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linkcities · 16 days

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in a year or two (i'll take care of you) | gojo satoru/reader

“Do you have a favorite flower?”

You ask him this moments before the two of you begin your journey home, dragging along your worn out suitcases and the individual white plastic bags filled with dirty laundry. You ask him this and you’d come to realize later on in your life that it’s a question he found himself thinking of whenever he hears your name.

He places his head against yours gently. “I do.” He whispers, “sweet peas, if you know them.”

You hum. “What do they mean?”

Geto Suguru and his jet black irises gleam under the light of the vernal sun, his hair dancing along to the music of the leaves from before. Through the corner of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of the way he smiled at you so softly that day—it’s one you’ll grow to never forget, regardless of how many years pass you by.

“I’m a bit unsure, but,” he tells you, his index finger tapping the tip of your nose. “It’s ‘thank you for the time we spent.’”

or,

Snippets of your grief after Geto Suguru's betrayal, spread throughout the course of thirteen years; alongside the only person who could understand even just a crumb of your pain.

—

pairing | gojo satoru/reader

note | this is a preview of the current 'fic i'm working on. not sure when i'll be posting it, but the projected word count for this piece is around 17,000 words, subject to change. enjoy! :]

—

The day after that, Shoko went on to pretend as if nothing happened. She continued her routine. Medical check-ins, training, mission updates. The day after that, from Satoru, you heard that she blew through an entire pack of cigarettes in under six hours. You think this must be her way of repenting. Irrational penance for something she knew she wasn’t accountable for.

In the present, Satoru hops up to sit on the metal bar posing as the only hurdle between you and the running stream. His hands are in his pockets now, your bag discarded safely next to the railing. Carefully, just as he averts his stare elsewhere in the distance, he brings out an old and tapered pack of cigarettes.

You watch him intently.

“Stop staring at my hands.” He grumbles underneath his breath, loud enough for you to get rightfully annoyed by. “I don’t want to hear whatever you have to say.”

Your heart drops to your stomach after that. You say nothing in response.

Satoru tugs out his lighter from his other pocket cautiously, as though he was testing out your reaction first, and when he realizes that no protest would be sprinting towards his direction, he takes a stick from the box and he brings it close to his lips. You watch everything through the corner of your eyes.

The lighter clicks, and then you wince. Smoke flows out through his mouth in seconds, three coughs following suit. He tests it out repeatedly, a few more times, more and more times; waits for his body to get used to the smoke.

Halfway through his first stick, he coughs violently after a long puff. You wince again. “I’ll leave if you don’t put that out.” You mutter, displeased, waving away the cloud of gray enveloping your surrounding area. He doesn’t budge.

Deep breath. You know better than to try and tell him what to do. I know better than this. There was no rational conversation to be had when it came to Satoru. They were only ever frustrating and indignant and brutal and upsetting. “It’s bad enough that Shoko’s smoking more and more each day.” You try to bite your tongue, but the metallic taste of your own blood only makes you want to keep speaking, “why are you doing this to yourself, now, too?”

Ash falls from the burning end of the cigarette. He hangs the stick loosely between his index and middle finger, turning around to rest his elbows against the silver railing. Satoru does not offer you anything but an unconcerned shrug.

More and more ash falls atop the grass beneath your soles. When he coughs for the last time, you push yourself off the barricade and turn to the direction of the subway station.

“This isn’t mine.”

You pause. Satoru exhales deeply behind you.

“Shoko and I cleaned out Suguru’s old room three days ago,” he tells you, quietly, overdosing on the wave of uncomfortable air. “We were supposed to clean it with you, but your mission was extended and Yaga said we can’t keep putting it off.”

At this, you clench your fists. You take it upon yourself to look back at Satoru, who was now standing straight—overlooking the flowing river, watching the currents pass by and turn orange. You dissolve into a puddle of many, many regrets. You circle in on the lingering emptiness that has been tormenting you for weeks, and the conclusion strikes you like lightning again, almost as though you were realizing it for the first time: We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left. It all happened so quickly, you think to yourself. Suguru left quickly, too. Just three weeks ago. The wound was recent and fresh and the higher-ups didn’t even give you enough time to let it scab first before ordering you to search through Suguru’s things. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

This isn’t mine.

That’s what Satoru said. So it must be Suguru’s. It couldn’t be Shoko’s; she never liked to share. You and Satoru never smoked as often as they did. No, incorrect, the two of you never smoked at all. You walk closer back to the railing, laying your left hand on top of the bar.

“Did you find anything?” You ask him. “Anything worth keeping?”

You see him struggle with looking for an answer for your question. Satoru was never subtle with what he was feeling. “I took some of his clothes,” he starts, “I kept a bunch of his shoes, too. We’re the same size. Shoko took his lighters and books.”

There’s a lump in your throat filled with words you know you’re not allowed to speak into existence. You want to tell him, though. Put it back in his room. I can’t handle seeing someone other than Suguru wear his clothes. You argue with yourself, inwardly. You asked him the question, yes, but truthfully you were hoping he’d answer no. No, I didn’t find anything. It’s equally as devastating, but at least that way you’d carry no reminder of his leaving.

(But is that what you really want? To forget? To erase all traces of Geto Suguru from your brain?)

It’s a horrible thought to have. It’s a horrible thought to have. Satoru and Shoko were more than welcome to grieve the way they wanted to grieve, and the lord knows you weren’t significant enough to the universe to ever be given the right to police them.

A single cough. He disrupts your thoughts, loudly stomping over them, almost as if he knew what was running through your head. You know he does. “I don’t know why I decided to keep them.” Satoru directs his stare down to the ground, his hair nestled in front of his eyebrows. “They’re in boxes on top of my closet. If you want some of them, just let me know.”

Your mind goes numb. You don’t know how to respond to that. Satoru’s saying all the right things right now and you’re unsure of how to handle his being rational—it’s not like he hasn’t been this way in the past, it’s just that usually Suguru was the one who was often rational enough for the both of them. Your mind goes numb. You hear nothing but an incessant ringing. Ultimately, you understand what Suguru’s abandonment entails; you know that his leaving necessitates numerous adjustments and relearning of previous lifestyles. If Yaga were here, he’d say something along the lines of Good. If it took him leaving to get Gojo to straighten up, then good. You could honestly hear his voice saying that. But you know he never would. He’s high strung, but he’s not heartless. You’re projecting something.

You’re projecting something because everything feels either wrong or excessive. Satoru is being rational and quiet and Shoko is avoidant and even more jaded than before. You don’t know what you’re supposed to be; and yet Satoru stares at you, finally, for the first time in a while, with wide blue eyes and chapped and parted lips, staring so expectantly almost as though he’s tethered to your reactions. The sheer weight of his eyes alone is too heavy for you to carry.

“I don’t.” You say, finally. After several agonizing minutes of only trickling silence. “Keep them, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have a place for them in my room, anyway.”

In the blink of an eye, the weight dissipates when his pupils slant themselves back towards the gushing river. The tension is thick, and so is his nearly tangible disappointment, but you convince yourself it’s out of your control. Gojo Satoru is a god among mortals and if his sorrow cleaves the world in half, the burden of stitching it all back together shouldn’t fall on one as miniscule as you.

“Alright.”

He throws the worn out pack of cigarettes to the steep downhill curb near the river, and then he turns around to walk to the direction of the subway station. His footsteps echo loudly in your head. It disrupts the incessant ringing from before.

An exhale escapes your throat. None of the air you’re trying to keep inside is staying inside. You lean against the barricade. We had all lost something so terribly important when Suguru left.

When the silhouette of the young god’s retreating form no longer appears in your peripheral vision, you descend down to the river and you pick up the pack of cigarettes before the wind blows it towards the water. The sun sets in the horizon, and you feel an ache inside your chest, a thrumming in your head; the ghost of a migraine looms over you, and yet you think it couldn’t possibly feel any worse than this.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk one-shot #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #one-shot preview #✧ | juno writes!#pls count on this fic to slay as hard as wormwood because it WILL #im not finished with it yet but best believe i Will be powering through soon enough

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wigglesdtuff · 3 months

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You look tough in that, Robin!

#one piece #nico robin #daily wtt robin 2 #day 11 #I wanted to dredraw the shot from the preview for the next episode #she's so precious to me that smile

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ghost-bxrd · 5 months

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Stony silence rings from the other end of the line, but Jason knows Bruce is listening. Listening and running through several possibilities of how someone could have gotten this number while simultaneously tracking the call signal.

This is gonna be fucking gold.

Time to sell it.

“Dad,” he sobs, pitching his voice until it breaks, teeth chattering exaggeratedly, “Dad, please, I’m scared, I-“ Jason cuts himself off with a scream and another series of sobs, “Please, I can’t— it’s locked! Please, no, Dad, it’s locked—“

A sharp intake of breath, the dull thump of something heavy colliding unexpectedly.

“Dad!” Jason cries, calling upon every single drama class he’s ever had, “Please… please- it’s almost to zero- please, I’m sorry, please, please, it hurts so much-“

Bruce breaks.

“Jason, Jason, hold on Jaylad, hold on, I will find-“

Jason smashes the phone against the marble dress of the creepy angel standing guard over his grave. The pieces vanish into the wet grass, like an occult offering eaten by Gotham’s soil.

Then Jason turns and walks away with a gleeful little smile.

But not without flipping the stupid angel off one last time.

— Grave Pretender sneak peek

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mellon1998 · 6 months

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Do I want them to stay in Last Bast and be safe and fed and have a community and maybe Tula could have a chance to slam down big style? Yes.

Do I trust this place for even like half a second? No. Absolutely not.

Let me be clear that I do not distrust each individual stoat in Last Bast, it is the institution of Last Bast itself that I do not trust.

#dimension 20 #d20 #burrow's end #burrow's end spoilers #it's giving Ba Sing Se vibes #everything looks so good and perfect #and for the most part the people are just getting through their day to day lives #but the ones at the top calling the shots are simply not to be trusted #the preview for next week of the fact that they seem to be REQUIRED to forget the ones who died even existed ???#nope no nuh uh #do not like that #bad place bad

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ohandcounting · 11 months

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!! ALERT !! ANDREW CUNNINGHAM BROKE DOWN ALL USES OF GASTER'S THEME IN DELTARUNE

youtube

If you don't know how to listen for things that aren't 100% obvious in music, like me, don't worry!!!! He puts everything side by side, hence the monstrosity in the thumbnail. He even uses the piano. There's even a 2-axis graph at the end!!!!

#undertale #Deltarune #deltarune theory #UtDr #Gaster #Another Him #I could tag all of the songs in the video but I'm not gonna do that #He also has other videos that are cool. Like the one I have a preview of in my pinned.#noelle holiday #noelle deltarune #<- oh ho that's a spoiler I can't talk about why that's in the tags go watch the vibeo!!!#Also these ->#Spamton NEO #BIG SHOT #Jevil #THE WORLD REVOLVING #Youtube #w.d. gaster #(<- I just forgot to add that one until just now)

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weizhiyuan · 17 days

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they’re 100% gonna kiss next episode….. WEI QIAN IS GONNA ACCEPT HIS FEELINGS NEXT EPISODE……..

#CAN THIS PLEASE POST ITS MY FOURTH TRY #OMG IT FINALLY WORKED #unknown the series #anyway I RECOGNIZE THOSE OUTFITS FROM THE PREVIEW & THE TRAILER!!!!#PLEASEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE #and I love their red line of fate going strikingly through the frame in each one of these shots hehehe #unknown the series spoilers #spoiler tagging just in case even tho that’s just a screenshot from the trailer⁉️ lol #b.txt

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thisismeracing · 4 months

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Lay all your love on me | DR3 (patreon exclusive)

read the full piece here

― Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x fem!reader ― Warning: graphic description of unprotected sex, p in v, thigh riding, kind of public sex (boat sex), mentions of a wedding, food, and drink. Minors DNI! (2.1k words) ― Summary: When Daniel asked you to marry him you knew your wedding would be perfect, you just didn’t expect your fiancée to rent a whole island a week before the wedding to enjoy the off days with you until you finally tied the knot. Safe to say you made good use of all the private land and boat rides.

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

“Where are you going?”

“Just for a dip,” you breathe, craning your neck to kiss his stubbled jaw.

“You’re not dressed for a swim, love,” Daniel murmurs against your skin, trapping your earlobe between his teeth and sucking lightly.

You press yourself harder against him, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, his warmth even more intense under the scalding sun. “Who said one has to be dressed for a swim?” you question, and he turns his mouth to your shoulders, kissing away the straps of your nightgown. “You rented the whole beach, the whole Island,” you add. “So I’m enjoying its perks.”

“Are you?”

You nod, turning to him and smashing your lips into a hungry kiss. One of his hands holds your neck while the other keeps your body pressed to his, but not for long because the second your lips detach you’re taking a step back and pushing your clothes off. It’s hot, even though the wind is rustling, but your body shivers under the exposure from his eyes and the breeze. Your nipples turn to two pointer pebbles attracting your fiancé’s hungry gaze, and you giggle again, loving the comfort of feeling loved and desired under his gaze. There was no shame in showing the dips and curves of your body to him. A body he had worshiped just hours before in the privacy of your suite.

“Why would you tease me like that?”

“Because I can,” you smirk, turning and running to the water, shrinking when the cold waves hit your body.

*********

“The sunscreen,” you try, but Daniel shakes his head, throwing the bottle somewhere into the boat.

“Later,” he hums, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

When his fingers swiftly find the strings of your bikini, undoing the knot and setting your boobs free, you can’t help but grind harder against his shaft. Daniel moves your body in a way that you’re on top of his tattooed thigh and you quickly take off your bikini bottoms, bunching up his white shorts and whimpering the second he flexes his legs and it hits you right in the clit.

He sits, bringing your body impossibly closer and you lace your arms around his broad shoulders, trying to gain leverage in your movements. Daniel uses his mouth to lick, bite, kiss, and nip your skin. It doesn’t take long for his tongue to find your nipples and you sink your nails into his back, throwing your head and letting out a string of profanities.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this sneak peek! <3 I wanted to add a huge shout-out to C (my coffee emoji anon here on Tumblr) for proofreading this (Ily, C!)

If you liked this sneak peek and want access to the exclusive content, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @leclercsluv @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @noncannonships @fanboyluvr @is-just-a

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

#dr3 #millie writes smut #op: patreon preview #op: patreon exclusive #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 fandom #daniel ricciardo one shot #formula one fanfic #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo x you

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gurugirl · 6 months

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The Trapper | special preview

Series Summary: Set in the 1850s, a long distance romance (of sorts) between a traveler who hunts for a living and an innkeeper's daughter.

Part 1 summary (preview below from part 1): Harry's been away from Sage Lake for a year and Y/N thought she'd never see him again. But he's returned with the intention of taking her with him next time he leaves.

1.5k word preview

Harry always looked forward to visiting Sage Lake on his travels. He tried to stop there as frequently as possible but the life of a hunter and trapper on the range was unpredictable.

This year, luck had been on his side. The population of deer, muskrat, and possum was overwhelming the North plains and Harry was a skilled hunter who used this to his advantage. The overpopulation was causing disease amongst the animals and ruining farmer’s crops so Harry was seen as a savior of sorts. He sold his trappings to the locals, from town to town he’d travel. Fur, tools from bone, dried and salted meat, and even decorative pieces of jewelry he crafted.

He had quite the haul in his wagon as he entered the lovely little lakeside town. The townsfolk waved at him as his horses pulled him and his carriage through the bumpy dirt road to the inn where he knew he’d have a room waiting for him.

It had been nearly a year since he’d seen her. The innkeeper’s daughter was a beautiful and smart girl. Sassy if he was honest. Though he could put her in her place if needed. He smiled to himself thinking about their last interaction.

“Well then go mister Big Bad Hunter! Life out there is far more exciting than staying put in this old town. Nothing here to keep you anyway is there?” Y/n had her arms crossed over her chest as she stood out on the dusty porch of the inn and watched Harry load his saddle.

Harry nodded without giving her a glance. He’d always been a man of little words but for Y/n… he was different. He loved teasing her and often gave her lip back because she was fun to rile up. But in that moment, he was feeling the sting of having to leave again. Truth was he would have liked to stay longer. Figure out whatever was going on with his feelings for the girl at the inn. But he had a job to do. He was a hunter by trade and keeping the miles of Northern range and plains people fed and clothed was important to their survival, especially during the wintertime. And he needed to survive as well. All his trappings and wares were dwindled to decorative pieces and jewelry that didn’t sell as quickly as the more practical items.

He felt her hand on his arm suddenly and turned to look down at her, “Always gonna be like this? You just come when you feel like it? Leave when you please?”

He sighed. Her pretty big eyes always got him. He’d never once kissed her lips but he’d dreamt of it more often than he liked to admit, “Of course, I have to leave. I’ve got nothing left. It’s time for trapping, the season is here. People need fur and meat and tools and I intend to provide it for them. Helps me survive as well.”

She let go of his arm and huffed, turning her back, “I know. But I hoped…” Her following words were too quiet for the hunter to hear so he grasped the back of her arm and pulled her toward him.

“Speak up, girl.” He spoke and gripped her tight when she tried to yank her arm from his hold.

“S’nothin’. Go on then. Leave.” She looked downward and Harry, as much as he understood her upset, because he was feeling it quite the same, didn’t like her talking to him that way.

Smushing her cheeks together and tilting her head upward to look at him he spoke quietly, “What’s got you so upset? Hmm?”

He loosened his grip on her chin so she could speak, but he kept his hand on her face to keep her gaze on his.

“Said it’s nothin’. Let go of me.”

Harry couldn’t help but quirk up the edge of his lips. He was too aware of their unique connection and their slowly developing feelings for one another. It had been this way over the years of his travels to Sage Lake, “Don’t be sad, Y/n. I’ll return like I always do and we can go take a midnight dip in the lake once again.”

An annoyed grumble fell from her mouth and she grasped onto his forearm to pull his hand from her jaw, “Don’t care if you ever come back or not. Waste of my time.”

Harry snorted a laugh, “Liar. I’ll be back. And next time I’ll have a nice big carriage with two horses and the biggest bounty you’ve ever seen. Maybe I’ll even stay longer next time if you’re really sweet.”

Y/n’s younger brother stomped through the front salon toward the office where Y/n was checking the log and making sure the guests were all shored up on their accounts.

“Harry the hunter is here! He’s gonna want that big room again!”

Y/n looked up at her brother Matthew with wide eyes. Harry? Her Harry? She stood from her wooden chair, wiped her hands down her apron, and quickly smoothed her wild hair, peeking at her reflection in the wavy glass lamp, “Okay. Go put the linens on the bed and make sure there’s a towel and an extra pillow like he likes.”

Matthew stood grinning at her with his hands on his hips, “He’s got himself a big carriage and two horses. Looks like he might be ready to settle in for a bit.” Matthew wasn’t the only one aware of the budding romance between the pair. Though she’d never admit to it, it was obvious.

She had been pursued by a businessman not long after Harry left last time. Y/n was beyond the age of settling down. Normally young women would be married off no later than age 20 but when Y/n declined to take the man as a suitor her father was disappointed and expressed it to her for months after. The man had a decent property and made good money. It was time for her to get married, have kids. He scolded her about waiting around for Harry and she denied that was the reason she didn’t want to marry the other man. No one believed her.

But she was thankful that her father didn’t insist. That he didn’t make her entertain the attention of another man. She knew she was lucky that her father allowed her to make her own decisions and wasn’t strict like her friend’s dads were.

And now at 23, Y/n was old by most standards, which she found ridiculous.

She closed the accounts book and placed her quill pin into its inkpot as Matthew left the room. She took a deep breath and went into the salon to pace. Her heart was already thrashing in her chest and her boots clapped along the hardwood floors with each step.

She hadn’t seen him in a year. She expected he’d return much sooner but lost hope after six months. It was difficult not knowing what to expect. Had no way to know if he’d settled in another town with a lovely girl and had already begun a family. Or perhaps he’d frozen to death out there on his excursions. Left alone with his horse tied to a log and his gun next to him, his heart gradually slowing down its cadence as his limbs turned to ice. Yes. She was the type to think the worst.

When she heard commotion from the front of the inn she shook her arms out and bent at the waist to catch her breath and soothe her nerves. She was about to face the man she couldn’t get out of her mind. He took up much of her secret thoughts and now here he was. It would be the longest they’d gone without seeing one another. A whole year and some.

Harry was tying his lead to the post when he looked up and saw the girl, hands on her pretty hips with hair that looked just as unruly as he remembered. She could never tame it. He grinned as he looked back toward his carriage. He was surprised by how excited he was to see her. His own heart thudded under his ribcage. He lifted his hat off his head and smoothed his hair back before placing it back and straightening his face out so that his expression wasn’t a giveaway to the girl at how pleased he was to see her again.

“Been a while. Looks like you kept your word. Big carriage, two horses,” she lifted her skirts and stepped down onto the dirt to take a closer look at his new setup.

Harry’s deep voice and his natural scent had her mind already spinning as he draped a heavy arm over the saddle and faced Y/n, standing over her, “I’m a man of my word. Should know that about me by now.”

She swallowed and tried not to pay attention to how he had the sleeves of his shirt pushed up his forearms, those uncouth and rude tattoos peeking out. The white material was dingy all over and the area under his arms slightly yellowed from his dried sweat. He was a hard worker and she knew his active labor as a trapper kept his body in better shape than most. And she knew he’d want a bath right away too. “Well, let’s get you to your room then.”

A/N: This will be a short series and will only be posted to my new Patreon. If you're interested in reading this love story please sign up! I will be posting plenty of patreon-exclusive content for members as well as new short series and one shots! Don't worry, though, if you're unable to subscribe, I'll continue to post new content to Tumblr regularly as I always have. xoxo

Find my Patreon here!

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ghosttotheparty · 9 months

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spill my guts

also on ao3 cw: dub con possibly (they're both high but v into it); nonexplicit sex

It’s midnight.

The sky is dark, spotted with stars that shine clearly above the dark town, and the treetops of the woods cover the Harrington home, windows dark except Steve’s bedroom, dimly glowing from the golden lamps on either side of his bed. But Steve and Eddie aren’t on the bed; they barely ever are, preferring the floor and the worn rug even during long movie nights with the others.

The others aren’t here tonight. It’s just them and the lamps and the stars that they can’t see from inside the house. And the weed. Of course.

There’s often weed involved when it’s just the two of them. Not always. But it’s nice. It helps with the pain. And the nightmares.

Eddie doesn’t sell anymore. Steve gets it from some guys in town, and he brings it around whenever he knows it’s just him and Eddie, waving it in the air as if to taunt Eddie even though Eddie is usually already grinning brightly before he walks through the door. They share, pass joints back and forth and pretend neither of them is thinking about how their lips are touching the same paper, damp with their shared saliva. Heads get cloudy as the air between them gets smokey, and they both long silently. Usually in Steve’s living room, often in his bedroom (also on the floor), and occasionally in Eddie’s bedroom in his and Wayne’s new apartment. But it doesn’t feel as secure there, not when the apartment is above one of the more popular coffee shops in the center of town, and the smell of weed is very distinct, especially when people know Eddie is nearby.

Sometimes they don’t smoke weed. Sometimes it’s pills or powder, just for fun, just for the thrill of it without the fear of monsters and blood. Sometimes it’s booze, and then painkillers and a pitcher of water the next day. Sometimes it’s nothing of the sort. Movies, or spinning records and bickering about each other’s music taste, and then dancing and laughter. Hair flying in the air around them, eyes shining and stomachs aching from laughing so hard. Sometimes it’s tears and heavy breaths, whispers of safety and security and soft I’m right heres after nightmares and the fear of the dark.

Right now, though.

It’s weed.

Neither of them has ever been particularly fond of the smell of weed. Sometimes Eddie bakes brownies to avoid it. He always wears Steve’s mom’s frilly apron, which makes Steve laugh every time. He looks ridiculous, but somehow less ridiculous than she does when she wears it. (Wore it. She hasn’t been here in ages.)

But Steve doesn’t mind it when he’s high enough. And Eddie is kind of used to it. It used to linger on all his belongings in the trailer, on his blankets and clothes and the fabric of the sofa in the living room.

The smell lingers a little in Steve’s room too, especially because tonight they’ve neglected to open his window to air the room out. The air is hazy, hot and humid (because they also left the heat on; Eddie was cold when he arrived.), and they both feel heavy as they laugh at something. Neither of them knows what exactly they’re laughing at, but it doesn’t really matter. Every little thing seems to set them off all over again; Eddie snorts at one point and claps a hand over his face, and Steve falls against him, giggling with his eyes squeezed shut. And then Steve’s head falls back and hits the post of his bed, and another laugh bursts out of Eddie.

They feel stupid here together, laughing at everything and nothing, passing Eddie’s bong back and forth, blowing smoke into each other’s faces. Falling against each other, into each other, legs locked as they sprawl across the ground like tired cats in a sunbeam. When they lay down, their hair catches on the worn carpet of Steve’s bedroom, and the strands tangle together, the colors barely differentiable in the dim light of the lamps.

And Eddie always likes to look at him, but he can’t stop himself when he’s high like this. He lets his head fall to the side of the bed, rolling to look at Steve. To gaze at him. And Steve looks back. They’re both still smiling, laughing, and Steve is beautiful. His eyes are shining and squinting under his smile, and his cheeks are rosy, and his hair is messy, and Eddie can feel himself falling in love.

He already knew he was. He’s known for a while.

He’s kept it under wraps, of course. Can’t risk losing this because of that.

But the wraps seem to unravel as he looks at him.

And Eddie isn’t even thinking as he reaches out to touch him; he feels far away even under Eddie’s fingertips, soft like he’s made of a dream. Eddie traces a line over his warm cheek, connects two moles like he’s connecting stars in the sky, putting together constellations that no one has named yet.

Eddie would recognize the pattern of Steve’s moles if they were in the sky. If he looked up in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, if he could see every star in the universe. He’d find Steve’s skin, his left cheek and his chest and his back.

Eddie blinks, his fingertips lingering on the two moles on his cheek. Hiding them behind his finger. Uncovering them. Looking like he’s expecting them to start glowing. And he realizes neither of them has said anything in a long while, and neither of them is laughing anymore. Steve is just looking back at him, eyes shining beautifully, smiling even though his mouth isn’t smiling.

“What are you thinking?” Steve asks quietly, whispering like he’s going to wake something up. Like if he speaks too loudly, the sun will rise too soon, and they’ll run out of time.

“I don’t know,” Eddie breathes. He can’t pull his hand away, still touching Steve’s face. Steve is still letting him, and even in Eddie’s cloud-filled mind, he can’t help but think that he needs to savour this before Steve makes him stop. Before Steve decides that Eddie is weird, creepy. “Just…”

His eyes blearily find Steve’s neck. Trace lines between his moles. Recognize the stars. And Steve’s skin looks so fucking warm it’s like he has the sun under it all, like his blood cells are glowing and heating him from the inside out. Eddie’s fingers move on their own accord, like he has no control over them, and he thinks maybe they got a little too high tonight, but Steve doesn’t protest and his expression doesn’t change as Eddie’s hand slips to his neck and presses against his pulse. Eddie likes Steve’s pulse. He thinks maybe it’s a weird thing to like about someone, but it’s beautiful. Like a song coming from the Earth’s core.

“I think…” Eddie says softly, eyes trained on Steve’s throat because he can’t stop thinking about biting it in the least weird way possible. “...If I was, like, cursed. To, like, lose all memories,” he says choppily, words finding their out of his mouth before he can run them through his head. Before he can get a gist of what they actually sound like. “And then I was just… sent into the world without direction. I would look for you.”

Steve blinks at him, confusion shining in his eyes as his lips twitch into a smile.

“But if you lost all your memories you wouldn’t remember me,” he whispers.

Eddie loves it when he whispers. His voice is always low, but during nights like this, it’s like Steve fucking knows how his whispers affect Eddie. They get right under his skin, creep along his veins and the contours of his muscles until they find the crown of his head, and they fall down his spine like it’s a waterfall. They make him shiver.

“I’d still look for you,” he whispers back, eyes locked on Steve’s. It didn’t take him long after Everything to realize his eyes are greenish. Hazel. Specked with gold and diamonds. His hand finally falls because he wasn’t actually trying to hold it up and his body seems to forget what it’s doing. It lands on the ground between them, and Steve glances at it slowly. Then he looks back at Eddie, and he seems to get it.

“And I’d find you,” Eddie adds.

Steve hums quietly.

“What if I was… on the other side of the world?” he asks softly. “Or something. Far away.”

Eddie doesn’t think about it. He has his answer.

“I’d still find you. Nothing could stop me.”

Steve’s eyes are shining more now like he’s going to cry. Eddie didn’t want to make him cry. But fuck, he’s still so pretty.

“What if…” Steve pauses, blinking slowly at Eddie for a moment, eyes glistening. “What if I didn’t exist?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a split second as the question turns over in his head. It doesn’t make any sense. Like a math problem that’s missing too many variables to be solved. Eddie blinks at him.

“That’s… not possible,” he says. Whispers.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look perplexed.

“What do you mean?”

Their faces are so close now, resting against the side of the bed. Knees bent toward the ceiling and the stars they can’t see, hands resting on the carpet that’s worn thin enough to see the shapes of the floorboards under it. Fingers centimeters from touching. Eddie can feel his warmth.

“You…” Eddie exhales, pausing. Thinking. He forgets that Steve doesn’t witness his own existence the way other people do. The way Eddie does. Something he wonders if anyone thinks of him the way he thinks of Steve. If he’d be able to tell. “You’re fucking everywhere, Stevie.”

Steve blinks at him again.

“Everywhere how?” he breathes. Listening like Eddie is telling him a story, like he’s recounting some fairy tale about whimsy and magic.

“Even if you… Even if you weren’t you you’d still…” He exhales again, shifting a little closer, turning his body slightly to face him more. Steve’s eyes look like they’re about to fall shut. “Even if you weren’t— if you weren’t human or something, you… I’d find you everywhere. I’d find… your eyes in the trees, and your smile in the sun, and your laughter in the wind, and your sould is— is at the center of the fucking Earth, and—” He cuts off because his eyes are suddenly stinging and his throat feels tight and he can’t really breathe, but he can’t stop talking.

“And I’m so fucking high right now, but Steve, I— I think I love you.”

And he’s crying now, tears spilling down his cheeks. On one side they fall straight down his face, over his jaw and down his neck. On the other, they soak into the blanket they’re resting on, darkening the fabric. Steve’s lips are parted as if in awe, like Eddie is something amazing, something incredible when he’s really just a crying, desperate mess, high out of his mind, high enough that he really just confessed his love—

And Steve is kissing him.

Eddie’s eyes close. His tears are getting on Steve’s face. Their lips are chapped. Eddie’s heart is beating too fast. His ass is sore from sitting on the floor. Steve’s hair is falling in their faces and it tickles.

Eddie gasps when Steve pulls away.

Both their eyes are wide, staring at each other in shock, but Eddie isn’t breathing. Steve’s hand is touching his face, his palm warm as it presses to Eddie’s cheek, fingers tucked behind his ear, fitting just right.

Steve exhales. Moves a little closer. Pulls so gently that Eddie barely feels it but is helpless as he falls forward enough that their foreheads touch. And Steve’s voice does that thing again where it crawls under Eddie’s skin as he whispers to him.

“I think I love you too.”

Eddie’s eyes close.

More tears slip down his cheeks and he can’t stop, hands trembling as the words turn over his in his head like earlier, except now they don’t tumble out of order and become rough and confused. They find their way, smoothed down by the edges of Eddie’s skull like glass in the sea.

And then he’s sobbing. Eyes squeezing shut, shoulders shaking, breaths sharp, and Steve is kissing him again even though he can’t reciprocate, so gentle and soft and careful that Eddie fucking aches with it. Steve’s lips press to his over and over and over again, kissing and kissing and kissing, patient and kind and sweet.

His hands are warm even though the fabric of Eddie’s clothes as he touches his waist, fingers spreading over his waist and pulling so he’s moving Eddie to his lap. Eddie can’t see through his tears but it doesn’t seem to matter as Steve touches his face, wipes his tears away tenderly, holds his cheeks and presses their foreheads together and whispers something Eddie can’t hear but he can feel.

His arms find their way around Steve’s neck, and he still feels so far away, and Eddie can’t wait until the high dies down so he can feel him. He closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve’s arms wrap around his waist and tug him closer so their chests press together.

All of his muscles ache. He lets out a soft noise that he’s never made before, and Steve hums back, a hand pressing into the small of his back firmly like he owns him, and Eddie keens. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, squeezes his eyes shut, and he takes a deep breath. Steve smells faintly like the cologne he always wears, the one that comes in the dark bottle he keeps on top of his dresser. Masculine and earthy and so Steve that Eddie can’t imagine him using any other cologne. But he also smells like weed. (The whole room does. Probably the whole apartment at this point.)

Eddie squeezes Steve, legs tight around his hips. Steve groans weakly, and one of his hands slips under Eddie’s shirt to slide across his skin. He’s so fucking warm.

Eddie’s breath is hot on the side of Steve’s neck as they clutch at one another, fingertips digging and pressing into soft skin, leaving bruises and crescent moons in their paths, and when Steve chokes out his name, slurred and weak but here and desperate, Eddie can only open his mouth against his skin. And Steve’s hand finds the back of Eddie’s head, fingers pushing into his already-tangled curls, catching knots and pulling too hard to feel good as Eddie traces his veins with his tongue.

Eddie’s tears mix with his drool on Steve’s bare skin. He can’t stop crying. Not when Steve keeps whispering to him, all these sweet words, calling Eddie all these sweet names like baby and honey and his name. Not when Steve keeps kissing him like this: soft and tender and loving. Like Eddie deserves it.

And Steve stays like this when Eddie comes, when his vision goes white for a few moments, when he falls lax against Steve’s body, their skin tacky with each other’s sweat.

When Eddie comes back to himself, he still feels high. Steve still looks high. Red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed with warmth, hair wild from Eddie’s hands. Except his lips are red and swollen from kisses and his neck is spotted with red and purple bruises from Eddie’s mouth, and he’s so beautiful Eddie’s chest hurts. And he’s glad that he doesn’t have to go looking for Steve in this universe. He’s glad that Steve is right in front of him, arms and legs wrapped around his tired body, firm in spite of the weed, that Steve is smiling and leaning in to kiss him once more.

♡ buy me a coffee ♡ taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist (comment to be added)

#guess whos back babey #idk what this writing style is but i needed this out of my system before i worked on other stuff #will be posting a preview of my next long fic soon hopefully #steddie #steddie one shot #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #steve x eddie

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