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stevebabey · 1 year

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no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

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Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away.

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

—

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

#OBLIVIOUS STEVE IS MY FAVOURITE!!!!#idiots in love #they're so important to me ur honour #on god am i gonna make them KISS #but steve's gotta figure it out first lol #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #i think i can call it a fic now lol each part is 3k+ i think #steddie fic #IF U WANTED TO BE TAGGED AND I DIDNT IM SORRY #lest i come off terribly egotistical i need direct instructions to tag lmao #even then i tagged sum people that just said 'can't wait for part 2!' which? isn't?#I DUNNO #i went off vibes someone said they were vibrating so i was like get over here the next part is here #one of these tags is just a steddie blog i love.... and they reblogged part 1 #corrodedcoughin <3 i love u hehe #the stobin bestie love SHINES in this #i love them so much they are BEST FRIENDS!!!#if u have any ideas... i do love reading the tags and seeing what people want to see next ! im fuckin making it up as i go lol

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seventh-district · 7 months

Text

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

#astarion x reader #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #my writing #man. this may be the quickest turnover/turnaround whateverthewordis on a fic that i've ever made happen #i usually sit on an idea and then a draft for ages before posting smthn. so given that it's only been a couple days #between the initial idea and the finished posted fic. wow. groundbreaking speeds for me #the power of hyperfixation (and love)#y'know. i've noticed a trend #why is it that nearly every time i write for a new character the first scenario i place them in involves crying #and having Reader hold/comfort them #i did it with Eddie i did it with Venti i'm doing it with Astarion. who's next. who's next in the Reverse Comfort lineup huh #idk why that's my go-to scenario it just is. maybe i do have a type. (characters that need to have a good cry in their beloved's arms)#or maybe perhaps it is i that needs the good cry and i am projecting. who knows. 'tis a mystery (it's both)#anyways i know this fic is a bit short but i just. had one little specific scene i wanted to write and that's it!#i do plan on making more for him though. i've already got another idea brewing in my brain #also sorry if 'honey' and 'love' aren't your go-to pet names. or if you wouldn't call him Star #my own style of speech heavily influences what i have Reader say in my fics and i can't help itttttt. everything i write is self-insert lma #*lmao (i’m on mobile rn i’m not retyping all of that just to add the last letter)#(yes i’m posting this from mobile cause i took a nap and overslept and missed the time i wanted to post this at. so now i am In A Rush #smthn smthn self imposed deadlines smthn smthn ‘i know the guy that made the rules and he’s a total pushover’ anyways it’s fine. post draft

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cerisereids · 1 month

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thinking about the time henry wanted to be spencer for halloween. he was clearly so excited, now imagine how excited he’d be with his own baby :,) i hc spencer as a girl dad always, so i think he’d love playing detective with his little baby girl 🥹🥹

#going to write this soon #i have such a busy week at work this week #but then i have next week off #i need to get my ideas out now tho #or else i’ll forget #writing coming next week 🫡#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #belle’s blurbs s.r.

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shirozora-draws · 1 year

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Part 1 of "dinluke + kisses ruined my workflow". Part 2 is in the far future because I am writing two fics, I don't have the time to map out and draw a 1-page silent comic. I am also still rusty as hell so maybe work on drawing a bit more before attempting another comic? Maybe????

Inspired by me losing my mind over an ask for an ask game. Huge shoutout to @violets-and-mints-reblogs for derailing the last hours of my workday. I really needed that break from writing.

#shirozora draws #dinluke #lukedin #skydalorian #din djarin #luke skywalker #the mandalorian #star wars #the ask post already has all my feelings about this frantic 1-night doodle.#i'll say - i had a very different idea about this doodle but my attention started wandering #so keep it short and simple because I work OT and I wake up in less than 5 hours #okay back to writing the next chapter of the staircase fic!

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pullhisteeth · 7 months

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you get a promotion and Eddie wants to show you how proud he is :-) with his mouth :-)

18+ minors dni! fem!reader, p in v, oral (f receiving), gross amounts of fluff, lots of swearing lol. not proofread in the slightest

Is it possible to smile any wider?

Your cheeks ache with wonder, smile lines deep and eyes sore. It’s a feeling like no other, and yet you daren’t think about how it’ll feel when you tell him.

You’re eager and light on your feet, quick steps up the concrete stairs. You climb three flights like it’s nothing and almost slip when you reach the door. It takes you one, two, three goes to get the key in before you’re wrenching it open to find Eddie sitting lazily, reclined and dozing, on the couch.

He perks up when you drop your bag and kick off your shoes, eyes opening slowly as he lifts himself to sit upright. You shuffle, tugging your scarf off and your coat along with it. Where you’d ordinarily hang them carefully by the door, above the rack for your shoes, you drop them, far too elated to think about anything else.

“Hi,” Eddie sings, a dopey smile creeping in. He’s in his sweats, and the smell of pot lingering in the room, despite the open window, is proof enough that he’s enjoyed his day off.

“I got it,” you say, breathless, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. You watch as his eyes widen, smile dropping only for a second before he’s beaming just as much as you are.

“You’re serious?” he asks. His voice is louder now, as though you’d slapped him awake.

“Serious,” you respond, “I got it.”

He’s up quicker than you can think to expect, crossing the room in bounds to wrap his arms around your middle and lift you effortlessly off the ground. He’s squeezing you, spinning you, laughing like a mad man.

“No fucking way!” he’s shouting, and the elation in his voice alone could keep you feeling like this for weeks.

You’re giggling, happy noises squeezed out of you as he rubs his face into the pretty silk of your blouse. He lets you down slowly, softly, your socks hitting the carpet as his hands come up to hold your face. His palms warm your frosty cheeks.

“You,” he says, using his grip to look you square in the eye, “are so amazing.”

He kisses you on the mouth, hot and heavy and possessed by joy, and then begins an assault on the rest of your face. Each kiss is sweet and lovely and makes you giggle, and he dots them between gasping declarations: you are incredible, I love you, I love you so much, I am so proud of you.

That last one is what does it, sends your knees weak as you buckle. His arms are swift and secure, pulling you up and across the room to the couch. He’s still kissing every part of you he can reach: your temple, forehead, the crown of your head, and finally your nose. He lays you on the cushions and his fingers move quicker than his hazy brain, still a little cloudy with the remnants of the afternoon’s joint. He unbuttons your blouse, deciding it looks far too pretty on you to risk popping any buttons. His lips aren’t far behind his hands, dotting kisses over the skin between your collarbones as he tugs the shirt down your arms and pulls it out from underneath your body. He’s warm and lovely and your fingers can’t help but take root in his hair, tugging softly but never too rough.

“You’re amazing,” he repeats, breaths filled with love. “So amazing.”

“Eddie,” you whine, squirming under his hands and mouth, your insides bubbling with pride and love. You’re delirious with it, still giggling and humming contentedly when the pads of his fingers brush over the lace of your bra.

He’s riling you up in every way he can. With your shirt on the floor he can make quick work on your chest, tugging material down so he can dote on the swell of flesh. He leaves reckless marks, blooming purples of pride, and as his warm hands inch around your back to the clasp you arch into him, against his hip and the ghost of the way you’re making him feel.

“I know,” he coos, light and airy as his breath hits your face. “Shit, I know.”

Swiftly, he pulls the bra off and out of his way, but it’s too much - why are you like this while he’s bundled in a sweatshirt? There’s too much between the two of you, too many layers, and your skin is burning and you need to know that his is as well.

Your impatient fingers paw around the bottom of his sweatshirt, where the hem of his t-shirt peaks out. With a kiss clearly aimed at your nose - he misses by an inch and lands an awkward one beneath your eye - he leans back onto his knees, eyes tied to yours, and tugs both tops off in one quick movement.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself if you tried. You press tough palms against his stomach, fingers splayed over ink and skin, pawing at flesh like you’re dying. He laughs at you, a smug and breathless noise, as he tosses the material across the room. You hear it land with a thud just as he kisses your jaw, lips leaving a hot trail down your neck.

You wriggle, hands back in his hair, mewling at his kisses and this reaction to your own hard work. Eddie couldn’t be prouder of you, you knew this anyway, but to feel so appreciated, so acknowledged, and for him to feel pride for you, sends you dizzy.

“You’re amazing,” he tells you again, words scattered between more kisses to your sternum, stomach, waist. “Worked so hard, y’deserve all of it.”

You hum as he looks up at you from under his lashes. He kisses a straight line from one hip to the other, over the waistline of your trousers, which he pulls between his teeth. You laugh, reeling from his softness and his silliness, and wriggle your hips impatiently. He scrambles to get the button and the zip undone, and you writhe around as he pulls the fabric over your thighs, knees, calves, finally pulling it off your feet and throwing it to join the mess already scattered across your living room floor. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake and you cave for him, body drawn to his carnally.

“G’na show you how proud I am,” he tells you gently, his hands framing your hips. He tugs at the faded cotton of your underwear and you nod for him, desperate for whatever he’s about to give you. There’s a chill from the open window and it distracts you from whatever he does with your pants - you squeeze your thighs together to hide from the cold and he tuts, tinged with something condescending but entirely playful. Prising your knees apart, he leaves kisses on his journey, up the warmth of the insides of your legs and past where you want him. He kisses your hip, and then the other, and when he looks up at you, he says, “Good girls get rewards, hm?”

You keen, whining again, eyes squeezing shut because he’s taunting you, teasing, and it’s unfair. But then his fingers find yours and he holds your hand tight, squeezing, as he kisses between your thighs.

The moan that rips from you is ungodly. You feel him echo it and the vibration is just as sweet. His mouth is everywhere at first, uncoordinated and frenzied, until he settles where he always does. His tongue makes tender shapes around your clit, drawing whimpers from you, and then you feel the fingers of his free hand.

It’d been around your thigh, rings twinkling in the light of the lamp on the sideboard. Now, though, it’s slinking underneath and joining his mouth. He prods gently until he finds what he’s looking for, and breaches you with two cautious digits. You’re fussing, a darling mix of giggles and whines, fingers pulling less than kindly at his hair now, moving him as you please. His fingers curl in a come-hither gesture inside your walls, encouraging the precipice; his mouth, his tongue, is kindling flame with obscene noises that you’re quickly going deaf to as the blood pumps quicker, thicker. You can feel him trying to dirty talk against your wet, but it’s no use. You couldn’t hear him even if your eardrums weren’t buried beneath rushing, because he’s too preoccupied to make himself audible. He’s doing his favourite thing, and he’s so nearly got you there.

“Eddie,” you moan, “please.”

He hums in response and adds a third finger, slow and attentive just in case, but you’re loving it. The electric current is sizzling around your centre, your stomach tightening in knots, and god, you’re nearly there.

Eddie lifts himself from you and your displeased whine is interrupted by his thumb replacing his tongue. He pushes deft circles there, in rhythm with his fingers.

“You’re so good,” he tells you, “So smart and strong, you’re such a clever girl.”

He shifts up the couch to your level, his hand still busy.

“‘M so close,” you tell him in a whisper. He kisses your cheek and the corner of your right eye, where a tear has broken loose and is making a run for it down your temple. “So close, Eds.”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you, hm? Gonna come for me?”

You make a gorgeous, strangled noise as you do, riding his hand and chasing his mouth with your own. You taste yourself and lingering peppermint until you can’t kiss him back any more because you’re gasping for air and telling him Eds, enough, please.

He retreats gently and brings his hand up to his mouth. You look at him from under drooping eyelids as he goes all salacious and dramatic, all three fingers in his mouth like it’s nothing. It’s stupid, because he’s winding you up again, but he’s so damn good at it. The sight is downright erotic and you keen, eyes widening in want.

“Hm?” he hums, pulling his hand away. “What d’ya want, pretty girl?”

You say nothing, choosing instead to open your own mouth, tongue sitting happily on your bottom lip. He smiles down at you and relents, laying two fingers on your tongue. You take them between your lips happily and suck, eyes fluttering closed, as you feel him shifting beside you. You take your cue, using your free hands to tug at his sweats. He’s hard as stone, prodding you through the soft jersey, and you’re desperate to feel it for real.

He moves to help you as you pull them down to mid-thigh, low enough that you can get your greedy hands on what you want. You hear him suck in a breath as you wrap around him and slide up and down, up and down, pleasantly humming around his fingers.

“Shit,” he hisses, “gotta- Shit, gotta stop, I gotta get inside you.”

Never one to deny him, you let him have his hand back so he can rest himself over you. He takes your thigh in one, lifting it up to his hip, as you continue to reach down and line him up.

“You ready?” he asks quietly, mouth by your ear.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum.

Eddie decides here, as he pushes into you, that he’s going to treat you like you’ve just had a promotion every single day for the rest of your life. He concludes that this is what you deserve, to be handled tenderly like this, and nothing less.

“Christ,” he pants, “I- fuck, I’m so proud of you, god-”

“Eddie,” you whimper, “please move, fuck, I-”

“You’re so good,” he repeats. It doesn’t stop, the praises - he calls you every word he can think of: amazing, incredible, smart, clever, pretty, tight. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, high on his devotion.

“Good girl,” he says as he pulls back. He thrusts in quicker and rougher, but his words are too kind to think he’s anything but a boy in love. “How’d I land you, huh? Amazing girl, so clever.”

You’re going dumb on him, mouth agape, so he seizes his chance. He taps your cheek lightly, just once.

“Open up.”

You open your mouth wider, knowing what’s coming and greedy for it. You stick your tongue out again and he replaces his two fingers, but you’re too far gone to suck, so he leaves them there, heavy and grounding.

It riles the tightening in your stomach and you arch your back into him as he thrusts in, out, in, out, a steady rhythm that matches the pretty grunts he’s making above you.

“Eddie,” you breathe, “I’m so- I’m close again, fuck-”

“Can feel it,” he says, “so tight, shit, feels so good.”

“You’re so deep,” you whine, “can feel y’in my guts, fuck.”

He groans at this. “Shit, sugar, y’can’t say shit like that, g’na come.”

“Please, wanna feel it, Eds.”

He’s stuttering, hips faltering, the fingers in your mouth unsteady so he removes them and uses the wet from your tongue to ease the friction on your clit. His hand travels down and when he finds purchase there, he moans, feeling you tighten around him at the contact.

“Fucking hell-”

“G’na come, Eds,” you manage.

“Come on,” he encourages, “Come again, fuck, y’can do it. Know you can.”

It’s getting hotter, hotter, hotter, winding and winding and snapping before you can warn him. You come hard and quick, limbs going limp and teeth biting deep into your bottom lip as you moan. He keeps going, eyes opening to check over you for any sign that he should stop but he finds none before he goes, too.

“Shit, Eds-”

“Christ-”

You feel him stiffen and rest on you as he paints your insides. He’s panting just as hard as you are and your skin is slick with sweat and spit.

He pulls out gently, easing you through it when you whimper at the feeling, and settles with his face at your chest. As you heave breaths, you stroke the damp hairs away from his forehead.

“Fucking hell,” he says again. You giggle.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He shifts so his chin rests on your breastbone. “For what?”

“For being so lovely.”

You see his already flushed cheeks brighten with a new redness. “Shut up,” he says, smiling and resting back on his cheek.

“I’m serious.”

“Just proud of you ‘s’all.”

“Thank you,” you repeat.

After a few minutes of quiet, save for your breathing and the hum of the fridge on the other side of the wall, he lifts himself up to rest on his forearms.

“How’s a celebratory takeout sound?”

You open your eyes and look at him. He’s staring down at you, wide, brown eyes like ebony. His cheeks are still flushed pink and his hair’s a state.

“Chinese?”

“Anything you want.”

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss before he lifts himself off the couch. He’s only gone for a flash, and returns wearing new sweats and a t-shirt. He brings you your favourite pyjamas, fresh out of the wash, and a damp cloth. After he’s cleaned you up, you hop to the bathroom to pee.

The clothes are gone from the floor when you return. You pull on thick socks and listen to Eddie on the phone in the kitchen, reciting your order to the kind lady at the local Chinese restaurant. It arrives quickly, with a bottle of wine you didn’t know about, and you eat noodles and drink with him on the couch while you tell him about your meeting.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a small foil package.

You tear it open and he does the same. You look at him and he nods, so you crack open the cookie to pull out the paper inside.

“The one you love is closer than you think,” you recite. Eddie looks up at you.

“How can I be closer?” he asks, brows furrowing, looking down at where your legs are resting on his lap. “You’re practically sat on top of me.”

“You were just inside me,” you say, smiling at the way Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what’s yours say?”

He looks down at the paper held between his fingers and grins. “Before you receive, you must give.”

You laugh, loudly, and he looks back at you.

“Well,” he says, leaning over to put his plate on the floor, “I did give, so…”

You gasp and swat at his arm, but you can’t help grinning. Your cheeks are aching again, your chest glowing golden with love. He holds your calf with one hand, squeezing, and reaches the other up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I really am proud of you, y’know.”

“I know.”

“You deserve it. I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as you do.” He curls a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you give, leaning into his palm and letting your eyes close. “Wanna go to bed?”

“Mm-hmm. Will y’carry me?”

“On one condition,” he says through a sly smile. You open one eye and narrow it, glaring at him.

“What?”

“You make my fortune come true in the morning.”

You bite down a smile and close your eyes again.

“Nice try, hot stuff.”

#I have absolutely no idea where this came from #one minute I was cooking the next I'm typing out smut like my life depends on it #enjoy anyway x #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie fanfic #eddie fic

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getindumdums · 2 months

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*sees party

*dips

@tmntaucompetition

Edit: Find my new fic here!

#I have so many ideas for my fic #and almost zilch to what I've posted about it #So you get this for now maybe next tmnt comp #rottmnt #get in dum-dums we're going vandalising #turtles forever ii #tmnt competition #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 2012

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 97

Part 1 Part 96

Perkins and Barb are already there when Eddie wakes up. Perkins hushed laugh grates at his brain, shredding it like cheese until he has no choice but to open his eyes.

“What the fuck?” Eddie murmurs, rubbing dust bunnies from his eyes.

They’re sitting huddled together at the side of Steve’s bed, Wayne at their side in his own chair.

“Mornin’, boy,” he says, sipping at his shitty cup of free hospital coffee as he looks down his nose at Eddie’s prone form. “You done hogging your friend's sick bed?” He puts a weird inflection on the word ‘friend’ that has Eddie’s cheeks blooming.

“Shut up, old man,” he hisses.

The bed’s a tight enough fit that he can feel Steve’s warmth radiating all up his back and up his ribs where his arm’s partially wrapped around Eddie. He tries to shuffle free, movements slow and furtive so as not to interrupt his sleep.

It doesn’t work. Steve’s arm tightens, the metal splint on finger painfully into Eddie’s ribs as he mutters, “where you going Eddie?” but he slurs it altogether and trails off so it comes out more like, “wherego, Ed.”

Eddie smiles, helpless and aching with it as he settles back onto the hospital's shitty cardboard mattress.

“You’ve got visitors, angel.”

Steve’s hand leaving his waist feels like a loss. His elbow digs into Eddie’s back as he props himself up enough to be able to see past Eddie’s wild hair to who’s sitting beside his bed.

“What the fuck?”

Wayne huffs. “Mornin, kid, reaching past Eddie to ruffle Steve’s hair. “How ya feelin’?”

“I’m fine,” Steve lies, voice turning distant and small as he asks, “Carol?”

Unable to stand not seeing Steve’s face for a second longer, Eddie shuffles within tight quarters to lever himself up, back plastered to what passes as the bed’s headboard. Steve’s still propped up on his elbows, arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up.

Eddie reaches over, pulling with all his strength until Steve’s settled upright beside him. Steve doesn’t turn his way, but he reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand like it’s instinct, and that’s even better.

Steve’s eyes are big as he looks over at his best friend. “What–” he starts, word cracking dryly in his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Eddie reaches over to grab the pitcher of water on Steve’s bedside table, glowering when Barb beats him to it. She pours it into one of the hospital's flimsy paper cups, holding it out to Steve like an offering.

He takes it, gulps it down, doesn’t look away from Perkinsl’ washed-out face.

She’s not wearing any make-up, and her hair’s gone all greasy and flat. Most damning, she’s wearing one of Steve’s Hawkins swim team hoodies that Eddie knows for a fact was folded up in his own dresser at home. It swallows her, hanging past her hips until she’s shapeless.

She looks worn down and tired. Still, she rolls her eyes as Barb settles back down beside her. “What, you think I was gonna miss the show?” she asks. Her lips are quirked up playfully, eyes glossy. “It was like King Steve all over again”

Eddie looks away from her to watch that land on Steve. Steve who has always somehow been more and less than those around him make him out to be. Steve who’s always been more than a simple high school king. He furrows his brows the way he does when he knows there was a joke but the punchline hasn’t landed for him.

“Wha–”

“You know because you were out of your mind and lost control?”

Eddie whips his head around, ready to strangle and snarl, rend flesh from bone. Barb sighs, dropping her face in her hand. Perkinss just sitting there, biting her lip on a laugh as she keeps her gaze trained on Steve. Like she hadn’t just said the most insensitive fucking thing Eddie’d ever heard come out of her mouth.

Eddie feels Steve’s whole body tremble where their pressed hip to overlapping hip in the small bed. The rage boils inside Eddie until he’s shaking with it.

Behind him, Steve Harrington laughs. Eddie turns. Steve’s shoulders are shaking as he bites his own lip against his own helpless laughter, eyes shining as he looks over at his morbid, fucking up best friend.

“Personally, I think this is an upgrade,” Steve says because even in this, these two are fucking freaks about everything.

“Beer pong to dropping bodies?” Perkins asks.

Eddie can’t help the way he gasps, clutching at his chest like he’s a suburban Mom that just caught sight of some ruffian in the grocery store. Perkins shifts her eyes over to Eddie, and somehow looking at his beat up face is what gets her crying.

It’s less that she stands up and more than she tries to stand, lunges forward, knees hitting the metal edge of the bed with a thwack as she crawls over the safety railing and falls partially on top of both their mangled bodies.

Eddie tries to squirm out and away, but she’s got her face buried in Steve’s shoulder, arms wrapped around both of their necks. “I’m sorry I got lover boy's face beat in!” she warbles.

Steve snorts, snotty and wet. “That was you?”

They’re both messy, crying and laughing, refusing to let Eddie off this fucking bed and away from whatever the hell has infected it. He raises his head in desolation to meet Barb’s resigned gaze.

She shrugs at him, chin cradled in the palm of her hand as she watches the two idiots in the bed lose their shit over something that should’ve never been funny.

Eddie squints at her. She looks so ready to accept fate, like of course Perkins would be like this, and of course she’ll stay anyway. Somehow, after such a short time, they’re already a package deal.

Well, she could do worse. They both could

“Carol, you–” Eddie starts before stalling, staring with wide eyes at Barb’s amused face. He clears his throat, starts over even though it’s too late. Names hold power, and now Carol’s gonna have ownership of his soul. Or however it goes. “Perkins, you’re a fucking freak.”

Carol sniffles and snorts, like a pig in a bog before lifting her head from Steve’s neck. Her face is covered in snot and saltwater, eyes puffy and ruined, but she’s smiling when she flings her arms around Eddie, rubbing her face into his own shirts despite his protests.

“Takes one to know one, darling,” she says, hugging him tight.

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #ok my brain worked well enough to write this today. no idea if it's coherent but here we go! We'll fix it in post lol #still no guarantee when the next update will come. my brain is a balloon waiting to burst

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onnoffwrites · 7 days

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After recent events, I ended up going back to the beginning to check things, because my first reaction will always be "wtf, this is shit, why would you do this" and my second reaction will always be "okay maybe that was a bit much, maybe he's not THAT bad, maybe has a good reason-

Okay.. that doesn't rly mean anything, maybe she's just worried kaito found something he shouldn't-

Okay.. okay this looks, well maybe he's just leaving some recordings in case kaito found something he shouldn't! It's not like they can hide it forever! The room is part of the house! Kaito lives in the house-

Excuse me... What did .. what did you say...? Wha

What do you mean "designed"?

What??? What do you MEAN "designed to open after 8 years"???

I have been angry since April 12th and I've reached a point where I don't even know what to feel anymore I don't even know what to tell y'all.

Like, wow, omg, movie reveals. Other than family relations, the other thing isn't exactly anything new. We've all read Midnight Crow. We saw Kaitou Corbaeu. We've been in denial until finally reaching acceptance. For me at least. And then we spend a few years bargaining, bc surely there's a good reason kaitos not in the know. That kaito has to be KID. Surely there's a reason? Right?

Right???

At this point we don't even truly know if Jii is in the know and was acting as planned out by the parents or not. Or if he's just like kaito. Tricked, lied to, played for fools. At the very least ginzo doesn't know, so there's that. Not sure how much that would help kaito when he inevitably finds out. Because he will. The fact remains that it's quite suspicious that Jii just so happen to choose to don the KID outfit and become KID to draw out toichis murderers exactly 8 years after toichis death. EXACTLY the same amount of time that was set for that trap door portrait to open to kaito.

There's a lot of implications to think about

#magic kaito #kuroba kaito #kuroba toichi #kuroba chikage #i don't remember jiis name #im still so mad i dont know what to rly do next other than just stew in the feeling #fortunately(???) one of my kinda fucked up fic idea that i scrapped kinda work perfectly with this gaslight gatekeep manipulation ass shit #rambling rambling rambling #rambles #ramblings #also no movie spoiler in tags and replies pls #i know all the spoilers #but i dont want to participate in untagged spoiler discussion on main #just keep it out of this post pls for the sake of people who somehow managed go not see any spoilers yet #im open to yap in dms tho lmao

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spaciebabie · 2 years

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Part 3!

Start / Part 2 / Part 3 (you're here!) / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Aftermath

Throws this at you n runs away

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rustingcat · 6 months

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Supercorptober 2023 masterpost!

After promising myself I won't attempt it again this year, not only did tried again, but I made the insane decision of trying to write a multichapter fic with daily updates and a unique daily drawing on top of that. I'm still shocked I got it done on time.

Thank you @kmsdraws for the list! And the biggest thanks to my lovely Beta @snowydragonscave for her hard work and for keeping up with this insane pacing!

All the posts are organised in the list below, but you can find the entire story in order on AO3.

1.Wild 2.Romance 3.Kara

4.Money 5.Maroon 6.Write

7.Love 8.Vigilante 9.Breakfast

10.Twilight 11.Earth 12.Desk

13.Spice 14.Midnight 15.Game

16.Heist 17.Music 18.Lena

19.Hazy 20.Control 21.Lavender

22.Art 23.Morning 24.Enchanted

25.Cottage 26.Dinner 27.Cardigan

28.Seasons 29.Stars

30.Magic 31.spookycorp

You can find my drawing, animations, and the special one-shot Halloween fic from last year's supercorptober right here.

#thank you everyone who commented liked and reblogged!#you have no idea how much it means to me <3 #supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorptober #supercorptober2023 #art #my art #my fic #theres no way im doing this again next year...

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petite-phthora · 11 months

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Can I kiss you?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 1]

Next >>

Ao3

---

“—so sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to kill him! It was an accident! He just jumped me out of nowhere and I have had bad experiences with clowns in the past so when I saw it was a clown trying to kidnap me I kinda just panicked and punched him! I swear, dude, I didn’t mean to hit him so hard—“

Jason, much too calmly, likely in some form of shock, rises from the crouched-down position he had been in to check the clown corpse’s pulse.

He had seen the poor, still rambling, twink getting grabbed from a distance and was about to step in as Red Hood, not even having been aware it was the Joker who —shouldn’t he have been in Arkham? There has been no announcement of him breaking out yet— had grabbed the guy until he had run close enough to the scene.

Which was after the guy had already been startled so badly by the Joker trying to kidnap him that he sucker punched the Joker into the wall of the alley so hard the clown died.

Said twink then realized what he had done and that he had a witness, that witness being Red Hood himself, and had started his frenzied speech on how it was an accident and to please don’t take him to jail he’s only just started his scholarship at Gotham U. and he can’t have murder on his track record yet.

Breathless, Jason looks at the nervous twink in front of him, who's still trying to plead his case, and who just obliterated the Joker with a punch.

Before his brain can catch up to his mouth, he’s already cutting the distressed monologuing off.

“Can I kiss you?” He blurts out.

Danny, taken off guard, breaks out of his panicked—oh, Ancients, I just killed someone— stupor and lets out a startled laugh.

“Take me out to dinner first” came the automatic joking reply, Danny still largely in shock of what he did.

Jason, either not picking up on the joking tone or ignoring it, nods seriously, already trying to come up with the best place for a dinner date with the cute twink to thank him for his service to the city.

Danny, who has calmed down slightly by now, glances between the red-helmed vigilante and the clown corpse. His gaze lands on Red Hood and he hesitantly speaks up again.

“So, uh, what happens now? Do I need to go to the station to make a statement orrrr?” He pauses awkwardly.

Jason, who’s still trying to figure out whether the Bat Burger would be a good place for a first date or not, doesn’t reply.

“I’ve got school in the morning and I only have like,” he pauses to check his phone for the time, “3 more hours before I have to be up for my first lesson. Soooo, I’m just gonna go. That cool?”

Again, he waits for a reply. But it doesn’t come.

“Right. Cool cool. Uh, see you later? Mr. Red Hood dude sir?” Danny gives a clumsy and awkward salute before turning tail and speed-walking away.

It’s not until 30 minutes later, once Jason has finally decided on the perfect place to take the guy to dinner to, that he realizes the twink is gone.

Fuck, he forgot to ask for the guy’s name.

…

And number.

#dp x dc #I imagine the next day danny is in his apartment and gets interrupted by a knock #on the window #and he just opens the window to find red hood outside #jason: so u ready for that dinner?#danny: ???!!?!#jason: ive got the entire night planned out for us first we’ll have dinner and then we’ll go to the gotham observatory-#danny: say no more #danny doesnt even question how red hood found out who he was and where he lives and even that he likes space #meanwhile jason spent the entire day trying to find out everything he could about the mysterious twink #he probably got tim or babs to use the cams + facial regcognition and stuff to find out everything he could abt danny #tim/babs: alright so his name’s daniel fenton and he’s been living in gotham for abt a week now cuz he started at GU and-#jason: what’s his favorite color? what are his hobbies? what does his dream date look like? give me something to work with here #dp x dc fic #well less of a fic and more of a one-shot or short prompt #just something I randomly came up with and fleshed out a little in my head during work cuz i was bored #love the idea of jason seeing twink!danny obliterating the joker with a punch and just. falling in love. immediately #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dead on main ship #petiteposts

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chronicowboy · 1 year

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Natalia texts him four days after Kameron interrupts their date. He has to admit its a shock. He'd kind of just assumed that whatever thing that may have been blooming between them had shrivelled and died. He hadn't been as distraught as he thought he might be, in fact he'd been a little lighter since she walked out.

(Until Eddie had told them about bumping into Marisol at the hardware store, but he doesn't really want to think about that too closely.)

They meet up at a coffee shop because Buck isn't quite sure what to expect, but somehow inviting her back to his apartment feels like a step over the line.

"I'm really sorry," she says as soon as she sits down. "I reacted poorly and I just wanted to get my head on straight before I got back to you again."

"I get it," Buck shrugs, smiles. "I dropped a hell of a lot on you that night. Like all at once. Guess its easier when its just words and not a very pregnant woman on your doorstep."

"Yeah." Natalia laughs, ducking her head. Buck knows she's beautiful, stunning even, but he doesn't feel it. "It was a bit of a shock to say the least." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at him. "I was blindsided, I reacted badly, I'm sorry."

Buck bites back the instinctual dismissal on his tongue, hears an echo of Eddie's you don't have to be anything for anyone.

"Thank you for saying that." Its an awkward thing to say, but Buck is getting better at not cutting parts of himself off to fit into other's perception of him.

"Did I blow this?" She grimaces at him, an apologetic thing that makes Buck huff a small laugh. "I feel like I blew it." She bites her lip. "Its just... You know, you spend so much of your life confronting death that you forget to be afraid of it. But the act of creating life," she releases a long exhale, "that's terrifying to me."

"And I get that." Buck nods, but he doesn't. Not really. His job is filled with so much death, life is a luxury, a privilege. Every time they get to help a mother give birth to her child, Buck feels an old wound from a loss on the job heal. The circle of life, Chim would call it.

"I just." Natalia sighs. "This isn't really something you say on like a third date, but I also feel like the whole sperm donor thing wasn't a second date topic, so I'm just gonna say it anyway." She glances over at a couple in the corner, the man wiping foam off their toddler's chin. "I'm not ready for the whole life thing." Buck blinks. "Like kids. I just don't see it happening for me. That's why I reacted the way I did."

"Because Kameron was pregnant?" Buck frowns, heart stuck on her words.

"Because you're a father," she says plainly.

"But I'm not." Buck huffs, scrubs his hands over his trousers. "I'm the donor, not the dad. I'm not really involved. I just gave them my DNA. Sure, I might see the kid from time to time but that's because Connor and Kameron are my friends. Its not because I'm actually that kid's father."

"But..."

"No, Natalia. I am nothing to that child apart from a family friend. That's it." Buck says it and something inside him settles.

"You're sure?"

"Positive." Buck nods. "You want to get a coffee? Try again?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice." She smiles at him, and Buck reaches for his phone just as it buzzes.

christopher: i need your help

christopher: dad's hopeless

Buck snorts down at the texts and shoots an apologetic look up at Natalia as he types out a response.

tell him not to touch anything and i'll come over to help around dinner

"Everything okay?" Natalia quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Buck stuffs his wallet into his pocket as they stand up. "Eddie, um, firefighter Diaz," she nods in recognition, "he's trying to help his son with this big project he has. And Christopher is asking me for help, so I can only assume he's doing an embarrassingly bad job."

christopher: you better hurry, i don't want to fail because dad glued his sliders to the floor

Buck sends a line of emojis he know Chris will get a kick out of decoding before looking up at a silent Natalia. There's something calculating to the slight furrow between her brows that makes his hackles rise.

"And..." She purses her lips. Buck finds himself swallowing in anticipation of whatever she's about to say. "Do you help your co-worker's son with his homework a lot?"

"Eddie's my best friend," Buck clarifies. "Well, no. Christopher is my best friend. But Eddie's a close second. I help out whenever I can." He cuts himself off before he can say anything else, already feeling like he's revealed too much. "Um, w-why?"

"Do you have a picture of him?" she asks. Buck flashes his lockscreen at her, and Natalia smiles sweetly but it looks like she's just figured something out. "He's cute."

"The cutest," Buck murmurs, stealing a quick look at the picture of Chris squirming away from one of Eddie's hugs. "Although he'd probably disown me as a best friend for calling him that now. He's getting too old."

"Buck," Natalia says softly, "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What?" He frowns, figures it would be rude to check his texts when he's being broken up with - if it can even be called a break-up at this point.

"Just the concept of you bringing life into this world was enough to terrify me." She shrugs. "But there's an actual, real life you're shaping and helping to do his homework and looking at like he's the reason you came back from the dead. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Christopher's not my kid, though." It feels like a lie as he says it, tastes like ash in his mouth the moment he thinks it.

"Isn't he?" Natalia taps his phone screen so that it lights up on that same picture of Christopher. She smiles at him weakly. "It was nice meeting you, Buck. Thanks for giving me some answers about death, I hope you can find the answers in your life."

Natalia leaves him in the coffee shop with a sweep of her hand down his arm, and Buck fumbles with a thousand desires all rising to the surface at once. None of which are a desire to run after her. But there's one, there's one stronger, louder, bigger than all the rest. One that makes him want to run all the way to homework club.

on my way, bud

#sami rambles #okayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy still getting used to writing natalia so bear with me. but yeah.#also all of my ficlets over the next few days are probably going to be about buck and chris bc those are the ideas i have so. yeah.#911 spoilers #911 fox #911 show #evan buckley #christopher diaz #buddie #911 spec #911 ficlet #buddie ficlet #911 spec fic #buckley diaz family fic #buckley diaz family #buck and christopher #natalia dollenmeyer #911 fic #911 fanfic

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