#cris writes

[crystalmonk5579]

Haii totally not a suspicious blog post for my bestie @ninjapaste >:3c

Bazhagen/Duke Wyatt

A/n: NONE OF THESE ARE CANNON BESIDES THE EAR WIGGLES AND THE EAR PETS OK?! I'm literally just doing this bc Robyn is asleep and I don't wanna bother them lol anyways let's begin!!!

~~o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o haiiiiio⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o~~

Bazhagen:

Ok, pets fucking start off with the obvious, his ears are sensitive. Like not really sensitive where it could be painful, but like, lil tingles when you touch em.

His bf Lucian(my oc) will pet his ears sometimes

This mofo can get jealous as easily as a fly and flap it's wings. Like Lucian could be talking to someone from Durmitch and if they do ONE WRONG THING IT IS GOING TO BE A FUCKING DEATH GLARE FOR THE REST OF THE COVO

Very into pda but I feel like that's a given bc of his out going natured personality

This man will constantly tease Lucian Abt anything so be fucking careful when you're around baz, he will never stop reminding you of embarrassing things. Like you guys could be talking and he could call you kale teeth in reference to when you were talking to your crush and you had a piece of kale in-between your teeth.

Doesn't trust wild animals in Durmitch for three reasons, 1.) They're probably dangerous 2.) They could be used as listening devices for some magical people! And 3.) Lucian might adopt them and they're gonna steal his bfs attention away from him >:(

Honestly, I think he might be really fucking good at rock climbing for some reason...

This man is willing to pick up his small 5' bf and just smother him with kisses in public, no holds back all out, just to either scare someone off or just to show he loves his bf sm

Willing to just show up unannounced and bring you gifts if he ever senses you are sad one singular bit. "Heyyy, I saw you were acting not like yourself, and really really sad for whatever reason so I bought out an entire bakery with my friends money, you wanna watch the real elf house wives?"

HEAVY ASS SLEEPER ISTG IT WILL TAKE A FUCKING MILLION MAN MARCHING BAND TO WAKE HIM UP A LIL BIT/hj

I think he might really be into soda or root ear floats in a modern au

I think he might also really like axe throwing too, both as practice for fighting and competition!

This man's hair is so so so fucking rough and jaggy like look at it, it looks like a susuwatari from studio Ghibli movies except they're all greased up and spiked to make him look cool

I don't think he actually likes the leather pants he wears, like they're very restrictive and not good for fighting, not to mention it must fucking itch badly since I'd assume Durmitch woods are kinda like rainforests. And we all know that leather pants + humid/wet rainy areas= ITCHY ITCHY!!!!/neg but eh, who gives a shit!?! He looks cool in em

Cry baby when he gets a cold "OUGHHHHH LUCIAN WHY MUST YOU ABANDON MEEEEE?!!?!?" "....babe you have a mild cold, you'll be fine in a couple of days" "*sniffling and sobbing* WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO MEEEEEEEE?!?!?!?"

Duke Wyatt:

His hair is so fucking soft istg, it looks so fluffy and soft and nice to touch

I bet he smells like dandelions and tree sap from the woods

Modern day au I think this man would have a skincare routine ngl

I think if he could I would actually be really really good at drawing!!! Like omfg I bet his penmanship from song wriitng

Man will sometimes unconsciously death grip Lucian while he's cuddling him by accident

Would slightly die inside if his favorite patisserie would go out of business and he couldn't get his almost croissants anymore

This man gives like the bestest hugs ever istg, they're tight and soft at the same time and theyre long but not too long that they over stay their welcome

Honestly....he'd slay in a summer dress, LIKE ESPECIALLY THOSE DAINTY WHITE ONES WITH SUNFLOWER PRINTS THAT GO SO WELL WITH A SUN HAT

Very very good at dexterity shit with his hands bc of wood carving, speaking of hands!

Very calloused and gritty on the sides bc of accidently nicking himself while making flutes and other wooden things, carrying logs, wood cutting etc etc

HE IS A FUCKING HEATER WHEN JT COMES TO CUDDLING, HE IS PERFECT FOR EXTRA COLD WINTER NIGHTS

(Modern au)Hates and I mean HATES SCARY AND GORY MOVIES WITH ALL HIS HEART

Actually more of a cat person than a dog person, as much as he gives off golden retriever bf vibes tho, they're just a lot calmer and more nice to be around...and they won't chew up his flutes!!!

(modern au) any movie relating to animals dying like a dogs purpose, Marley and me, etc etc. They make him go through all the stages of grief for a 5 day period.

He really really likes flannels too!!

That's it for now y'all!!! Have a nice day/night/evening!!

~~(⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ byeeeeeee ⊂⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠⊂⁠)~~

#cris writes #heheheheh #HAVE FUN YALL #HEHEHEHEGEH #Hdbshsbdhdit was so fun making this even at 1:39am #NON OF THESE ARE CANNON

[cubedmango]

they do this the entire way home

#carmine #rival carmine #kieran #rival kieran #pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon sv #the indigo disk #pokemon sv spoilers #my art #comic #WHEN THE SIBLINGS!!! WHEN THEY BOTH CRIED IN THE END I ALSO CRIED!!!!!!!!!!! #augghhh so many thoughts abt their complicated as hell siblingisms . So Many Thoughts. #i can only make silly comics tho but i will be looking for fics of themn having a Talk. (or writing it myself if no one else does)

[syea-say]

The finale of a never-ending masquerade.

AQ 4.2 spoilers.

#fontaine writing cooked so hard #furina...my love... i'll give you all the hugs and macaroni that you ever wanted #ok maybe not all macaroni my funds are limited #genshin impact #genshin #digital art #my art #genshin furina #furina #neuvillette #focalors #genshin 4.2 #I CRIED #another one to the speedrun pile i am so swamped #i hope everyone enjoys the 4.2 story T_T #blessing your furina pulls

[hellsenchantress]

Hot take. Baldurs gate 3 actually ISNT horny enough. It should’ve been full body shots. A03 narration.

Roll for performance. Orgasm failed.

Too low charisma? Curse of the virgin.

Too low intelligence? Afflicted with himboism.

Little blue potion of erectness. Oh no it made ur dick fall off. Didn’t have one? You do now.

Tav on their period? Everyone disapproves except Astarion. He freaky like that.

you acquired like 10 STDS and are pregnant with a mindflayer egg. Karlach goes to touch the egg and cooks it into an omelette.

It’s added to your camp supply and consumed during your long rest

#bard cries during sex and writes a song about it #baldurs gate 3 #mods gonna go crazy #baldurs gate #astarion #shadowheart #karlach #gale #well #laezel #bg3

[bread-that-draws]

Flowey’s so funny and has me so fucked up like he’s a talking flower. He tries to kill you upon your first interaction. He is ten years old. He is damaged beyond repair. He’s a flower named Flowey. He’s become friends with every single character. He’s killed all of them countless times. He knows everything about everyone. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes care of his mom when she can’t take care of herself. He’s killed her before. He doesn’t care if you kill her. He thinks she’s trying to replace him. He just wants to be himself again. He wants to destroy everything. He hates you. You’re the only one who understands him. He wants his best friend back. He’s terrified of them. He believes in kill or be killed because he died by giving mercy to the wrong person. He believes himself to be the wrong person. He doesn’t understand when you show him that kindness he showed others, even when you know he could kill you for it. He’s tried every route. He asks you if you have anything better to do when you try to do the same. He’s a direct reflection of the player. He’s a fucking talking flower named flowey and his only voice line is by Ronald McDonald and his officially licensed plush does a little dance for you

#‘Flowey would listen to i bet on losing dogs by Mitski and cry until he throws up and Chara calls him cringe from beyond the grave’ #-me to my friend when I ranted about this last night #he has me so fucked up like oh my god #how is the best character a fucking talking flower #I love undertale’s writing so much like it’s mastered minimal evidence giving away the biggest parts of characters #i can analyze him i can study him under a microscope #i can put him in a terrarium with a sticky note that says gay baby jail you know #he has me SO fucked up #flowey #flowey the flower #asriel #asriel dreemurr #I’m talking about flowey btw not asriel i know they’re the same person but not to me #like how i consider little baby me and fucked up 13 year old me different people #asriel sits on the playground and cries when nobody wants to play warrior cats with him #and flowey sits in the back of classrooms and answers ‘life is MEANINGLESS’ to every question #not speaking from experience ofc (im lying) #love my edgy flower *puts a magnifying glass up to him and notes how fucked up he is* #i think more characters need to be fucked up beyond repair #undertale #utdr #character analysis

[martyfive]

i forgive it all as it comes back to me

#ethel cain #preachers daughter #artists on tumblr #it took me half a year to finish this ‘cause every time i tried to do so i cried #i could write a whole book just about what this album did to me and continues to do #thank you for being here

[rinneverse]

cw. gn!reader x wriothesley drabble, just a wee bit of being comforted by him, suggestive towards the end, minors dni please and ty :)

“baby, what’s wrong?” wriothesley asks, pulling the covers of your bed away from your face.

“nothin’, honey.” you frown as you're pulled from your cocoon and attempt to tug the covers back over yourself. he's stubborn though, only pulling them back when you try to cover yourself up again.

“nothin’ my ass,” he gently counters. the bed dips under his weight as he takes a seat on the edge, gently brushing his hand along your shoulder when you burrow into your pillows instead.

“seriously. just feeling a bit down, that’s all.” you sigh in defeat, voice muffled by the pillow you clutch tightly to yourself.

wriothesley gently coaxes you into his hold, settling against the headboard as his strong arms wrap around you. despite your grumbling, you nestle further into him.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. his usually gruff voice is soft, a tone reserved for you and you only. “but i’m here for you regardless. i want you to tell me if there’s anything i can do for you, alright?”

“okay. i will.” you mumble. your ear presses against the warmth of his chest, his steady heartbeat lulling you into a relaxed state as broad hands stroke your back.

“that's my baby.” you can hear the smile in wriothesley's voice, a soft murmur against your temple. he tilts your chin up with a calloused finger, trailing kisses along your cheek, the slope of your jaw, ending with a slow kiss against your lips that has you forgetting what was making you upset in the first place.

when you pull away, you catch his gaze, icy blue depths filled with such love and adoration for you that it makes you feel love-drunk. you pull him in for another kiss, soft and sweet, curling yourself into the warmth of him as he holds you close.

“i can fuck the sad out of ya, if you need,” he murmurs against your lips, chest rumbling with a chuckle under your palms as you rest them there.

you press your lips together to suppress a giggle as you look up at him. “you're a horndog, you know that?”

“only when it comes to you, dear. now, does that sound good? need me to fuck you better?” there's a glimmer of hunger in his eyes as he watches you, cool hands dipping under your shirt that make you shiver.

you press another chaste kiss to his lips before you reply. “okay. but i'll be real upset if this doesn't make me feel better.”

“oh, i promise you'll be satisfied—” wriothesley grins wolfishly, the glint in his eyes your only warning before you're being flipped, pressed into the bed by the delicious weight of wriothesley settling on top of you.

he kisses down the slope of your throat, gently nipping at your pulse point before he continues: “—you know i don't disappoint.”

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#☆ oakie writes #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wrote this on a whim bc i was sad and am very much yearning for him :( #cries sobs

[demigods-posts]

just imagine percy at fifteen years old. feeling like his life is slipping through his fingers. feeling like he's running out of time to give his life purpose outside of being a child soldier. feeling like the only control he has over is life is by pushing people away. is by running away. so when annabeth calls him a coward. he can't help but agree with her.

#i was listening to non-stop from hamilton and was st that part that's like: #'how do you write like you're running out of time' #'write day and night like you're running out of time' #'everyday you fight like you're running out of time' #'are you running out of time' #and i almost cried #because that song is his song #driven by the predetermined grief of himself #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #pjo text post #pjo headcanon #percy jackson #percy jackson angst

[stevesbipanic]

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

#omfg i sobbed writing this im sorry #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stobin #robin buckely #angst #poor steve #concussions #memory loss #fuck i actually cried so much omfg #ficlet #major character death #tw major character death #tw death

[kevindavidday]

as shifty as they were when they were younger, at the actual age that andreil are at do you think they've got the potential to be friendly strangers? like not overly friendly but the kind of people who understand what being human is

think about it, the experience of living a sheltered life and neil is standing behind someone in the grocery line, watching them unable to scour up money for ramen and water so he pays for it to help things along

andrew watching a little kid peer into his mega expensive car of the year and the kid gets scared of him and moves aside but andrew opens the door moves back, tells the kid he can have a look its fine

do you think they would interfere by force if they ever saw something bad happening in front of them? neil on his runs stopping to help someone cross the road, feeding stray cats in alleyways, yk the people who know what struggle is and don't want it for anyone else?

idk if they're the type to shrug off injustice so easily, i feel like whatever they learnt as children is buried deep inside the caution and fear of strangers and all but maybe what wymack taught them would rise to the surface too cuz if wymack hadn't chosen to help them they wouldn't be alive either

#sometimes i think about how neil cried when wymack passed away #and nora said in the EC thats one of the times andrew actively held him cuz he didn't know what else to do #yeah idk im in a mood #ofc this isn't just for andreil it applies to like kevin and aaron and nicky and all the upperclassmen too #might write more abt them too #aftg #tfc #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil

[blackkatmagic]

There's something so wonderful about being in love with your own story. You don't have to love the writing, the wording, the structure specifically, and you can find flaws in whatever way you want, but loving the concept, loving the fact that you're writing it and it exists in the world and you're just having fun with the process of creation - it's so delightfully freeing.

#my writing #*cries in writer* #happy tears this time though #even if no one else likes this fic I love it enough for a hundred people #so it works out #i so rarely allow myself to like my own work that it always takes me by surprise when i do

[afewproblems]

Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs. 

Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.

It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.

He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar. 

So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together. 

Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all. 

Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead. 

Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.

He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more. 

Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.

"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth. 

He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.

"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?" 

A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy. 

But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.

The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed. 

Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.

"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.

It happens so quickly after that. 

The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.

"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.

"Harrington?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.

Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both. 

A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.

He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels. 

And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.

It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.

A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.

He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.

He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.

"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.  

"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".

"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground. 

"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.

"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.

Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.

Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of  thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants. 

He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie. 

"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.

"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes. 

"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"

Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand. 

It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie. 

From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes

Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.

"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".

Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"

He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"

Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people? 

It'll be fine, he tells himself.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Part Two

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and nancy breakup #what would have happended if eddie had been there #let me know if yall want a part two #eddie took one look at this pathetic sad man and said #I will love him and squeeze him #steve cried when nancy called him bullshit you cant tell me otherwise #afewproblems writes #steve x eddie #steddie au #getting back into writing after not being able to for weeks #cw drinking #cw smoking #i will never get tired of the halloween party au

[luxaofhesperides]

Could i request a ghostlight where danny can turn into a dragon, it could be though a curse or just training from queen dora?

Like dragon Danny seeing the yellow signal outfit and thinking "mmmmm gold, shiny, must take".

He should probably be more worried about being cursed.

Scratch that, he should definitely be more worried about being cursed. However, it wasn’t done intentionally or in bad faith. This is just the consequences of him, Sam, and Tucker fucking around and finding out when left unsupervised with the grimoire of a long dead witch.

In their defense, they didn’t know Tucker could use magic. This revelation both upset Tucker, who refused to be swayed from tech, and Sam, who thought she was a better fit for magic considering how goth she is. Danny hadn’t really cared, since he was too busy being turned into a dragon. At least it isn’t like with Dora’s necklace; Danny is still himself, can think clearly, and isn’t overcome by rage. 

He’s just… Danny. But as a dragon.

“Well, you do something to fix him then!” Tucker shouts, waving a hand in the air angrily, “Since you want to be so good at magic, you do it then!”

“I would if I could! But you’re the one who gets to use magic, so figure it out and turn Danny back!” Sam shouts back, getting in Tucker’s face with a fierce scowl.

Danny sighs, shifting uncomfortably. His room is not big enough for a dragon, and his back is starting to cramp up. He looks longingly out the window to the clear skies that call to him, and wonders when his friends will stop fighting. 

They keep shouting, so he doubts they’ll be able to focus on actually helping him for at least another hour.

The only silver lining about the situation is that Jazz and his parents are gone, taking the weekend to visit a few colleges so Jazz can decide which one she wants to go to. Though he’s been cursed into dragon form and his friends are yelling about it, at least his family can’t make it any worse with their attempts to ‘fix’ things. 

There’s a lull in the yelling, Sam and Tucker both turning their attention back to the grimoire. Danny shifts his wings, tail flicking slightly, and leans his head closer. He wishes he could help figure this out, but he can’t talk in this form, and any attempt at charades will destroy his room. 

His friends look focused, at least. So maybe they’ve decided to focus on finding solutions instead of fighting. 

“Here,” Sam says, shoving the grimoire over to Tucker roughly. “Try that.”

Tucker reads over the spell, then scoffs and pushes the grimoire back. “That’s not going to fix anything. Didn’t you read it? It clearly says truth is the greatest revenge, revealing one’s true form force it into light. It’s talking about making people who are secretly cruel turn ugly or something like that! It’s not going to do anything for Danny!”

“It says one’s true form and Danny’s is a human! That would work!”

And they go right back to arguing.

Danny sighs, turning to stare out the window again.

In any other circumstance, being a dragon would be so fun. He has wings! He’s big and has claws and can probably breathe fire! And it’s not making him act on animal instincts or anything! If he could just be outside…

He glances at Sam and Tucker again. 

Maybe he can go outside, enjoy the curse a bit before they figure out a way to undo it. Spend some time flying around with wings. 

All the curse did was turn him into a dragon. It just changed his form. If he still has his ghost powers, if the curse didn’t change his nature from halfa to dragon…

Carefully, Danny focuses on his tail and tries to make it intangible. There’s a strange sensation of ice running down his spine, then it goes into his tail. In the next second, his tail drops through the floor, and Danny bites down a grin. 

He is so out of here. 

He gives Sam and Tucker another glance; they’ve got their heads bent over the grimoire, paying no attention to him. 

Perfect.

Danny goes fully intangible and sinks through the floor of his bedroom, then maneuvers his way outside the house. As soon as he’s out, standing beneath the sunlight and able to stretch out his new body, Danny pulls his power back and takes a few careful steps on the grass, testing his balance. His wings shift on his back, and he stretches them out, feeling the way his new limbs move.

Everything feels natural, as if he’s always been a dragon.

Taking a deep breath, Danny spreads his wings out and takes off running. A few hard pumps of his wings gets him into the air, and he can’t help but let out a joyful roar. 

Distantly, he hears Tucker and Sam yelling again, but he’s too happy to be free of that room to care. Let them argue. He wants to have fun.

Staying in Amity Park is a no go; Val might go after him, thinking he’s a threat, and ghosts could pop out at any time to cause problems. He might as well take this chance to fly around wherever he wants. Chicago wouldn’t be too hard to reach with how fast he’s flying, but he’s been there before and doesn’t want to stay in Illinois. 

What other big city is nearby that he can fly to?

New York?

Or, better yet, Gotham. 

It’s definitely a bad idea, but if any city is able to handle a dragon appearing without warning, it would be Gotham. Plus, he might get to see some of the heroes in action! Sure, it’s the middle of the day, but surely a dragon is a good enough reason for Batman to show up before the sun sets. 

Mind made up, Danny flies up into the clouds and heads towards Gotham, following the roads out of Amity Park. 

The flight is quick. It takes barely over an hour to see the dark figures of Gotham’s tallest buildings, fog surrounding the city like something out of a horror movie. The sun glints off the ocean behind the city for a rare, cloudless day. He’s heard stories about Gotham’s weather, how dreary it is, the occasional acid rain, the gloominess of it all. As bad as his luck is, it seems that the sunny day is trying to give him something good to even it out after being cursed into a dragon.

Excited, Danny angles himself down, diving out of the lower clouds and shifts his wings to catch on a wind current that smoothly sends him towards the city.

Just to be careful, he goes invisible as he gets closer, staying out of sight once he enters the city proper. 

Noise overwhelms him immediately, cars honking and voices yelling, the occasional gunshot and sound of something breaking. It makes Danny wince, disoriented enough to make him falter as he flies above the streets.

Amity Park is quiet and peaceful in comparison, so much so that he hadn’t realized just how enhanced his senses had become in a dragon’s form. 

The sounds of everything are so much, and all the movement of such a big city is dizzying. At least he can’t smell anything but salt from the sea; if he had to deal with the constant smell of blood, guts, and sewage, he would find a way to fully die to get away from it.

He slows down to a smooth glide, weaving his way between buildings as he takes in the city. Even with the sun out, it’s gloomy, the tall buildings casting shadows across the streets, a mix of art deco and gothic architecture filling up the space. He wonders if he should find some place up high he can rest, maybe bathe in the sun for a bit until he felt like moving again. If he managed to fall asleep, that might give Sam and Tucker enough time to figure out how to undo the curse.

“Ow! Shit, that hurts.”

Or he indulge in his curiosity and check up on whoever just cursed loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of Gotham.

It takes a minute of searching before Danny’s eyes zero in on a bright flash of yellow moving across rooftops. 

All other colors seem dull in comparison, and Danny has just enough time to think, Oh, there’s the dragon instincts taking over, before he’s flying after it, unable to focus on anything else.

Every time the yellow leaps out of the shadows, it’s as if it glows. As if Danny’s chasing sunlight. 

He gets close, but loses the yellow every so often with how he has to maneuver around buildings, putting his new flying abilities to the test in an effort to keep up.

Then the yellow comes to an abrupt stop. Danny can’t stop in time and flies past it, tilting his body and spreading out his wides as far as he can to make a tight turn. 

“I’m fine, just bruised up, but I feel like I’m being followed,” the yellow says to no one. There’s a pause, and then the yellow says, “I don’t see anything, is the thing.”

If the yellow has anything more to say, it doesn’t get the chance to do more than open its mouth before Danny’s crashing into it, tackling it to the ground. 

He’s elated as they roll across the roof, the living sunlight caught safe in his arms. He holds it close to his chest, protecting it until they come to a stop, dropping his invisibility as a low rumble builds in the back of his throat. The dragon brain has thoroughly taken over, and it takes far too long to wrestle control back from it.

Once he’s able to think more clearly, Danny looks down at the poor guy he’s caught and realizes, hey that’s a hero!

And then he realizes, that’s a hero. I fucked up.

He tries to say sorry, but all that comes out is a low chuff. The hero, who he can recognize as the Signal because who else wears mostly yellow in Gotham, leans back as much as he can, trapped in Danny’s grasp.

“Hey, dragon,” Signal says nervously. “I’m really hoping you didn’t catch me because you were looking for a snack.”

Danny huffs, bumping his head against Signal’s chest. He hopes he doesn’t come across as aggressive, because all he wants to do is laze around with a hero, his dragon brain happy to keep hold of its yellow sunshine.

He’s not going to let go of Signal, though. He intends to make the most of this moment while he can.

“Okay. You seem friendly? That’s good I guess.” Signal sighs, then tries to wiggle out of Danny’s grip. Danny doesn’t budge until Signal gasps and curls into himself, clearly in pain.

Worried, Danny lets go of him and tries to see what’s wrong, his snout poking against the Signal’s ribs.

The Signal hisses out a breath, trying to push Danny away. “Stop, don’t do that. Man, I hope my ribs aren’t broken. That would suck.”

That would suck. Rib injuries are the worst, and the bruises always seem to stay longer on ribs than anywhere else, in Danny’s experience. He would love to offer the Signal some ice, but as a dragon, he’s not sure how to use that particular power. He settles instead for backing off and making himself small, offering an apologetic rumble.

“Thanks,” Signal smiles, gingerly uncurling from where he’s hunched over, an arm crossing his stomach, protecting it. “I guess you’re friendly, then?”

Danny nods.

“...And you can understand me?”

Danny nods harder, a high pitched growl slipping out of his mouth. 

“That’s so cool. What are you doing here in Gotham?”

It’s not a yes or no question, so Danny’s stuck on how to answer when words are so far out of reach. He shrugs, wings shifting against his back, then carefully bumps his head against the Signal’s helmet. 

“Yeah, that was a bad question. Do you need help?”

Danny scrunches up his nose as he thinks. He is cursed, but so far, being a dragon isn’t all that bad. It sucks that he can’t talk, but everything else is cool! He just doesn’t want to be a dragon forever. But it’s nothing the Signal can help with, so Danny just shrugs again.

The Signal tilts his head. “Alright. I guess I’ll get going then, and you can chill up here.”

The low growl comes suddenly, without him even thinking, and Danny wraps himself around the hero again. Distantly, he thinks that he should stop, that this is technically holding the Signal in place against his will, but the much louder, dragon part of him is deeply upset by the thought of the Signal leaving while he’s injured. Danny can protect him, so there’s no need for him to go anywhere! In fact, he’s only safe as long as he’s with Danny!

He leans more of his weight onto the Signal until they both fall back onto the roof, pinning the hero in place. 

Danny tries to be gentle, but the impact still makes Signal groan, tensing up in pain.

Sorry, he tries to say, the words coming out in a low chuffing noise. He draws his tail up to curl around the Signal so he’s completely surrounded by Danny, kept safe from anything that would try to attack him. 

Letting out a breath, the Signal lightly knocks his head against Danny’s neck, the helmet barely felt through Danny’s scales. “Alright, Oracle, can you send someone to my location? I’m a bit stuck.”

It’s hard to hear, but Danny manages to make out a voice saying, “Black Bat is heading there now. What’s wrong?”

“I’m a bit stuck.”

“Injured?”

“Just my ribs, but that’s not really the problem. There’s a dragon who’s very determined to keep me on this roof.”

“A dragon,” the voice repeats. 

“Yeah. It seems to like me? But it’s also not letting me leave. So. I’m stuck.”

There’s a pause, then a soft burst of static before the voice says, “I’m going to send a message to everyone else just in case they’re able to provide any back up. I’m sure Tim is looking for an excuse to ditch Bruce at that accounting meeting.”

“Guess I’ll just wait to be rescued, then,” Signal says, sighing. Then he tilts his head up to look at Danny. “Is there some way you could talk to me? To pass the time. Maybe morse code? Do you know what that is?”

Dragon brain makes him stupid, apparently, because Danny does know morse code. He didn’t even think of alternative ways of communication once he discovered talking was impossible with his new vocal chords. 

It’s probably not even dragon brain. It’s just Danny brain that makes him like this.

Embarrassed, Danny drops his head onto the roof, drawing his tail closer to himself so it can cover his eyes, his best attempt at hiding his face. Then, with one sharp claw, he taps out Y.E.S.

“Oh! So, what’s up?”

N.O.T. D.RA.G.O.N. H.U.M.A.N. G.O.T. C.U.R.S.E.D.

“Why did you say you didn’t need help if you got cursed?!”

Danny wants to say it was an accident, but has no confidence that he can spell ‘accident’ correctly, so he goes with F.R.I.E.N.D. M.A.D.E. M.I.S.T.A.K.E.

“And can they fix it?”

I.D.K. T.H.E.Y. W.E.R.E. F.I.G.H.T.I.N.G. Danny huffs out a breath, flicking his tail in annoyance as he uncurls slightly, giving Signal some more breathing space. He doesn’t look as stressed out anymore, which is nice, but he still holds his ribs tenderly, careful not to move too much. G.O.T. B.O.R.E.D. L.E.F.T.

The Signal taps his own fingers against the roof, thinking after he takes in Danny’s words. “Do you think we can call them and see if they know how to fix it? I doubt you want to be a dragon forever.”

N.O. P.H.O.N.E.

“It’s cool, we can use mine.” And he pulls out a cell phone from… somewhere. Danny has no idea where. It’s like he blinked, and a phone suddenly appeared. His hero suit probably has a lot of hidden compartments and pockets to hold as much stuff as possible, but it’s so well designed that Danny can’t begin to think of where he’d put anything. Especially when his dragon brain keeps getting distracted by how nice the yellow is.

Danny taps out Tucker’s number when Signal asks for it, watching as the call connects and is put on speaker.

“Hello?” Tucker’s voice says, hesitant and a little distracted.

“Hi,” Signal responds with a mischievous smile, “Do you happen to be missing a dragon? Cause I’ve got one here who’s hoping he can get a little help from a friend.”

Danny hears something clatter on Tucker’s end, then Tucker starts yelling for Sam. He’s not quite able to bite back his laughter, entire body shaking with it. The Signal keeps his composure better, but he does share a glance with Danny that has him biting his lip, trying to keep his smile from growing.

“Where is he?!” Tucker demands, and for a moment Danny feels ashamed of how much stress he’s putting his best friends through. And then he remembers them fighting nonstop while ignoring him and doesn’t feel bad at all.

“Gotham.”

“...Gotham,” Sam repeats. Her voice is flat in the way it always gets before she verbally (and sometimes physically) tears someone apart. Danny winces hard enough that it jostles the Signal, making him glance back at Danny.

“Yeah. Gotham. He said he was cursed?”

Sam sighs heavily. “Yeah. Not my fault. It is Tucker’s fault, though.”

“I think I found the solution though! And also, it was an accident. You were the one who wanted to read the grimoire.”

He can tell they’re gearing up for another fight, so Danny lowers his face closer to the phone and lets loose a dark growl. It shuts them right up, and he briefly wonders about learning how to growl like that as a human, since it’s so effective.

Tucker clears his throat, and continues as if nothing happened. “Anyways. The cure. The thing that will make Danny stop being cursed.”

There’s another long pause.

“The cure…?” Signal prompts.

“Kisses.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s kisses.”

“Like… true love’s kiss?”

Danny hopes it’s not true love’s kiss. If it is, he’s never going to be human again. Who would his true love even be? As much as he liked Valerie, that ships sailed long ago. And he loves Sam and Tucker, but not quite like that. 

“No. Thankfully,” Sam says. “Just kisses. What matters is the amount, not the person it’s from. So whoever you are, we’re gonna need you to be giving Danny as many kisses as possible until he’s human again. We’re also on our way to Gotham now. Johnny’s offered us a ride.”

On cue, an engine revs loudly. 

“We’ll be there soon!” Tucker shouts over the engine, and the call ends just a second later. 

Danny huffs, shaking his head lightly.

“Interesting friends you got there,” Signal comments idly.

Y.E.S. Danny taps out. L.O.V.E. T.H.E.M.

The Signal sits up and moves away from Danny, who has to stomp down the urge to curl around the hero tighter to keep him in place. He stands up, putting his phone away, and looks over Danny. His gaze feels like a physical weight, moving from his face, and the horns on his head, to the scales covering him, to his wings and tail.

His tails flicks back and forth nervously. Danny can’t get it to stop.

“Dragon,” someone new says, startling Danny. He spots the newcomer immediately, a lithe figure in all black perched on the ledge of the roof. Her voice is rough and he can’t see her face at all, fully covered as it is in her mask.

This must be Black Bat. He doesn’t know much about her; no one does, with how she’s managed to avoid being photographed and how rarely she is seen by anyone at all. He honestly wasn’t sure if she was real or not, but here she is.

“Hey,” Signal greets easily, “We need to kiss him better.” 

Black Bat tilts her head. “Kiss… dragon?”

“He’s cursed. And kisses will fix him. Not true love’s kiss, but just a lot of kisses.”

“True love’s kiss?” she repeats.

“Oh, shit. I guess you haven’t read any fairy tales?” Black Bat shakes her head, and Danny wonders how she’s managed to avoid all fairy tales for so long. They’re usually among the first stories children are exposed to. “Yeah, in a lot of those stories, a curse can only be broken from a kiss by someone by love.”

Black Bat nods slowly, and it’s clear she doesn’t really understand, but she does hop off the ledge and walk over to Danny. She pulls up her mask to reveal her mouth, then looks to the Signal for guidance.

“Like this,” Signal says, then leans over and presses a soft kiss to Danny’s cheek.

If he were human, Danny would be blushing madly. As it is, he has to force himself to stay still and not hide his face in his hands, claws and all, from how flustered he is.

Black Bat follows in suit, dropping a delicate kiss to the top of his head. 

Danny loses track of how many kisses he gets, all over his face, beyond flustered by the amount of affection two heroes are showering him in. It’s just to break the curse, but it’s still a lot of kisses! 

Signal kisses the tip of his nose, and there’s a flash of light. Danny feels himself change, growing smaller, his human softness returning to him. It’s barely a few seconds, and then Danny’s human again, sitting on the roof with the Signal and Black Bat standing over him.

They blink at each other for a long moment, then Black Bat smiles and pats the top of his head. 

Danny smiles. He knows his cheeks are red, can feel how hot they are himself, and ducks his head, too embarrassed to look at either of them.

“How are you feeling?” Signal asks, crouching down to be eye level with Danny.

He tries to answer, but all that comes out is a hoarse rasp. He winces and brings a hand up to his throat, then shrugs and gives the Signal a thumbs up.

He clears his throat. This time, he manages to whisper, “Thank you.”

Black Bat gives him a cheerful wave, then hops back onto the ledge and jumps off. Signal barely takes his eyes off Danny enough to give her a nod goodbye. He reaches out and brushes Danny’s hair off his forehead some before his fingers trail down the side of his face. 

“I’ll admit, you looked cool as a dragon,” Signal says, “But you’re much cuter like this.”

Danny gives in and hides his face in his hands. The Signal laughs, warm and bright, and kisses his forehead. 

“Come on, let’s make sure your friends can find you.”

“They’re going to be so annoying about this,” Danny mutters.

“It’s how friends show affection.”

“Seriously, though, thank you. I know being tackled by a dragon isn’t what anyone expects. Did I hurt you? Your ribs…”

The Signal shrugs. “Nah. I’m all good. Just a little bruised, but it’ll heal quickly enough. Though, you’re more than welcome to give me a kiss to help me feel better.”

Danny shoves him lightly for the teasing, but he does pull the Signal back for a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It’s only fair, after all.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #this was supposed to be written last week... cries. work killed me but ghostlights is bringing me back to life #with a bonus cass!! i love cass in case u couldnt tell #duke is gonna roll up at the cave for evening training. have people insist he ice his ribs after they see the bruising #and he'll say 'no its fine a dragon kissed it better' and not elaborate #everyone has questions but damian is the only one upset that HE wasnt called to help the dragon when they know he's good w goliath #this doesnt change even after duke tells them the dragon was a cursed boy who is now human again #damian is lowkey wondering if he can find tucker to also be turned into a dragon. just for fun. #it'll give duke an excuse to see danny again so obv hes gonna say yes. #meet cute? no. meet DRAGON

[starstruckodysseys]

neverafter finale was just like. pib wrecking shop (aka Actual Player zac oyama choosing violence against brennan). your bird speaks three languages. immediate bird creation. pinocchio and cinderella arguing like siblings. beaky’s sacrifice. aesop throwing a shark into the mix for some reason. flat william. i don’t like my story. aesop x baba yaga. orange hat fairy saga. terrifying dice rolls. zac’s clutch eighteen. it’s kind of like communion. ally throws the hat into the box of doom. brennan drags rick perry into the dome. why did you think that was okay.

pib taking back everything stolen from them. ylfa leaving the little girl behind. rosamund taking care of her. instead of my parents can we find my grandma. that sounds even better. walking off hand in hand with cinderella alongside them. i do love you. i love you too. pinocchio taking a moment to be alone because he knows he never will be after this. you should never have had to handle this.

once upon a time there was a princess who decided to try speed dating. sometimes they’re good ideas and sometimes they’re not and i love you both times. my first wish is to wander with you. pinocchio’s voice drops five octaves. skips puberty entirely. puss in sandals. i can’t get my daughters married for the fucking life of me. divorce court. gerard getting ripped. nocchi. i lean in for a kiss. the big bad wolf putting on an orange hat and walking off into the sunset.

and they all lived happily.

#i cried writing this lmao #IM SO EMOTIONAL ABOUT THEM AND THE FINALE UGHHHH #i’m so. i love them. i’m so attached to them #dimension 20 #d20 #neverafter #neverafter spoilers #some of these lines aren’t verbatim but like they’re mostly accurate #my brain does not remember things unfortunately

[torasplanet]

❝𝘼𝙉𝙔𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐.ᐟ❞

KANTO!M. SANO + F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; you've noticed mikey's been in such a bad mood lately and decide to give him a little gift to cheer him up!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; smut, fluff-ish?, couch sex, riding, thigh riding, lingere, praise, body worship, mikey's actually a sweetheart, bf!mikey, pretty vanilla, petnames (baby, pretty, etc), unprotected (wrap that shit or gtfo) and skin color not mentioned

Mikey had been in the worst mood ever lately.

He’s been sulking around the apartment, the frown on his face deeper than usual, not bothering to take his shoes off when going to bed leaving you to take them off in his sleep. You didn’t mind. You liked to take care of Mikey because you knew how much he needed it but it seemed like lately, he needed it more often.

You didn’t know what was wrong, and he didn’t tell you either but you really wanted to know and help him. Making him his favorite dinner didn’t work, he still seemed sad after thanking you with a kiss. Buying him things didn’t work because he asked you to return them because ‘he should be buying you things’. Even when he took it, he still didn’t look happy aside from flashing you a little smile as a thanks. Mikey was in the worst mood and wasn’t telling you anything about it! If you didn’t know anything, how were you supposed to help him? You wished he didn’t have a problem with sharing feelings.

Mikey didn’t care about telling people how he felt. That was easy, he just didn’t want to do it with certain people, not after everything that’s happened over the years. He didn’t want to do it with you either; mainly because he didn’t want to worry you. You always got so worried about Mikey even at the littlest things such as him leaving his shoes on when going to bed and he didn’t want to worry you even more with his other problems. Mikey felt lucky that you even cared enough to take his boots off in his sleep. Worrying you was the one thing Mikey didn’t want but you cared too much about him for that to be prevented.

You really did care a lot about Mikey so when the idea of giving him the perfect gift that would for sure cheer him up came to you, of course, you didn’t hesitate to do it. But not hesitating also means not thinking and you did not think about how Mikey was in the middle of a meeting right now on your way here. The memory of him telling you that after kissing you goodbye at the door had just hit as you stood in front of the door that held the meeting.

Holding a convenience store bag in your hands full of Mikey’s favorite snacks while staring at the door wondering if you should knock or just stand there until it was wrapped up. Maybe just knocking to make Mikey aware of your presence so no one hit you in your fucking face on their way out of the room was the best idea.

Bringing one of your hands up, you knocked against the rough mahogany door lightly but the sound of faint chatter stopping in the room told you that they heard it. The door creaked open soon after just allowing you a small peak in the room but Koko’s face was blocking it. His expression relaxed when he saw it was you and he opened the door completely allowing everyone in the room to see your figure.

You made eye contact with Mikey who seemed as though he was shocked that you were here and then you looked around the room at the others there, the Haitanis, Shion, Hanma, y’know the usuals. “Sorry, this is a bad time…” You muttered looking at your boyfriend again before beginning to back away from the door but he stopped you.

“No, sit.” You looked around awkwardly because of his command but obliged and made your way through the room keeping your eyes on the blonde instead of focusing on the eyes that followed you. Mikey lifted his arm and rested on the back of the couch telling you where to sit “Keep going.” Mikey spoke to the others in the room once you sat down on the couch next to him leaning against his side.

His arm found its place on your shoulder with his hand soothingly running up and down your arm. You felt extremely out of place in this room. Sanzu, Hanma, and the Haitani Brothers were all in this room and they’d done some crazy shit and here you were just sitting here happily with your gang leader's boyfriend. It was nerve-racking but you relaxed into your lover’s touch closing your eyes to ignore everyone in the room other than him.

You could still hear their conversation but when your mind slipped into a peaceful sleep, you couldn’t hear it anymore. Mikey noticed maybe ten minutes into your slumber that you were asleep and held you even closer. 

His attention from the meeting often shifted to you to make sure you were still breathing and just to gaze at you. You were so cute when slept and it hurt Mikey just a bit when he had to wake you up after the meeting had finished and everyone piled out of the room like rats scurrying to cheese by Mikey’s command.

“Baby, wake up.” Mikey muttered gently tapping the side of your face as you stirred into him. Your relaxed face scrunching up into a frown before your eyes fluttered open and you remembered who you were with and a smile grew on your face. “Hi.” You sat up as Mikey flashed you a small smile before looking away “Sorry I ate all the snacks through the meeting.” He apologized holding up the plastic bag that was deflated with the lack of snacks filling it.

Your brows furrowed as you stood to your feet “Mikey! Some was for me too.” You exclaimed watching as the long-haired male wiped his mouth of the leftovers from the snacks. He sat up in his seat before reaching over and placing his hands on your hips “Sorry. Did I ruin your surprise?” Mikey asked as he dragged you closer forcing you down on his lap. Your sour expression was quickly replaced with a confused look at his words.

“How did you know it was a surprise?”

“You never come all the way here unless you wanna give me something and it can’t wait.” 

That was true. Mikey didn’t like you being here when the other Kanto members were. You never questioned it but he just didn’t like it and you sort of knew why, not that it mattered much because you came here anyway evident from your presence in this room. Giving Mikey this surprise here was the perfect plan because he’d never expect it; mainly because you two have never had sex in this room before.

Your body burned up at the thought and you tilted forward burying your face into the crook of his neck “Well that wasn’t the surprise.” Mikey looked down at you his hand going to the small of your back at your words wanting to hear more. He backed his neck away forcing you to sit up on your own so he could hear and see you. You got embarrassed and avoided eye contact as your hands made their way down to the hem of the skirt you wore.

You slowly lifted the skirt making the white lace panties you wore visible to Mikey and his face brightened up at this clearly happy. He recognized this pair, you had a matching bra and it was a lingerie set that you had modeled for him after one of your shopping hauls and it ended up with you two making a mess all over the mattress. Mikey loved it, it was his favorite actually and that’s why you wore it.

His dark eyes fluttered up to you without his head tilting up. His silence was scaring you because you didn’t know what he was thinking about doing with you but it made you a good kind of scared. Anything that he did would be a surprise and the unknown action was giving you a rush before it even happened.

His hand that was on your back made its way to the front and up your shirt “Got the bra on too?” The blonde asked pushing your shirt up with the movement of his hand until he made it to your bra groping it a bit as you hummed while nodding. He raised the shirt completely and saw the matching white lacey bra and a smile crawled up onto his pink lips. His hands grabbed your waist as his face came close to yours after tilting his head up finally.

His breath was on your lips as he just stared at you happily taking in your embarrassed face “You walked all the way here in this…just to surprise me?” Mikey asked his lips nearly connecting with yours but you remained calm (as calm as you could be) and nodded “You’ve been sad a lot recently…I wanted to make you happy.” You replied and a chuckle came from your boyfriend as one of his hands came up to the nape of your neck, his fingers dragging lazily up your spine as he did so giving you chills.

“Don’t you say I look sad all the time?” He asked “Yeah but now you look sadder!” You shouted placing your hands on his shoulders and his grin extended nearly stretching from ear to ear “I’d do anything for you Mikey, I just wanna make you happy.” You spoke in a much calmer tone as you smiled a bit at him. Oh, how Mikey loved you. You had such a strong desire to please him and make sure that he was smiling at all times. Making him dinner, turning the shower on for him, bringing him snacks, getting all dressed up for him…you were so wonderful and he never understood how he got someone like you.

Someone willing to care for him and deal with all the shit he had even when he pushed them away. Mikey really didn’t deserve you…that’s what he thought at least. “I don’t deserve you, pretty.” He connected the two of you. His tongue wandered around your mouth trying to fight yours and of course, he won.

The kiss was sloppy and rushed as if you two only had a small amount of time. Mikey’s hands wandered all over your body during the kiss, flipping up your skirt, rubbing at your torso, groping your tits and butt, and even sneaking his hands down your panties but not to your cunt. His fingers just barely dangled past the waistband teasing you by pulling it back just a bit away from your skin and letting it slap back.

You began to take your shirt off still kissing but when you went to slide the skirt off, Mikey stopped you. “Keep it on.” He muttered breaking the kiss a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips, breaking when he leaned back against the couch staring at you half-naked breathing heavily on his lap. As your fingers inched to his belt, his voice stopped you once again “I want you to ride my thigh first.” He wanted you to what first?

You weren’t exactly complaining but you didn’t want his thigh, you wanted him inside of you. “But–” “It’s my gift, right? I get to choose how I use it.” Mikey interrupted you quickly and when you went to say something more, he shut you up with a light slap to your cunt only getting a mewl out of you “Don’t worry okay? I’ll give it to you when you’re done.” Mikey said spreading his legs making you choose one of his thighs to settle on. When you nodded in agreement, his hands went back to your hips ready to support you when you got ready to start moving.

You put your hands on the space of his thigh that you were sitting on and began to grind your hips onto the fabric of his pants gasping at the light friction. You tried to keep quiet as best as you could because you didn’t know if there was anyone else still in the building who could hear you outside of the room “Why are you being so quiet? I wanna hear my baby.” Mikey cooed leaning forward to press a soft peck to your lips before falling back onto the sofa.

When he jerked his leg up into your pussy, you let out a yelp that was louder than you expected it to be. You had the urge to send your palms to your mouth to hide your moans but Mikey’d just remove them. He was serious when he said that he wanted to hear you.

“S-Sorry…” You murmured as you continued your pace of grinding against his leg letting out soft moans from your lips. Your cunt squeezed around nothing as you continued to create friction between your legs a bit embarrassed that the feeling of Mikey staring at you hadn’t left yet but you continued.

The lacy fabric rubbing against your clit made you mewl “Feel good huh?” You nodded at his question as your hips began to move faster and harder. You threw your head back as your cunt pulsed just wanting something to fill you up to the brim, just wanting Mikey to fill you to the brim. More than anything, that’s what you wanted from him. But he was right, you were his gift after all.

Mikey’s thumb drew circles on your hip noticing how you weren’t satisfying yourself just on his thigh. He saw it in your face. That pretty face that he loved to gaze at soooo much, your lips parted open dribbling out sobs of his name “Need help? Want me to touch you, pretty?” Mikey asked softly his hand inching below the skirt fabric just waiting for your approval. Fingers hovering over your clothed clit.

You nodded letting out a little uh huh!’s practically bucking your hips into his hand “Please touch me, Mikey!” His dick was rock hard in his pants at your words but he began working his fingers on your clit ignoring the pleasurable feeling of his tip dragging across the fabric of his boxers. He wanted to watch you make a mess all over him first but with how you were looking and moaning his name, he didn’t think he’d last until then.

“Oh my–I love you so much, Mikey…feels so…” You moaned barely able to speak from the overwhelming pleasure that felt like fireworks going off in your stomach. Leaning forward, you placed your forehead on his shoulder continuing to fuck yourself on his thigh now with his fingers assisting by rubbing figure 8’s on your bundle of nerves. Your panties were drenched and sticking to you, your slick probably leaking onto his leg leaving a wet patch on his pants.

Mikey felt dizzy. His mind only circulates you and how good you fucking looked right now. He wanted to be buried inside of you so badly right now, his tip hitting that little spongy spot inside of you that would make you shout his name so fucking loudly. He needed that. Right fucking now.

His fingers stopped their movement and both of his hands went to undo his belt “Mikey…” You whined, “C’mon pretty, can’t wait anymore.” Mikey said sliding his boxers and pants down just enough to free his cock from their confinements. His face was almost as red as his tip showing how horny he was.

You wasted no time crawling back on his lap and sliding your panties to the side shivering at the cold air hitting your pussy but the feeling was soothed when you lowered yourself onto Mikey’s dick taking inch by inch. His fat cock stretched your walls out as he bottomed out groaning at the feeling of your warmth tightening around him “So fucking tight.” Mikey muttered, his hands gripping your hips harsher as you backed away from his shoulder.

“Can I move? Please, please…” You requested desperately and with one nod coming from your boyfriend, you began to grind like you did on his thigh but it felt so much better now that he was filling you up. Mikey let his head go back groaning from how good it felt but it wasn’t enough. His grip on your waist got harder as he raised you just his tip still inside of you before slamming you right back down “Ah! Mikey!” You screeched at his mushroom tip hitting your cervix but Mikey paid you no mind only muttering out soft apologies that were meaningless.

You slowly began to bounce on his cock groaning at how he shuffled in his seat angling his hips so that he hit your g-spot “I love you, baby, makin’ me feel so fucking good.” Mikey muttered bringing his head to your neck to litter kisses all over your neck and color it a deep purple. His lips were brought down to the top of your tits putting hickeys all over there. An extreme difference from the white color that was tight around your tits. He just wanted to spurt his cum all over that lace. Barely able to tell the difference between the colors.

“Fuck…” You whined barely able to talk from how good it felt. Your back arched, hands going to his back and grabbing at his shirt balling up the fabric in your palms. You were so close, just a bit more and you’d cum with him. You felt him twitch inside you warning his orgasm.

Mikey gently moved down your bra allowing your tit to slide out so he could suckle at your nipple “You’re so pretty…love you so much.” Mikey said into your skin stammering over his words just a tad bit. His hands roamed around your body once again. Mikey loved to touch you. He loved your body, the way your skin felt, how you shivered under his touch because of his cold hands, the way you arched into him because his fingers grazed over your nipples.

Your body was so beautiful to him and being able to touch it was enough for him to cum on the spot “Gonna cum?” Mikey asked with a sweet voice and you nodded violently as you continued to bounce on his cock, skin slapping echoing throughout the large room “Yeah? Cum with me.” Mikey said delivering a harsh slap to your ass. That was leaving a mark.

You clawed at the back of his shirt yelling as you came all over his dick and as soon as you did that, mikey lifted you and came all on your stomach and chest. His ropes of cum landing on the white lace, the fabric of your skirt and all over your bare tummy that would’ve been full of that liquid if he didn’t have the strength to pull out.

His eyes wandered over your body admiring his work on the beautiful canvas that was your body. Once so bare, naked, nothing on it and was painted with the white that was almost an identical color to the white that wrapped around your tits and pussy.

“Such a beauitful mess.”

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

#cried while writing this #torasplanet.ᐟ #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #marls-fics.ᐟ #manjiro sano smut #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano #mikey x reader smut #mikey sano smut #tokyo rev smut #◛⑅·˚mikey baby

[stevebabey]

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had — you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought. 

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt. 

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?” 

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.  

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it. 

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength. 

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone. 

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain. 

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly. 

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side. 

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves. 

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show. 

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies. 

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.  

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that. 

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie​ look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

#if anyone talks to me about tenses i'll come out SWINGING #not even grammarly could help me w that <3 #hopefully HOPEFULLY this is considered in character steve #in any case i spent a wee while puzzling interactions & reactions so at least u know i tried ! #its hard to pick a relationship dynamic that would work for him being surprised ur here??? while also getting a lil confession in there #i think its cute #maybeeeee lemme know what u think? hehe #anyways steve HONEY u deserve to have someone kiss all the wounds #and let u sob in their arms and yanno i VOLUNTEER #GIVE HIM TO ME AND ILL TREAT HIM RIGHT!!! #babygirl cries in this... heartbreaking but had to happen #ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #wahoo #i cannot help but post fics the moment they are finished #idc if its like thursday for all u fuckers #come get ur hurt/comfort nowwww