she said, and Fenris blinked down at her. 

“I should’ve stayed the other night,” she said. He frowned. 

“You did stay,” he said.

“No, but I—” frustrated, she blew a curl from out of her eyes. 

Just that—the familiar, annoyed mannerism—was enough to break the surprise that had held him in place.

As Fenris set his hands on her shoulders, he remembered dimly that…he was certain that the same gesture, blowing a curl from her forehead, was what had first made him abruptly aware that he was attracted to her. Startled by the memory, Fenris laughed once and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. 

“What?” she said, “I’m—I’m trying to tell you something!”

“What are you saying?” he asked, and pressed a careful kiss to her cheek when she didn’t push him away. 

“That I should’ve—should’ve let you—we should have—” 

Fenris kissed her other cheek, then the tip of her freckled nose. Hawke, startled, stared at him with round eyes. Like a cat who’d been swatted on the nose, he thought with distant amusement. 

“Do you want to?” he said, allowing his hands to slide lower and trace the lace edge of the gown along either shoulder. Maria opened her mouth, then closed it again. 

“You aren’t upset?” 

“No.”

“But—but everything you said—and then I just left the next morning like—like—”

“I know,” he said, and kissed her forehead again, “And here you are. Stay, if that’s what you want.”

She took a sharp breath, as if to dispute this, but sighed instead. 

“Do you…want to?” she asked. Fenris drew back and examined her for a moment. She was pink about the cheeks, but her dark eyes held his without any of the worry they’d held several days ago. 

But—though it would be easier to ask her what she wanted, for Hawke was good at letting one know when she wanted something…that was not what she needed now. So he spoke instead. 

“Yes,” Fenris said, and rested his hand along her chin instead, “Yes. I do.”

The kiss was sweet, slow, and—though it was not as long in coming as the last one had been—Fenris savored every second of it. 

To bed or not; the decision did not feel so weighty when he remembered she would be with him all the while. 

“Then,” he said, “I have wanted to take you out of this since that party. May I?” 

“Yes,” she said, and turned in his arms. Her breath caught when he traced the back of the neckline, the draping lace dotted with seed pearls that shone lustrous in the firelight. 

A fortune of a gown, it was; she’d purchased it when she’d been formally named Champion, and every single one of her friends had protested her wearing it. 

Fenris had been especially strenuous in his objections. 

Hawke had been on the verge of death only weeks earlier. She shouldn’t have been on her feet at all, let alone in such a restrictive garment. But she’d wanted to wear it, and she’d wanted to go, so that was precisely what she’d done. Not one of them could stop Hawke from doing precisely what she wanted to do; all of them knew that.

And he’d had to all but carry her home when she’d collapsed in a hallway after the speeches. He’d convinced himself he resented the thing because of that day—and he did—but a large portion of his discomfort with it lay in the way Hawke wore red. 

Like it was meant for her. Like the color had been created for her sake alone

Now, Fenris removed the catches that held the lace on and set it aside. The velvet was almost luminous in the firelight, warm against her skin. There were hidden laces on the back. He undid each of them slowly, fingers nimble on the soft fabric. Each lacing that came undone revealed more of her back, and each empty eyelet saw her breath coming a little faster, the pulse in her neck a little harder. 

When the bodice came loose, he smoothed his hands over her shoulders once. 

“Yes?” he said. 

“Yes,” she murmured, and turned her head to kiss him. 

It was difficult to kiss her like this, over her shoulder, but the position allowed him to untie the skirt, too, much simpler after the complexity of the upper lacings. The rest of the dress fell to the floor in a sigh of fabric and Maria turned at once to put her arms around his neck. It was good to kiss her—it was always good—but it wasn’t enough to feel the ridges of her stays through his loose sleeping shirt. He wanted more. 

Three years; she hadn’t been alone for all of them. He knew that well. But Fenris had been, by his own choice. The thought of someone else touching him had been…It hadn’t appealed. It required a level of trust that he simply couldn’t summon by will or determination alone, and though he hadn’t begrudged her seeking comfort elsewhere he wanted…he wanted. 

A novel experience, desire for desire’s sake. 

Fenris found the laces to her stays and tugged at them until they came loose. She made a soft noise against his mouth as her hands found his hips, the hem of his tunic, the bare skin beneath. Hawke sucked in a breath. 

“Oh,” she said, “Oh. Fenris, I forgot...”

Whatever she’d forgotten, he did not hear it; the sound of his name on her lips in that particular tone was like fantasy made sound. He abandoned her underthings and pulled his tunic off in one swift motion, tossing it away carelessly and setting her hands back on his chest. 

“Touch me,” he told her raggedly, and she obliged at once. There was a knot in the laces; he fumbled with it, his hands unaccountably graceless, and after several minutes she pulled back. 

“You’re going so slow,” she said, “It’s killing me. Is it not killing you?”

Fenris scowled at the laces, undoing the knot at last and tugging several loops free. 

“Hawke,” he said, “If not touching you could kill me, it would have done so years ago.”

She snorted at that, her eyes rolling up at the ceiling, and as she did so he finally loosened the last of the stays. Hawke caught them as they fell, and for a moment they stayed pressed against her chest. 

Fenris met her eyes. Hawke took a breath, then shrugged the underthing off and set it aside on the chair. He gave her space to untie the waistband of her smalls, and when that fell away she was entirely unclothed before him. 

It hadn’t been like this last time. They’d been desperate for each other in a hungry, animal way that night, stripping as quickly as possible before colliding again. He hadn’t even known until later that it had been the first time she’d lain with someone; and that had only been because Isabela had made a ribald joke about Hawke being “recently deflowered” weeks after the fact. There had been little time for exploration, for soft touches, and there certainly hadn’t been time to admire her as she deserved. 

He’d spent the last three years making up for the latter; Fenris could mark her every gesture now even if his attention was divided. It had been very easy to convince himself he did this to make combat easier or safer, but he could admit he’d been wrong now. Perhaps he watched her because he wanted to understand her; perhaps he watched her simply because he wanted to. It mattered little now. 

What mattered was that they were here together now—and Fenris could take his time.

(The full, explicit version of this is here on AO3---I didn't want to post smut on tumblr. This was written for @14daysdalovers Day 13: Ravish.)

#14dalovers #14dalovers2023 #day 13 ravish #maria hawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #fenris x hawke #fenhawke #da fanfic #da2 #my writing #if i need to adjust the warning at the beginning please let me know #that dress is the inspiration for this tbh #she's wearing it in the fool and his gold ficlet as well #i have started and abandoned three pieces for day 14 :c i am struggling #we'll see what i can manage today #or yaknow. how much of my house i can clean instead lol

[stevebabey]

Eddie loves to complain.

It’s a known fact to Eddie, to Wayne, to every single sorry son-of-a-bitch who winds up being friends with him, that Eddie loves to complain. Half the time he opens his mouth, it’s to let an absurd about of bitching fall out of it. Trailer trash with a trash mouth, is what he calls himself sometimes, always with a wry grin.

Even more so, Eddie loves to complain about how Steve Harrington seems to get everything he wants in life.

He gets the big house at the end of the block, the spot of captain of the basketball team (not that that’s a position Eddie would ever gun for), the stupid title of ‘King Steve’ that let him soar through high school, untouched.

Missing homework? Well, King Steve Harrington just gets a gentle reprimand, a reminder to make homework a priority next time. Whereas, Mr. McKay had nearly popped his eyeball out in stress when chewing Eddie out for his missing homework in the very same week.

Double fucking standards. He’s pretty sure he’s seen Steve get free shakes down at Harper’s Diner which made Eddie scoff— as if the likes of Steve Harrington can’t pay for his own shakes.

So, yeah, to Eddie? Steve Harrington gets everything he wants.

It becomes so much of a habit — bitching and blaming King Steve for every other minuscule inconvenience as well — that even when Eddie has the week from hell and his entire worldview is shifted, quite literally, upside down, he still complains about Steve.

Because, damn it, even at all this, Steve is better than Eddie is.

Ignoring the fact it’s definitely not Steve’s first rodeo, Eddie can’t help but keep the bite in his tone. It feels a bit too humiliating, being kept bed-ridden in Steve’s empty mansion due to wounds that need tending to every day. Hidden from angry mobs because he’s that unlikable in this town.

Worse, is that even though Steve got a bite taken out of him too, he seems just fucking peachy compared to Eddie.

Pathetic Eddie who can’t even change his own bandages yet. Steve’s more gentle than Eddie probably deserves for all his bitching at him.

Because, of course he bitches. Eddie can’t help it; some defence mechanism from within that isn’t sure how to handle the fact Steve is, like actually genuinely, a decent person. It’s worse when Steve waves it off. Shrugs off his pointy comments, might make a comment about being ‘someone’s grouchy and tired’ but is still so fucking nice.

Until the one day he doesn’t shrug off the comment— this time when Eddie makes a complaint, whinging and grumbling about can’t believe I’m stuck with Steve Harrington playing nurse, Steve narrows his eyes. Then he sighs.

“What’s your problem with me, man?” Steve asks, not unkind, just probing. He’s still winding one of the bandages around Eddie’s torso, the latter propped against the bathroom sink.

Fuck, this bathrooms massive. It’s bigger than Eddie’s entire room at the trailer. He hates it for that. He hates that he’s had more gentle touches in this bathroom in the weeks living here, with Steve, than he had in his whole 20 years since— well, since his mama died really. He tries not to think about that much.

Eddie really glad he asked; he thinks he’s had this whole speech prepped since sophomore year and Steve’s stupidly fluffy hair and smarmy grin walked through Hawkins High’s front doors. Charmed his way to top of the school with his stupid perfect life.

But, well, not all of that is true anymore. Eddie knows there’s quite a few holes in his original fantasised idea of what the perfect life of Steve Harrington looks like. Doesn’t matter, Eddie’s still got a bone to pick. He’s stubborn that way.

“What’s my problem? Did you meet yourself in high school?”

Steve winces a bit at that, his eyes ducking away but his hands keep moving, winding the gauze slowly and carefully. He doesn’t say anything, thinking, but Eddie rolls on regardless.

“Dude, you get— you have everything. You have the house, the popularity- shit, half the population of the school had the hots for you.” He doesn’t mention that he was at one point part of that population. Might still be if Steve keeps being so nice to him. Damn, he’s easy.

His tone as he talks tells a completely different story though, all annoyed and dramatic. “I once saw Miss O’Donnell wave off a failed test just cos. Just cos you were you! That’s the same fucking test that failed me the first time round.”

Eddie waves his hand around, on a roll now; he’s had plenty of practice with bitching about the likes of how Steve Harrington has it all.

“I know all this shit is, well, not fuckin’ ideal but even then! It’s like, of course, you’ll roll out of this with some badass scars that the chicks will dig.”

Steve is still listening intently, Eddie can tell because his eyes flick up to meet his every couple of seconds. His hands keep working.

Eddie huffs and winces at the pain that radiates up and down his side. “If you had these scars,” he gestures up and down. His side is undeniably worse than Steve’s own, they both know. “It would just be badass. Survivor shit, yanno? On me, it’s just, like, shitty mutilation.”

The sentence hangs in the air and Eddie feels his embarrassment creep up by how quickly that turned into a pity-fest, which absolutely not the point. The point is that Steve gets it all and Eddie gets nothing — and that’s how it’s always been.

Steve says quiet for a bit thinking as he ties off the end of Eddie’s bandage. He has to pull it tight and Eddie winces again, another flush on pain. Even if it’s not as embarrassing as it had been in the beginning, Steve taking care of these wounds for him, Eddie still hates it.

“So, that’s your problem with me? You think I get everything I want?” Steve asks plainly, pulling his hands back and folding them across his chest. Eddie hates how handsome he looks doing it. Then hates himself for noticing it.

“In a manner of words, yes.”

Steve uncrosses his arms and suddenly leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Eddie’s hips on the bathroom counter. He leans into his space and Eddie has to force himself not to pull back instinctively. Steve’s face is very close to his.

“And... if I want you?” Steve asks, voice dipping quieter in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach tighten. He represses a shudder and only after, do the words dawn on him; there’s no hiding the way he gets a little wide-eyed and fuck, he just looked at Steve’s lips. Wait, what? Eddie’s heart is thudding like a trapped rabbit’s, wild and quick.

Steve’s stare is intense, eyes a little darker than usual. He looks at Eddie and just for a moment, his gaze drops to his lips. Steve licks his own, his knuckles on the counter growing whiter as he grips it tighter and steels his nerve.

“Do I still get everything I want?”

#break from da blurbs bcos i am on STEDDIE BRAIN at the mo! #i've also had that dialogue in my drafts for yoinks #yet again.... gay ppl in my phone #i trust u to find this #sorry to all my stevie followers u will have to see this just once lol #maybe twice #steddie #ruby writes steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #wahoo

[spacedoutwitch]

Quick thing to prove I'm alive! I technically have more stuff, but I've been very distracted, and I don't feel like typing up all the descriptions at the moment, and I also don't know how much of it I want to post. Eventually! When I'm paying attention!

#Some Kinda Nonsense #It is GOOD distracted to be fair #It just involves a big shift in schedule and such #And in adapting to that I miss other things #I got ideas.... I wanna draw them.... #And WRITE them too #Side note does anyone happening to notice my tags want self-indulgent fanfic #I wanna post it but am also So Scared #Might also repost a bunch of writing to AO3 #Try and fully jump ship from DA and all that #But then I gotta come up with descriptions and that means I gotta READ stuff from like a DECADE ago #It is art and it is valid but I'm still gonna struggle so much about it if I do it #Also there is....... so much of it #Gonna fill my account with so many ficlets and it'll be a mess #Saw someone else make a year's results one work? #But that's its own kind of mess #Hmmmmmm #Anyway this means nothing in relation to this art nhfgbdfs #I asked friends for prompts and one person said a dragon in a silly hat #That's.... pretty much it

[mako-neexu]

[FGO] RERUN -wip only (not the “full” version) |Romaguda[?], meta fic, canon-ish

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Master Candidate No. 48, Fujimaru Ritsuka |  藤丸 立香

Nationality: Japanese. Alignment: Neutral Good. Gender: Female.

In their recent observations, she has the unusual capability to maintain and hold more than a hundred Heroic Spirit Contracts, has an unusual resistance to high mana concentration and poison (though this is likely due to her connection with Mash), and a remarkable talent for battle strategy.

It’s almost as if she commanded an army like before.

But it’s just a unique talent of hers. One that came in handy without him guiding her what to do. Fujimaru did state that she loved to play games of that genre so she developed that skill.

However, she was…odd.

Odd in a way that she greeted Chaldea’s staff with familiarity even if it was clearly her first time meeting them. Always waved hello to Mash and Fou with excited cheerfulness.

Looked at Chaldea’s hallways like she was at home, knew how to use the mystic codes as naturally as drinking water, knew the ins and outs of the facility in less than a few days…

And that she always, always looked at him and Da Vinci with warmth. They weren’t too close to her at first, but over time, she was becoming more of a friend and less than a colleague and subordinate.

It baffled Romani to be honest. Maybe Fujimaru was another addition to Chaldea’s new collection of eccentrics?

That could be it. That was most just her personality too. An easygoing, warm person to those she meets in life.

–

“Ne, Romani, don’t you think Ritsuka-chan is weird too?” The doctor hears Da Vinci comment out of nowhere. They were currently in her workshop, pulling another all nighter to review some documents on his part while the inventor tinkered with the work in progress mystic codes for Chaldea’s last Master.

Romani, however, rolls his eyes with a sarcastic but friendly smile, “And your brand of weird isn’t offputting?”

The genius merely snorted, “Says the one who diligently follows an internet idol’s blog.”

“Don’t you dare bring Magi*Mari into this!”

Da Vinci shook her head at his antics before pulling up a holographic copy of the red-haired girl’s profile. “I’m serious though. While I have no doubt that Fujimaru Ritsuka is an ordinary civilian dragged into this mess, there’s something about her that strikes me as odd. Call it… a genius’ intuition, if you will.”

Judging by her tone of voice, Romani immediately paid her his full attention. Because anything that has Leonardo Da Vinci speculating herself, usually meant that something was dire or at stake.

After a few seconds of silence, Romani got up from his seat and took a peek at what Leonardo was reading herself.

It was… a record of all the female Master’s activities starting from Singularity F to… the current Singularity they had just restored: the one from Camelot.

“...I think she has something to do with the Chaldeas Globe.”

What? That definitely doesn’t make any sense. It was just a replica of earth, something for the future and current phenomenon of their world to display. Sure it *is* dangerous if you come into contact with it but essentially, its purpose is tied to the Sheba Lens’ and Trismegistus’ functions.

Thankfully, an explanation was given before he could voice out his question.

“It started when Mash and Meuniere were talking about the battle simulation room, and they happened to be near the Globe. The moment when Ritsuka approached them…the Sheba Lens went haywire. Therefore also affecting Chaldeas which made it glow white for a second. At least, that’s what our eyewitnesses said.” Da Vinci ran a hand down her hair as she scrolled through the data.

Romani himself felt his blood go cold. He remembered that time. It was when he was in the middle of exiting the clinic when the alarms for their security began to go off. But everything went back to normal the next second like it never happened.

It scared him when that happened. Sure, there may be bugs sometimes on their devices and such but that was rare. After all, this is Chaldea. Where Marisbury had acquired all the current cutting edge technology imbued with magic and invested it into making this facility.

So…none of what Leonardo was saying made any sense. How could Fujimaru Ritsuka have ties to a model of the earth?

The doctor shook his head with a disappointed sigh, “Leonardo, are you even sure about your…conclusion? How on earth could Ritsuka-chan be connected to Chaldeas? What even led you to that speculation?”

Because it could just be a bug. That’s it. Nothing dangerous or anything. Just another minor malfunction in their systems. Plus, suspecting someone of tampering with Chaldea’s mainframe? Not even a top-tier technician would be able to get past their firewall or have the authority to gain access to their software. (That is, of course, if they’re both a talented mage and hacker.)

His friend and coworker pondered with her chin resting on the heel of her hand, “...You’re right. I have no basis for my claims. I just thought that I would share this gut-feeling I’ve felt since that accident with the SHEBA lens.”

Seriously? Was she really… suspicious of Ritsuka? It didn’t make him feel comfortable at the thought of accusing the red-haired girl of something she possibly didn’t do. But now that Da Vinci had addressed her concerns…

“If it makes you feel better, do you want me to ask her? Ritsuka-chan, I mean.”

Because the thought of doing an… interrogation with her didn’t sit well with him. Whether or not it is because of his friendship with the girl, she doesn’t deserve a treatment like that. Nobody does. So he’s going to honestly ask her about what happened that day.

Sure they were… more than close than the regular friendship but it wasn’t exactly a paternal relationship either. At least, that’s what he thinks.

So with that, he could maybe know something about what was up with her without resorting to… a more distant method of approach.

Da Vinci shrugged, “Sure, suit yourself, but let me know if something comes up.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the holograms and retreated further in her workshop. Ah well, it was his time to go too, anyway.

Romani exits the room with a stack of documents under his arm. Why they couldn’t just digitize the papers he still wonders. But he understands confidentiality and the risks of softcopies in their line of work.

It’s gonna be another long night though. Perhaps he should drop by the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. If there was cake, then he wouldn’t hesitate to get a slice too. So the peach-haired doctor drops by the kitchens to take a small snack with him, only to find out that someone had already prepared the food for him.

Immediately, Romani’s eyes widened at the realization. Ritsuka promised him earlier that she would be the one to deliver the coffee and snacks to his room. He runs a hand down his face at his forgetfulness. He notes to himself about having a proper sleep the day after.

Romani jogs to his room and finds that he was just in time when he saw Ritsuka knock on his door.

“Ritsuka-chan!” At his call, she turned to him with surprise. “Ah, Doctor! I didn’t know you weren’t in your room.”

“No, no. It’s my fault.” He says while rubbing the back of his neck and opening the door of his room to invite her in. “I just dropped by at Da Vinci’s place to run some files with her.”

The girl sets down the tray she was holding on his desk and smiles sadly, “Another all nighter again? Honestly, Doctor, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping for… I don’t know, a full eight hours straight?”

Roman blushed, looking away from her eye contact with a nervous laugh, “W-Well, I plan to sleep tomorrow.”

“That’s what you always say.” Her exasperated but fond look had his cheeks turning redder. This time, it was the girl’s turn to turn away embarrassed. “But seriously, get some sleep, please. I… once saw you trip on your way to the infirmary, you know.”

Romani nearly squeaked at the mention of the accident. He remembers that time well. Too well, much to his chagrin.

He sighed and rubbed his nape, “T-Thanks for your concern, Ritsuka-chan. I’ll be sure to get some then.

The smile the girl gave him warmed his heart.

After he saw her out of his room, Romani slumped against the door and massaged the bridge of his nose, “I forgot to ask her about the thing with Chaldeas…”

He shakes his head, resolving to ask her about it when the chance comes up. For now, the peach-haired man settles on his desk to start reviewing the paperwork he brought with him.

Three hours after this, he will need to check the generators again and plan the rayshifts.

-

Ritsuka’s hands were shaky. They almost always were. (Nothing but phantom pain, yet it resides, overuse, overuse, all to end it, all to fire that bullet-)

#pray for me i want this finished too #fgo #fate grand order #romani archaman #guda #gudako #fujimaru ritsuka #ritsuka fujimaru #leonardo da vinci #fate series #wip #ficlet #i guess????

[xiaoluclair]

lestappen (obvi) - "it doesn't feel the same is all i'm saying"

(feel free to make this anything from angsty to fluffy to sexy)

Charles will say, in five, ten, fifteen years time, that it would always have come to this; he will leave fingerprints pressed like fossils into the enamel coat of a high end Brazilian club sink and tell his blurry twin: We Were Always Evitable.

He watches those same fingerprints now shift purple and blue and almost shiny under a lather of moonlight, dancing like a laugh until Max pulls the band of his sweats over his hip with a muffled snap and they are swallowed, (they were never there, mists over the glass, convincing).

“But then why tonight?” he asks, spine twisted and pillow warm, “Why this?”

He is over it by this point, has been for a while if he remembers correctly with his ring drowning under the steady stream of tap water and Kuduro thumping deep through the ground, vibrating the bones in his legs; there is still memory though, the polaris of Max’s lip moving as he says, “I just wanted to give you something,” and it sounds painfully earnest, “one last time.”

And I wanted to give you everything, thinks Charles, and the little black box his knuckle nudged while he grabbed the lube with frenzied fingers hours earlier burns like ember behind his blinks as he feels something distant and aching leak over his cheeks, lets them wash away in a vortex down the Portuguese-engraved drain; Forever.

#take a wild guess at which one i went with #see if you're right #give yourself a kiss if you were and a kiss if you weren't. #xiao: asks #asks: prompt #shan my beloved #ficlet: mv1.cl16 #ty for the prompt it was soooooooo !!!!!!!! i love you and your brain #also not sure if this Thing makes ANY sense at all bUT ... ta da! #xiao: writes #lestappen #five sentence fic #f1 rpf

[lovesickshanties]

OFMD Ficlet - XV

Fireworks

Fra le braccia di Ed, l'impeto di Stede si scioglie come un'onda che si dissolve in schiuma.

Edward vale tutto.

Il panico che ferma il cuore, ogni dolore, l'anima: tutto, per quest'uomo nel cui abbraccio finisce una vita e ne comincia un'altra, per i suoi baci che sanno di fuoco e sale, per affondare le dita nella trama spessa dei suoi capelli.

Stede ucciderà e morirà per proteggere uno solo dei brevi respiri che si inseguono nel petto di Edward; e sentendo finalmente il suo peso abbandonarsi fra le proprie braccia, comprende la gratitudine della terra arida investita dalla pioggia.

.

A Ed quell'odore era mancato da impazzire.

Fino a che punto, però, lo capisce solo adesso che lo può di nuovo respirare fra i capelli, sulle tempie di Stede.

È l'odore più buono del mondo; rassicurante come una coperta calda, eccitante e pericoloso come alcool a stomaco vuoto; è nel respiro di Stede, nel tepore dietro il suo orecchio, nel calore elettrico del suo collo; e adesso che Stede è di nuovo suo, vivo e saldo fra le sue braccia, Ed vuole impregnarsi completamente di quell'odore; se ne vuole ubriacare, vorrebbe entrarci dentro, farci la tana e non uscirne più.

.

Ogni muscolo, ogni fibra del corpo di Stede risponde alle mani di Edward come a un incantesimo.

Già svaniscono gli eventi di quella notte; ma quando una carezza gli strappa un sibilo di dolore, Edward sussulta.

Si ferma, cercando lo sguardo di Stede; con gesto esitante gli sfila la camicia, per esaminare la ferita alla luce della lampada.

"Non è niente," sussurra Stede in un soffio; ma quando Edward gli preme fervidamente un bacio sul cuore, non riesce a reprimere un singhiozzo. Non è dolore, non è paura; è un'emozione pesante come un'ancora, leggera come bolle che risalgono alla superficie.

.

"Stede," mormora Ed, senza sapersi staccare da quel calore, da quell'odore.

Il fremito che ottiene in risposta gli disegna sulle labbra un sorriso, e Edward lo preme sulla pelle di Stede, inspirando profondamente.

"Stede," sussurra ancora, scivolando lentamente giù dal suo petto fino all'ombelico, fino a sfiorare la soffice peluria bionda; e le mani di Stede sono nei suoi capelli, sul suo collo, l'odore di Stede è ovunque e il modo in cui sussulta, quando Ed preme i denti nella sua carne, gli fa venire voglia di - ma Stede lo afferra, lo trascina su, lo cattura in un bacio divorante.

.

Stede non può sopportare per un altro istante di non sentirsi Ed addosso; qualsiasi cosa lo separi dalla sua pelle è un crudele ostacolo, così raccoglie Edward fra le braccia, insinua le mani sotto i suoi abiti, sentendo crescere la fame ad ogni bacio.

Finché a un tratto le mani di Ed sono alla sua cintura, e come un colpo di martello Stede comprende che, sì, sta succedendo.

Non così.

“…nel mio letto,” ansima fra un bacio e l’altro; e il respiro di Edward inciampa, si accorcia e poi riprende, mentre guardandolo con occhi immensi Ed si lascia guidare all’alcova.

.

E Stede lo preme fra cuscini di seta come una fottuta regina, gli afferra i capelli come a una puttana; e sentendo i suoi denti scorrere sulla gola Ed uggiola pietosamente, si arrende docile come un mercantile assaltato.

Poi, proprio nel mezzo della propria disfatta, una lunga carezza sul volto gli riapre gli occhi; lo riporta allo sguardo di Stede, così implorante, così desolato di desiderio, che dalle profondità del petto di Ed nasce un riso inaspettato.

Nasce l’impeto di un bacio in cui trascina Stede giù con sé, in cui sprofondano tenendosi stretti, felicemente immemori e stupidi e innamorati.

.

#ofmd ficlet in italiano #post episodio 6 obvs #questi due mi ammazzano #fic obbligatoria per gestire l'enormità del tutto #in blocchi da cento parole perché sono autistica #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death spoilers #devo ancora scrivere una drabble su Izzy ma diocristo questi due saranno la mia morte

[conquerthenight]

Platonic or romantic Ich, Maxim and Frank. You choose! I just want them all to be happy, so make it as fluffy as you like.

The second half is slightly NSFW, you have been warned.

The sound of yet another knock on Ileana’s door caused her to jump out of her skin. She had told Bea that she’d join the others downstairs in a few moments, but for some reason the wig for her costume absolutely refused to stay pinned to her head, try as Clarice might to keep it still, and she couldn’t have it falling off in front of the guests. What sort of impression would that make? And she so wanted to make a success of the first costume ball she was to host. “I think we’d best go without it” She said to Clarice, deciding she couldn’t keep everyone waiting. Maxim would no doubt understand that she had copied the portrait of Caroline de Winter without the wig. Ileana couldn’t wait to reveal the surprise to him.

“Yes, madam. It’s proving more trouble than it’s worth” Clarice said, gingerly placing the wig onto the bed before putting the white hat onto her head to complete the ensemble.

There was another knock. “Ileana, is everything alright in there? The first people are pulling in” Frank called through the door.

Oh, Frank. Ileana loved him dearly, but she couldn’t have him seeing her costume, for she hoped to surprise him just as much as Maxim. It wasn’t exactly the done thing to love two men at once, but then again, it also wasn’t the done thing for two men to openly love another, and Maxim and Frank had welcomed her into their relationship with open arms back in Monte Carlo. She wouldn’t change that for all the riches in the world. “Just a moment, love. I don’t want to spoil the surprise” She giggled to herself.

Oh, to see the look on their faces. Ileana knew they’d be so pleased.

Frank opened the door and entered anyway, wearing a sailor’s getup, complete with an eyepatch and pirate hat. Ileana could see his eyes widen, and she could tell that his reaction was not the kind of shock she’d hoped for in the least. “You can’t go downstairs in that, dear” He said after gathering his bearings.

Ileana just looked at him with confusion. “Why not? Do you not like it?” She asked. If that was the case, at least Frank was being honest about it. They were quite similar in the fact that they wore their hearts on their sleeves, unlike Maxim who tended towards keeping his distance.

“No, it’s not that. It just that…well, Rebecca copied the Caroline de Winter portrait for last year’s ball” Frank explained, mortifying Ileana.

Everything seemed to come crashing down in that moment, and she told Frank everything. Mrs. Danvers had said that portrait was Maxim’s favorite. She had taken the suggestion at face value without even stopping to think that the housekeeper’s behavior had been suspicious. She had been so cold to Ileana ever since her arrival at Manderley. How on earth could she have been so stupid?

Frank just smiled and tapped her shoulder. “Well, there was no harm done. At least you found out before anyone else saw it” He said, chuckling a little.

Ileana had to admit, it was a bit funny, even if Mrs. Danvers’ intentions had been to humiliate her. She laughed a little as well after a moment. “You’re right, I should change out of this. Could you step out for a bit?”

Frank obliged, but not before giving her a quick peck on her lips. “I’ll tell them the dress didn’t fit. They’ll never know. Maxim will probably thank you, he won’t be the only one in normal evening wear this year” The door shut behind him.

As Clarice helped her out of the white gown and into a blue evening dress, Ileana let out a long, relieved sigh. She had come so close to causing a terrible crisis. Luckily Frank had been there to prevent it.

As Frank had predicted, Maxim wasn’t at all disappointed by the turn of events. He had merely asked what had happened to the costume she ordered, and the white lie slipped out with no further questions asked. “Next year, you ought to tell me what you’ll wear in case the shops screw it up again” His comment was only half joking, but Ileana was glad he seemed in a good mood.

“Don’t worry, darling. When that time comes, you’ll be the first to know” She was not joking at all, having learned from her close call earlier.

She spent the night dancing, mostly with Maxim and Frank, acquainting herself with the guests, and even had a glass of wine or two. For just a few hours, the shy girl Ileana had been seemed to vanish, replaced by someone livelier, though she did still find herself struggling for words a few times.

By the time the guests had all departed for the night, Ileana was very pleased with how the night had gone. Her beloveds seemed of the same mind, and the three of them adjourned to Maxim’s room to do a little celebrating of their own.

“I have to say, darling, I hadn’t expected you to pull this off as well as you did” Ileana wasn’t sure if Maxim’s words were meant as a compliment or condescension. She decided to take it as the former when her husband kissed her with a passion that she hadn’t seen from him since their honeymoon.

Frank ran his hand through Maxim’s hair, giving him a playfully scolding look. “Maxim de Winter, I hope you were talking about the ball” He said.

Maxim then kissed Frank in a similar manner to how he had kissed Ileana. “Does that answer your question, my beloved?” He teased.

“Very much so” Frank smirked, lightly slapping Maxim’s ass.

Maxim grimaced. “You’d best be on your guard. I just might take my revenge for that” He rolled his eyes. “But in all seriousness, I hardly recognized our shy little wife tonight”

Ileana couldn’t hold back a deep crimson blush, though it really didn’t signify because the room was completely dark. “I’m just glad I managed to get through it, what with the mishap with the dress and all” She immediately covered her mouth when the words slipped out.

“Something wrong, darling?” Maxim asked.

Ileana shrugged her shoulders, figuring she may as well let Maxim in on what happened. “I was planning on copying the portrait of Caroline de Winter. Mrs. Danvers mentioned you loved that painting so I thought it would be a fun surprise, but a certain someone told me that Rebecca did it first” She turned to kiss Frank on the cheek, partly to thank him, and partly to put off seeing Maxim’s reaction in case he didn’t take the story well.

Her moment of worry was for naught, as Maxim laughed at what Ileana had told him. “That’s our Frank for you, darling. Saving us all from disaster” He said. “By the way, I wouldn’t trust a word Danvers says” Maxim was most definitely mocking her naivety in taken the housekeeper’s suggestion, but Ileana was in such good spirits that she didn’t care.

Ileana could feel the two men each wrap an arm around her, and she felt that this was absolute heaven. It occurred to her then that telling Maxim the rather amusing story was the only time she had thought of Rebecca since it happened. Maybe that’s how it should have always been, and she vowed it would stay that way from here on out.

“So much for taking revenge” Frank said with a triumphant smile.

Ileana grinned, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Maxim’s wrath” She laughed once more.

Maxim looked at them both with mock offense. “As if I would ever unleash my wrath on you, Ileana” He placed his hand on his chest.

“You have done and you know it” Frank retorted.

Ileana knew he was right. She hadn’t forgotten the cupid incident, or the boathouse a few weeks ago, but Maxim had yet to snap since then, and she felt he was more than forgiven, especially after how he had just pleased her and Frank. “Water under the bridge, darling” She assured.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good, Ileana” Maxim brushed his hand against her cheek. “But if you like, I could always beg you two for forgiveness”

“Well when you put it that way…” Frank began, his impish tone clearly giving away his desires.

Ileana hardly slept that night, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#sorry this took so long #i had way too many ideas for this prompt and couldn’t decide #frank crawley has the brain cell in this ship #we love him for it #proud de winter shipper #frankxim #de winters/frank #polyamory #i can’t write smut for my life #so i hope innuendos will do #rebecca das musical #daphne du maurier #short ficlet

[todayisafridaynight]

fucked up that i have two drafted comics of jo in jail and both of them Of Course hinge on whether aoki's alive or not

#snap chats #ok i have ONE of them drafted but the other one's drafted in my brain #i actually drafted the first one months ago but i didnt think it was worth anything so. its just collecting dust now #it was supposed to be a comic where ichi visits jo and has to tell him what happened to aoki #and of course the second one. da shit i been screaming and crying about all day and have been cryin bout For Months #i might do that one.. idk... idk why not.... #kinda wanna write a ficlet instead tho... but who's to say i cant do both right #me. thats the problem with me 😭 if it's too short i say 'i can just make a comic of it' #but if it's too long i say 'i'll make a fic of it' but im terrible at writing fics #but then it really will be too long to make a comic of it in a day or two and if i cant complete something in a day Or Two i dont do it #because i SUCK thats why #i just cant write a fic and make a comic... in my brain its impossible for the two to exist at the same time... #feeling like im ripping off myself Bitch WHAT. also i wouldnt want people to read the same thing twice note for note #anyway this wasnt the post i wanted to make that i ref'd in my last ask. i just happened to remember This Is A Thing #and i also was thinking about sketching out that Other prison comic before bed #ok another rambly post incoming bye