#fun little fic

[rocknrollsalad]

My first Steve Harrington Bingo fill

Square and prompt: A2 - King Steve Title: For a Bountiful Harvest (and Reprieve From Social Circles) Rating: General Word Count: 3820 Ships: none really, it's not shippy but squint hard and there's Steddie Major tags: talk of human sacrifice (cultural practices), blood (fake) Additional tags: high school, pre-season four, king steve, Eddie the freak Munson, history class, bullies, Eddie POV Summary: It's the age old cliche. Eddie and Steve are paired together for a class assignment and neither is thrilled, but through the power of academia, they learn to get along. Maybe also through the power of Eddie being a dramatic creature and Steve's ability to support nerds. Their presentation on the Aztecs (with only a few creative liberties taken by Eddie) is truly one for the history books AO3 Link: here Mentions: @steveharringtonbingo Author's Note: This is one of those "the story overtook me" sort of things that I'm in love with. Huge thanks to Rin from all the servers because I was supposed to be inspiring them and walked away with this demanding I write it.

There were so many things wrong with repeating World History but Eddie would start that list with taking it with Steve Harrington this time around. If anything was motivation to pass a class the first time, being subjected to this show should have had Eddie earning top marks to avoid it. 

Of course, there was a Steve Harrington in every grade. Some conventionally good looking guy who excelled at some sport and was therefore deemed better than the rest. Rich parents didn’t hurt either. Steve was lucky enough for both. He had the best clothes, a brand new beamer, adept at multiple jock things, and loads of cronies following him around to inflate his already massive ego. 

It was disgusting. 

And this particular little show landed too close to Eddie’s own perfected performance piece as Harrington sat in the back of their shared history class. Day after day, making snide little comments with his little pets Tommy and Carol, and acting like some form of Indiana royalty. 

Which was almost as bad as the collection of people taking up the desks around them, desperate to leech any breath of popularity. Happy to clean up their trash and take notes for them. Maybe if they laughed at the right joke or brought enough cans of New Coke to class they’d be welcomed into the fold. Their desperation nearly suffocated everyone in the room. 

Neither Steve nor Eddie had to try to be rivals, it happened all on its own but neither of them tried to fix that. So Eddie jeered and scoffed when they tried to talk to the teacher and Tommy would knock over Eddie’s books or try and trip him when arrived late. It was as natural as the lion hunting the wildebeest. 

Only this wasn’t the jungle or the desert or wherever lions lived. This was high school (far worse than any jungle if you asked Eddie). The wildebeest wasn’t just hunted but tortured, mocked, and publicly humiliated.

Mrs. Click was playing the part of one of those old-timey hunters, looking for a new rug or head to adorn the wall. Not at all about the thrill of the hunt or looking for sustenance but cold, calculated, and picking off tranquilized animals. She wanted to make the animals suffer, to hurt and crawl towards her so the kill was easier yet still reap the same bragging rights. 

Which is why she partnered Steve with Eddie for a project on the Aztec Civilization. A classic move, an easy one, that teachers had been making for as long as Eddie had been in school. Something about their social status made adults want to pair them up like they’d get a Nobel prize for ending high school cliques. All they did was tranquilize an animal and make the kill that much easier. 

Eddie would have rather been shot between the eyes. A quick death was preferred to the insults and mockery everyone around Steve filled the room with. 

Why did Steve look like he was trying to apologize? 

Being dragged from the watering hole mid-drink would have been better than the awkward way they slid two desks together and didn’t speak for the rest of the period. The only thing that was going to come from this was a fake heartwarming story Mrs. Click would tell other teachers about how she got the Freak and the King to work together. If only she wanted to brag about helping them learn. 

Eddie braced to be awarded another F. Not that he was great at doing his own school work but he’d be damned if he was doing it for Steve fucking Harrington. If he wanted to sit around and not talk, it was no skin off Eddie’s back. In fact, it’d be the only F he was proud of. 

It likely wasn’t a hardship for Steve either, unfortunately. He’d pass this class regardless of his performance. Somehow getting a ball through a hoop meant you didn’t need to know about history or math or sentence structure or geography or how to bake a pie or have a personality. None of that would be useful to know. 

For what it was worth, Eddie could bake a mean blueberry pie. 

Steve decided to be good at more than sports and threw a surprise at Eddie. After school he came jogging across the parking lot, all dressed and ready for practice, heading right for Eddie’s van. 

It wasn’t at all a confusing sight that made it hard to hear his name being called or remember how to open the door to his van because that would be weird. If Eddie dropped his keys, well, that had nothing to do with anyone panting and forcing friendly banter, his fingers just slipped. 

He listened as Steve explained how he hated working in the classroom, there was too much happening and everyone wanted to talk all the time. If Eddie was serious he could come over and they could work on the project at Steve’s place. It was quiet, his parents were going to a party tonight and then he promised pizza. Ending it all with a smile that could book him toothpaste ads for the rest of his life, Steve jogged away. “See you at seven” called out over his shoulder and Eddie didn’t remember agreeing to come. 

Eddie looked around his van, wondering if maybe it was some Delorean-esque situation. As he unlocked the door he looked for some sort of Flux Capacitor to slip him back to the correct dimension. He was obviously in the wrong one. Back in his dimension, he’d never have been allowed to drive the streets of Loch Nora, let alone allowed in one of the houses. Here he had an invite and someone who would willingly let him in those richie-rich bastard’s houses. 

Against his better judgment, Eddie followed through. He showed up at the Harrington house where only a very cozy and tired-looking Steve waited for him. Tommy and Carol were nowhere to be seen, Eddie didn’t have to park blocks away, and Steve didn’t laugh at him for actually showing up. 

Thankfully Eddie had managed to squash whatever weirdness happened in the parking lot. A temporary lapse in judgment but he was better now. The jury was still out on whether or not he was in the right dimension, though. 

The house was truly beyond anything Eddie could have dreamt up. So much empty space and yet so many things that couldn’t be touched. There were rules for everything, rules that existed long before Eddie walked in the door. Most came with apologies. 

Larger-than-life Steve Harrington was nowhere to be found. He was quiet, said little as he gave the grand tour, and almost seemed excited to provide. Pushing the pizza like it was going bad, offering every drink under the sun, but nothing was as hilarious as the offer to go for a swim. 

Eventually, they got to work. Reading their textbooks and taking notes was a little tough, Steve stopped every couple of paragraphs to ask Eddie how to say a word or what something meant. Answers Eddie easily provided, he didn’t mind, but it was unexpected. Eddie wondered if this was why Steve didn’t like working at school. He didn’t dare ask but it broke his heart a little.

So much of their time was spent talking and eating that when the time came for Eddie to head home, they hadn’t finished the assigned reading. Both promised to read the last page on their own but when Steve asked if Eddie would come back in a couple of days, Eddie nearly passed out. 

Once was more than high school laws allowed, it was flirting with danger to come back again. For both of them. What felt more surprising was the way Eddie’s mouth said yes before his brain could compute their social standings and all the ways this was inevitably going to go wrong. He’d had a good time, there was no actual crime in wanting to do that again, right? 

In total Steve invited Eddie over four separate times to work on the project. Every time he had a pizza either there or on the way. He did the work even though they both lost focus quite a bit, but neither really wanted to do this project. Eddie was still sure he’d traveled to a different dimension but in this one, he was going to get a good grade on something. Wayne was going to be so proud!

The Aztecs were pretty badass though and it made the work easier. Eddie wanted to focus on the bits where they tried to fight off the Spanish but Steve wanted to take a safer path and just regurgitate the encyclopedia entries. A path that would get them both a solid C and Eddie was in no position to turn that down but it was too boring. If Eddie was really going to do this, he wanted to do it all the way.

Inspiration struck when they learned about human sacrifices. Eddie stood on the dining room chair, palms flat on the table, leaning across the entire thing to get into Steve’s face, and begged him to let their presentation end with this information. Steve could rattle off all his boring facts from his cute little note cards but Eddie wanted to talk about sacrificing human beings to appease the gods and stop them from enacting vengeance. A compromise that took great strength on Eddie’s part. 

Steve relented easily. There was a grumpy little look that went with it like it hurt him to do it, but he was such a pushover that Eddie had to hold his breath so he wouldn’t laugh in the face of his victory. Steve did lecture him about standing on the chairs but it couldn’t be heard through Eddie’s cheers of victory.

After that Eddie poured everything he had into gaining as much information about this as possible. All their coursework should be this metal. The last time Eddie worked this hard at something he was auditioning for the school band. 

Three weeks of preparation wasn’t enough. Eddie needed another week just for costumes and half the books he had coming from other libraries hadn’t made it yet. There was too much left to learn. Yet he found himself at the Harrington house once more, the night before the project was due and they’d be forced to stand in front of the class and say they’d successfully worked together. An aspect of this Eddie hadn’t prepared for. 

Steve seemed weirdly nervous about the presentation, he read his cards with stilted words and obvious nerves. Eddie watched for far too long, the headdress he was making between his hands as his eyes followed Steve’s endless loop around the dining room table. Rattling off dates and kicking himself for saying them backward. Without a trace of his title, Steve wasn’t recognizable and Eddie selfishly wondered what it would be like to know this version. Though this version was incredibly frustrated. 

Letting Steve struggle for a while (not at all so he could keep watching), Eddie finally caved. He wasn’t totally heartless. Catching Steve as his lap passed Eddie’s chair, he blocked the way. 

“You’re in your head, man. Chill.” 

“I’m not going to get up there and say this all wrong.” 

“You know the stuff. I know the stuff. If you have a dog, it knows too. You’ve been saying it forever.” 

“And I keep mixing up the year every time.” 

“I mean, if you’d have stuck with my plan you wouldn’t have to rattle off a bunch of facts and numbers. I’m just saying.” 

“Is it too late?” 

Eddie froze, like if he moved too suddenly, the offer he thought he heard would disappear. “You wanna? Yeah? I mean, we could do it but you’d have way less time to prepare.” 

“Sometimes we have to change the play at the buzzer, right? Get the win?” 

“I have no idea what that means,” Eddie stood up straight, head dropped to the side and staring at Steve, challenging him to further that analogy. 

Steve was silent for a moment and Eddie thought he’d pushed too hard but Steve sighed. “Is yours better?” 

Fists in the air, Eddie took his own lap around the table. Once he returned to Steve, he grabbed the other by the shoulders and shook him with excitement. “Your friends are going to make fun of you but you’re going to get an A.” 

They worked out a few things and Eddie could swear Steve some of that rich boy smarm was lost in the excitement. He told a rapid-fire version of the story he’d fallen in love with and tasked Steve with some tracing for the poster. Something he immediately interrupted and asked for some coffee. 

A quick call to Wayne to say he wasn’t coming home that would have been quicker but Wayne thought “I’m staying over to finish a project for school” was a piss poor excuse and it took Eddie a minute to convince him it was the truth. They both chugged their cups of sugar and coffee as they worked to turn this all around and into what Eddie wanted to do the whole time. Steve followed his command, offered input, and even a few ways to improve things. In return, Eddie didn’t gloat or mock him for getting into it. Or for having the right idea first.

It was harder than either of them had ever worked on an assignment yet they both agreed it was a little fun. By four am everything was as done as it was going to get. They loaded it up in Eddie’s van and he peeled out to go take a nap and shower before school. 

He fought his sleep-deprived brain every time it wanted to think about the way a very tired Steve would giggle at nothing or that sometimes when he stretched out his shirt would ride up his stomach. Eddie needed to lock those thoughts away deep. To not give them a name, don’t think them, hide them all away because after this project order would be restored. 

Eddie’s Delorean would take him back to his timeline where he was the Freak and the butt of every joke. Where he didn’t get passing grades or excited about schoolwork. It’d be a relief but he’d miss this all a bit. 

Fourth period came painstakingly slow. Eddie almost bailed because waiting was too hard. The only thing that kept him at school was his excitement to show off his hard work. And perhaps the smallest touch of solidarity with Steve. When he wasn’t busy stressing this was some elaborate prank and that everything had all been a show. 

Finally, he made his way through the halls with all his prepared materials, most of which were not asked for. Nerves began to settle in his stomach, mixing with the excitement and reminding Eddie of the first time, way back in second grade, when he told some made-up story at lunch and had his classmates hanging on his every word. Just like so many lunches after that, Eddie could do this. That fluttery stomach and sweaty palms just meant it was going to be good.   

Thanks to Steve’s last name, they showed up a little sooner in the ever-so-original alphabetical order Mrs. Click went with. Munson likely would have been pushed to tomorrow. Still, they were six places away from the first Eddie wanted to be. 

Eddie didn’t hear a single thing anyone said before him. He sat in his “assigned” seat, arms folded on his desk and his leg bouncing underneath rather than propped up on a chair in front of him. That desk had their poster and the royal headdress he’d made as well as a few other props to keep Steve on his toes. Eddie’s power nap didn’t happen and he had to entertain himself somehow. 

Steve also sat in his seat, whispering with Tommy about whoever was presenting and looking nothing like the guy Eddie had left last night. He couldn’t help but wonder if Tommy had ever seen that version. Did he appreciate it if he did? 

Finally, their names were called and Eddie nearly knocked his desk over trying to get up. It started Steve’s friends in on the mockery quick but Steve brushed it off. Not a “yeah I know but I have to do this” but a “he’s just like that”. It was the nicest insult that had ever been tossed Eddie’s way. 

Set up took a minute and Eddie felt a bit like he was going to puke but they were finally off and running. Flawlessly, Steve read from the cards with Eddie’s dramatic retelling of the story of the gods ripping a reptilian monster apart to create the earth as we know it. From the skies to the oceans, each coming from the body parts of this monster just for us. 

Steve didn’t do the voices, which Eddie would have, but he read with confidence. A small bit of stammering and he did transpose a couple of words, not that Steve noticed, he just kept on reading. Eddie mouthed along off to the side.

Once the explanation of who the gods were and why they were important, Eddie took over. Explaining that gods needed to be well nourished and the only way to feed them was with blood. The blood of humans! Not entirely true but he took some storytelling liberties with the facts. It wasn’t from their textbook and Mrs. Click wasn’t going to fact-check this. 

The green paper headdress was placed on Steve’s head and Eddie crowned him a literal king rather than figurative high school royalty. Tommy and a couple of other boys offered up laughs and wolf whistles but the rest of the class listened as Eddie tossed out random facts.  

With the king crowned and Eddie’s props in place, he faced his audience and felt truly in his element. His stomach had settled, his mind cleared, and the only thing he knew now was appeasing the gods. To thank them for all they’d blessed us with. This was what he was meant to do. All eyes were on him as he weaved a fantastical (mostly true) story, ramping up to the exciting climax.

“It was a great honor to be picked, the Aztec people wanted to sacrifice themselves. This wasn’t a job for criminals or low lives, no one was making examples out of these people. They were heroes. Appeasing the gods so that the rest of the people remained free of the wrath that could be released at any time!” 

Brandishing the prop knife, he pointed it at Steve as his own heart rate increased, pounding in his ears. 

“The king! He’s selected me. A great honor.” Leaning over toward Mrs. Click, Eddie whispered in as unassuming of a voice as he could get right now. “Don’t worry it’s a prop, I borrowed it from the theatre class. With permission.” 

More liberties with the facts but, again, no one needed to know. Turning back, Eddie was surprised to find Steve standing tall, chin raised as he looked down on Eddie with pride. He was playing his part, however subtle it was, and Eddie gave a quick gasp and a wink. 

Participation like that was a mystery no one had time to solve. It made it that much harder to know that it would all go away, and become nothing more than a memory in just a few hours. Something Eddie couldn’t think about right now as he turned back to his audience. 

“So my people may prosper, I give myself to the gods!” 

After that proclamation, Eddie dropped to his knees. A couple of kids in the middle of the class stood up to get a better view. With a less-than-subtle move, Eddie pulled the blood pouch he’d made at home from his pocket and held it against his chest. Stabbing through with the knife, it poured over his hands, down his chest, and all over his pants. 

Giving this death his all, Eddie groaned and croaked. He drifted toward the ground until he was sprawled out in a puddle of corn syrup and food coloring. Wayne was going to kill him for using up the corn syrup but if Eddie was quick, he’d never know. 

His class, however, knew exactly how much had been used as the pool beneath him grew and wrapped around the leg of the nearest desk. Eddie lay there listening to the murmurs which seemed mostly positive until the “Edward Munson!” came from Mrs. Click. 

Steve leaned down and whispered “What the fuck are you doing, man. She’s so pissed. If you cost us our grade I’m going to actually kill you.” 

It was hard not to laugh at that threat. Eddie gave his death a few more seconds before he sprung to his feet. The last bit of fake blood flung across the room and as innocent as Eddie tried to play, Mrs. Click was not impressed. 

The class, on the other hand, applauded. Eddie wasn’t expecting that but he happily took a bow, soaking it all in. After he stood back up, he held his hand out for Steve. A gesture that was accepted and Eddie pulled Steve up to stand next to him so they could both take a bow. Of which they took three. 

Mrs. Click could carry on and on about how they’d have to clean this mess up, Eddie expected that much, it wasn’t going to ruin this feeling. Which was mostly the attention he was receiving for his story, his little show, but there was something special about the warmth in his blood-smeared hand. An unlikely connection and a few…small returning butterflies bouncing around Eddie’s stomach. 

The next group had to present over to the side as Eddie, a garbage can, and a whole roll of paper towels cleaned up the fake blood. A bit of work he didn’t mind at all. Even though it didn’t clean up easy. Over the boring presentation about Aztec temples, Eddie could hear Carol ask “What the hell was that?” 

“My presentation,” Steve scoffed in a way that made her sound like the idiot for daring to ask and Eddie was wrong. The high of putting on a show was nothing compared to those two words and that snark. 

Steve should have mocked him and joined in with his buddies like he always did. Instead, he almost stuck up for Eddie. A squint and it can be seen sort of situation. Worst case, he claimed half ownership in something his friends wanted to mock. At this point, if they didn’t get an A, Steve wouldn’t have to kill him. Eddie would truly and sincerely sacrifice himself for the King.

#to be posted on ao3 later #fun little fic #challenge: steve harrington bingo #feeling: accomplished

[rocknrollsalad-moved]

And I as held you, oh so close I knew no one could ever take your place

                                          One summer night, we fell in love

I know I posted this once already but I’m really proud of this story (so proud I rushed out the other posting of it when I should have done this in the first place) anyway, be your own biggest fan!

Inspired by this post from unclewaynemunson / bowtieandflannel I wrote some super sappy fluffy stuff with everyone’s favorite boys.  A heat wave doesn’t stop everyone from hanging out at the Munson trailer, Eddie and Steve are constantly crashing Scott and Wayne’s good time so it’s no wonder they think the men are taking a long time to get together. After a sad story and some feelings of missing out, the boys hatch a plan to give Scott and Wayne the school dance they never got. 

         established steddie ◈ bad high school memories ◈ found family cock blocking teenagers ◈ smoking and drinking ◈ 6520 words ◈ on ao3 here

A heat wave was on its way. Wayne talked endlessly about how he knew more than those hacks on the news with their ridges of low pressure and cooling off at night talk. Eddie never really thought of his uncle as a fighting man but he was fairly certain if Wayne ran into Skip Weatherly or whoever in a dark alley, only one of them would be walking out the other side.

However, they didn’t need the TV to tell them it was hot right now. Scott Clarke had come over for dinner, one Wayne almost canceled due to the heat and Eddie had to beg him not to. Not just because Steve was coming over for the same meal but because if Eddie didn’t meddle, Wayne would never spend time with Scott. It showed Eddie where his insecurities with Steve came from.

Plans for a casserole were replaced with simple hot dogs and chips. It was no time to turn the oven on in their tin box of a home and Eddie took it a step further and ran down to the other side of the park to borrow a grill and some charcoal. They’d have to go down and look at Ed’s grandson’s car to figure out the rattling sound but it was worth it.

Wayne fussed over the house and whined about not wanting to be seen by anyone this sweaty and tired. Eddie laughed and eased every worry that came out like a complaint. For not wanting this to be anything special, Wayne was doing an awful lot. When Steve showed up, Wayne was taking a shower. The boys stood on the porch and made fun of the situation, getting all their jokes out of the way before they could be heard.

It used to be weird, having a former teacher around. Eddie didn’t remember Scott as Mr. Clarke but he blacked out a lot of his junior high years. Steve did though and they were both aware that the man knew them as barely teenagers. He’d graded their papers and was aware they’d failed things.

Now that things were at this dating-but-not-really stage, he was just Scott. A man who still knew they failed tests and talked about what great opportunities those failures were to learn new things but he was also a man who kept a toothbrush in the bathroom and fought over the last piece of cake like he baked it.

He was a man who went out and bought a tub of potato salad because it made dinner feel more like a picnic. A sentiment seemingly shared by Steve who brought a few two liters of soda. Eddie had always been fluent in his uncle’s looks but he knew he was wearing the same one as they looked at each other to celebrate how lucky they were.

With every door and window opened in the house in hopes of finding that “cross breeze” from wind that wasn’t blowing and a box fan working overtime in the living room, the men sat around and kept things to a minimum. The air was cooling down as the sun set, Eddie made sure to announce that the weatherman had said it would because it riled his uncle up.

Hot dogs were plumping on the grill perfectly placed in Wayne’s line of sight on the front porch and Eddie remembered years of nights like this one. Thoughts that must have been broadcast because soon a story was shared of a five-year-old Eddie, visiting before Wayne had this place in Hawkins. And how desperately he wanted to help make dinner on the grill. The adults all thought it was best to stop young Eddie from getting near an open flame, however minimal it may have been, but there was no stopping him. Since Eddie couldn’t put burger patties on the grown-up's grill, he built his own out of sticks and leaves and a milk crate.

It would have been adorable except Eddie was observant and he’d grabbed the lighter fluid, dowsing his mulch in the remaining half of the bottle. It wasn’t until he came and took Wayne’s lighter that anyone caught on to his plan. Wayne cleared the porch in a single step and snatched the lighter Eddie was trying to get to work before he touched it to anything flammable.

Of all the stories Wayne had to share, that was a tame one. Eddie didn’t remember it but he liked the way it made his uncle laugh. It left a fond smile on his face and Eddie should have been embarrassed but he felt…loved. More so when Wayne continued to say that Eddie cried and cried so Wayne ended up packing him around for the rest of the night. They talked about fire safety and that no one was mad at him. Wayne eased it all with some of the slowest (but safe) marshmallow roasting at the end of the night.

Eddie was lucky long before Steve came along. He wasn’t sure he deserved Wayne but Eddie was going to do everything he could to thank him for stuff like that. Too scared to ask where his parents were in the present company but knowing one of them surely should have carried Eddie around and not Wayne.

Scott shared a couple of Boy Scouts' camping stories and left Eddie and Steve fighting giggles. There was no amount of being Just Scott to make knowing their teacher used to be a boy scout not a hilarious mental image. It was hard to imagine any of their former teachers as children, let alone in that little Boy Scouts uniform.

It set the night off on a path of reminiscing. After a couple of camping stories, Steve talked about his trips into the woods which all involved girls and making out. Something the rest of the room didn’t quite relate to. But they didn’t relate to being in the scouts either. No one stopped him and everyone enjoyed the tales the same as they’d been for everyone else.

Wayne eventually busted out the “fine china” and condiments. Scott found cups and ice, opened the potato salad, and prepared a little station to make your meal. Eddie and Steve sat on the couch, cigarettes in hand, and listened as Wayne yelled the rest of his story from the doorway.

What had started as a miserable, muggy day off was ending warm in an entirely different way. Eddie rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and listened to everything around him. It was a weird little family but it was his. It was almost too much to take when Scott and Wayne traded places with them. Letting the “kids” get their food first.

Only they sat down on opposite ends of the room to wait, Wayne lit a cigarette. The desperation Eddie felt to get them together came out in him slowly moving his hands towards each other, squinting his eye like he had the power to slide those chairs through the room with his mind.

He continued to whisper with Steve about them and the sad distance between them as they slathered ketchup and mustard in buns and piled their plates with chips. Unable to understand why they didn’t want to touch and be close at all times. Steve poured them each a glass of store-brand orange soda when Eddie looked back to the living room to see both Wayne and Scott on the edges of their respective chairs, whispering to each other just like Eddie was with Steve. Maybe it wasn’t as dismal as he thought. Maybe he and Wayne weren’t as identical as he thought.

They switched places, Steve and Eddie returned to the couch and sat impossibly close as their plates took up the coffee table. Except for when Wayne called out to ask where the spicy mustard was (they’d finished it a few nights ago), they all continued their hushed conversations.

At least until everyone was back in the same room. Wayne passed a spoon over to Scott before sitting down as they tried to pick up conversations from where they left them. Strolls down memory lane and incredible amounts of insight into each of them. Including that story Wayne shared from “when he was their age”. Why he always had to start it like that, Eddie would never understand. Maybe it was an old guy thing but Scott never said it.

All the half-hearted stories missed the mark and Eddie was ready to start filling the air with nonsense until Steve opened his mouth and had the nerve to say “Well, I went to prom…” and that was as far as he got.

Eddie cut him off gagging loudly and with his full body. Which caused Wayne to clear his throat in that way that said “Enough, boy.” but Eddie gave a few more good heaves to be sure he’d really sold his stance on the subject. A quick glance Steve’s way to make sure he was laughing had Eddie thinking he should have listened to his uncle. He leaned over with a quiet apology that he didn’t entirely mean. Sorry for hurting Steve’s feelings but not for his opinions.

In a small, innocent way only Scott could pull off, he took Steve’s half-started conversation and let something off his chest. “I never went to my prom.”

He didn’t need to say more, he’d packed the words with all the longing and regret one could. It was obvious Scott wished he had gone to prom. A sentiment Eddie didn’t share but took a breath to not repeat the mistakes of a few minutes ago.

Wayne looked across the room, the same gentle gaze he gave Eddie when he used to cry about everyone at this new school hating him. ��I didn’t either. I even had two chances and didn’t manage to make it.”

“Me either,” Eddie scoffed. Still trying to figure out why this was a solemn conversation.

They should all be proud! How much fun could it be? Getting all dressed up in ridiculous clothes and, in the case of nearly everyone in this room, forced to take a date you don’t want to, all for what? The tradition of it?

Again, the conversation smacked the rebellion out of Eddie as a tiny, quiet voice came from the hung head next to him. Trying to hide in his hair or disappear into the couch, Steve meekly offered. “I was prom king.”

So often, now, Eddie equated Steve to the geeks he kept company with. He saw him as someone similar to Scott, they had a lot in common, they were the bright and cheery to the Munson’s usual charm. All of it made it a little easy to forget what Steve was like in his past life.

Eddie could feel the eyes of not just Wayne on him now but Scott. Both of them mentally told him not to say whatever it was he was thinking. Ignoring them, Eddie said “Yeah, but your junior year so it didn’t really count. It was a practice run.”

Steve sat up a little and nodded. Eddie tossed a harmless “mean” look from Wayne to Scott. He was so good at this boyfriend stuff and didn’t need warnings from two old men who couldn’t even get it together enough to kiss.

“It’s not really as fun as you think,” Steve said. Scrunching his face before deciding to eat rather than elaborate.

“I don’t think it’s about fun in hindsight, Steve. It’s a quintessential experience and at the risk of setting Eddie off, one I wish I hadn’t missed out on. Unfortunately, my company wasn’t in high demand in school.”

“You mean this isn’t the part where we realize Mr. Clarke was a total babe in school?” Eddie teased.

The joke came quickly in an effort to hide that Eddie understood that. In something Eddie didn’t want to admit, he would have put on the uncomfortable suit and bought the ridiculous flowers if he had someone to take or even had a chance to take someone he was interested in.

After he spoke, Eddie looked to Wayne who just rolled his eyes. “I’m making a pot of coffee, who wants some?”

No one wanted any but none of them worked graveyard shifts either. It didn’t stop Wayne from making his way into the kitchen.

“C’mon Wayne,” Eddie continued to push. “Did you wanna go to your prom?”

“No.” was all he offered.

“My school had an Under the Sea Ball, like in Back to the Future except not as well decorated. I was fifteen and my mom took me out to Sears to buy all new clothes. She worked with James’s mom, our school’s prom king, and got the scoop on what the kids were going to wear. She styled me up and helped me get ready, dad dropped me off and I practically floated into the school, I was so excited.”

Scott had a way with words that didn’t make sense given he was a numbers guy but he had everyone hanging on his every word. Even in the shortened version and the clear implication it wasn’t going to end well, Scott had them eating out the palm of his hand. Wayne had stopped making coffee and was now leaning against the cupboard with the pot half filled in his hand and Steve and Eddie had shifted on the couch to better look at Scott.

“This was it for me. I was going to turn things around and start living some great high school life and it was all going to happen at the under the sea dance. An incredibly foolish hope. With my ticket in hand, I was stopped at the door as expected and met by a group of kids the grade above. All of whom refused to let me in. I showed them my ticket, they said they didn’t accept fakes printed by nerds. I had to hang out in the park until my dad came back to get me. I didn’t want my mom to know it’d gone so poorly. She worried so much and worked so hard. I think she kept the picture of me framed until her dying day.”

Steve pushed his hand into Eddie’s as everyone sat in silence. Wayne gently put the coffee pot on the counter and went to Scott’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder. Another gesture Eddie recognized. Eddie had a passing thought about having to teach Scott how Wayne showed he cared but he'd get it figured out eventually, he wasn't going anywhere.

After a few moments of uncertainty, Steve leaned in and whispered “We should go for a walk.”

Eddie whipped his head around in confusion, catching on before he voiced it. With a nod, Eddie turned back to his uncle and grabbed the last half of his hot dog in his fist. “We’re going to walk! On a walk, I mean. We’re going on a walk.”

“Nailed it. So smooth,” Steve said, side-eyeing Eddie.

Eddie grumbled but Steve had a point. With the same energy he launched the words out, Eddie stood up and moved around the coffee table. Steve followed slowly behind with a nod in Wayne’s direction that Eddie was sure was meant as an apology but read like "I'll have him home by nine, sir".

They made their way out and onto a familiar path into the woods. Eddie finished his food, half wishing for a paper towel or something but half thrilled to dirty up these shorts so he couldn’t wear them. Meeting in the middle of that, Eddie wiped most of the ketchup onto a tree…then his shorts.

Summer was hell on Eddie’s fashion and usually, he stuck to it, dedicated to the look, but he’d been home with people who’d seen him look far worse than breaking "uniform". Jeans that were now shorts (and just a little too short) and a t-shirt that long ago became a tank top, armholes cut to the hem. That part wasn’t so bad but the low-top sneakers without socks and lazy ponytail were the biggest crimes here.

Not everyone could look as flawless in summer wear as Steve. His jean shorts were way shorter than Eddie’s and it didn’t look embarrassing at all. In fact, Eddie kind of appreciated them. Mixed with an undershirt that was just a bit see-through and the sandals smacking out a warning of their arrival through the woods. Eddie should have hated every part but he’d been walking a few steps behind to appreciate it.

Something Steve didn’t let last long and, this time, Eddie didn't complain. Turning around to try and walk backward and look at Eddie but stumbling, with all the leaves and sticks and his flip flops, it wasn’t easy. So Steve stopped moving.

“We have to give them a dance,” he said. There was a seriousness in his words but not the urgency Eddie was used to, it wasn’t an order. It sounded like a request and came with a hopeful bit of innocence that almost had Eddie crying. That voice could get Eddie to walk in an active volcano.

“There’s no way. How do we do it? Are you offering up your place?”

“God, my parents would skin me alive. Please.”

Eddie did not want to hear the reason why on that one. “So what, we break into the school? Actually, no wait. I kind of like that part.”

“You think you could steal Scott’s keys?” There was a spark of mischief in Steve’s eyes that Eddie always enjoyed and that said he’d hatched a full plan.

It wasn’t hard to figure out the plan but Eddie wasn’t going to take this moment from Steve. He’d heard the grievances, the whining in private because Eddie was a safe and similar space, all about not being taken seriously. Eddie did that other thing they were both a little too good at and played dumb.

Pressing an innocent hand to his chest, Eddie played shocked. “Lil old me? Commit such a crime? Why, sir. I would never.”

“Why can’t you ever answer like a normal person? Okay, so it was a dumb question, of course, you can but will you?”

“Off his person or from his house?”

“Yeah, B and E sounds good but I’m not waiting for you, so if you get hauled in I hope it’s worth it.”

Steve started walking again, aimless and slower this time now that they’d completed the mission of getting far away from the trailer. Eddie followed, easily catching up to crash into Steve affectionately.

“If we invite him over I can easily slip it off the key ring. He always tosses his keys on the table. What are you thinking?”

“He’s probably got the same classroom as always, right? I mean it’s kind of hard to move all the science shit. So we break into the school, with the keys I mean, and we decorate up his classroom like a horrible dance. We’ll have to trick them there and I don’t have a plan for that yet but I can come up with something. I think your uncle will be the hard part so you might have to help and then they can have a dance because even though they’re totally dumb and I don’t know why anyone would wanna go, Scott kinda needs it and I think it’d be so cute. Bam, it's totally easy.”

“Cute? You think it’d be cute?” Eddie said the word as if it were new to him but with a smile that could be seen from space.

“Shut up! You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, you mean a cute date for cute old men. It’ll be so adorable.” Eddie cooed as he clutched his hands to his chest.

“What night are you breaking into Mr. Clarke’s…Scott’s place? I mean, so I can tell the cops to be somewhere else obviously. Also, do you happen to know Scott's house number...for unrelated reasons.” Grumbling as he walked, Steve tossed one of his award-winning stares toward Eddie. I would have stopped a weaker man but not Eddie, he fed off it.

“That’s not very cute of you.”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“Then who will be on the dance committee with me,” Eddie whined.

With his arms crossed, Steve glared into the woods. “Look, if it was a dumb idea you could have just said so. You didn’t have to do all this.”

Whoops, too far.

Eddie drops the act with a whole show like it hurts him to do so for Steve but Steve's worth it. Why he does that rather than apologize, even he doesn't understand.

“It’s not a dumb idea, I like it. My uncle is going to complain the whole time but I think we can pull it off. I might even be able to get him to dress up for the occasion.”

—

Of all the ways Scott thought he’d be spending his summer vacation, hanging around the Munson home didn’t make the list. He and Wayne had always been cordial, a head nod, how's the weather, good to see you. Every once in a while Scott would be blessed with more, an update on Eddie, or asked if he was still teaching but it was barely more than he had with the other guardians of former students.

And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted more. That he was well-behaved and never thought about Wayne Munson unless faced with him, which used to feel so silly. An unattainable goal, a statistical improbability, a dream.

Yet here he was spending his summer break with the Munsons and not hiding in his garage or working some horrid summer job. There was likely something cheesy to say about dreams coming true but Scott stuck to talking about the odds or that the answer was never truly a zero percent chance.

While they lived in this strange space, where Scott felt as comfortable in Wayne’s home as he did his own (a feeling he hoped was mutual). So much so he kept a few important things in the trailer. They also hadn’t put a label on anything. Scott didn’t need that but it meant he occasionally felt like he was getting ahead of himself with all this.

As enjoyable as it was, there were a lot of adjustments as well. Wayne was hard to read yet left so much between the lines, Scott felt he had a head start on this but Wayne at home was nothing like the man that stormed the school, yelling about his nephews' grades and the other boys picking on him.

This led to occasional confusion, especially when it came to the nature of what they were. Rather than wearing his heart on his sleeve like Scott, Wayne had it under his sleeve and piled in thick layers of flannel topped with a winter jacket.

Scott was chipping through the layers slowly and he didn’t mind a bit of work. The rewards that followed were always that much sweeter. Every tiny gesture felt monumental and kept Scott walking on clouds for days. Yet always itching for a bit more.

Bigger than all that was the adjustment in having all these things could be called dates be double dates. Either planned with or crashed by Eddie and Steve Harrington. And school taught Scott plenty to prepare him to teach but there wasn’t a single lesson dedicated to how to put the moves on someone when a former student was in the room.

Both boys had graduated, they were adults in most ways, but they’d not been out of school long enough for Scott to not remember them both vividly. He still saw them as the middle schoolers they hadn’t been for years now.

A skill that came in handy as everyone stubbornly tried to ride out a heat wave in the Munson trailer rather than coming to Scott’s house. He only had a window unit, not central air, but it’d keep them a hell of a lot cooler. It was pride, he knew that much, and was willing to suffer a bit to let them have it.

Since all they were doing was laying around, waiting for nightfall (which wasn’t providing as much relief these past few days), Scott found his way over more days than not. They could all be miserable together.

Steve must have had a similar thought process since he was always there. Though usually whispering in the corner with Eddie or dragging him on walks. For whatever reason, those boys took off multiple times a day, Wayne insisted it was to fool around but this wasn’t the only home they could invade. They were up to something, Scott could feel it. Even if he couldn’t put it into words enough to explain to Wayne how wrong he was. Teacher’s intuition, survival, and just a good old fashion hunch but Scott knew something was brewing.

A couple of weeks later, Scott was given the chance to gloat as the boys showed up at his house…without Wayne. Looking every bit like they were fundraising for their class trip and making it hard for Scott to see them as the young adults they were. Aided greatly by Eddie’s royal presentation of a piece of paper.

Steve rolled his eyes hard enough for everyone as he stood there with his hip cocked to one side and a sigh moving his hair off of his forehead. He offered some supplemental information and returned the keys to the school that Scott did not know he was missing. The second part was far more frightening than the first.

And off they skipped to light fires or steal keys, apparently. Scott looked over the paper, clearly the handiwork of Eddie. It was hard to forget those doodled papers turned in without answers but epic wars that took place throughout the whole sheet. And he worked in a bit of that flair despite trying his best to work with a theme.

Not any theme, though, a seafoam green and beige under the sea theme. Scott remembered the conversation, more than that he remembered feeling foolish for his admission. It was awkward enough to clear the room but it hadn’t seemed to scare Wayne off who was incredibly understanding. Even let that stoic nature drop to share he too regretted not attending school dances. The uncomfortable moment turned into something nice, something that Scott hoped brought him and Wayne closer but was also not to be brought up again.

For as in the way as those boys could be they had to be awfully observant. Sneaky too but that wasn't Scott's job to deal with in this situation. He would have to mention some parts to Wayne though.

He’d been instructed to show up to his classroom (which explained the keys) in two hours and to come dressed in formal wear. As Scott showered, Sam Cooke on the record player, he wondered who was the mastermind behind this. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing Wayne would put together but it also didn’t seem like the sort of thing Wayne would attend so he had to be involved somehow.

Scott took nearly the entire two hours to get ready, this hopeful little feeling making a nest in his chest as walked out to his car was nice. Feeling as childish as he’d accused Steve and Eddie of being but excited. This was a hard gesture to misinterpret and things with Wayne might be a little more serious than Scott thought. In the best possible way.

He hadn’t thought he’d be excited to see the school in the summer months, never mind downright giddy. Wayne’s truck was nowhere in sight but Scott was almost late so he went right inside in case it was parked somewhere else. Easily walking the empty and dark halls toward his classroom, excitement switched to nerves. With no clue what was waiting for him, Scott tried not to think the worst.

The door stood open, and light poured out into the hall, as soft music played from the room. Standing in the doorway, though, Scott realized that wasn’t even half of the magic. The boys would have to be talked to about making such liberal use of his access to the school. Later, much later. For now, they deserved an award. They’d dragged in everything they could and if he walked the halls he’d find nothing but open doors and ransacked rooms but it was so hard to be mad looking at this scene. Not only to mention the care and work that went into this.

The way the boys took what they had around them to make something beautiful was admirable. It was proof that tests and forumlas weren't the only way to measure how smart someone was.

Streamers made their way from the center of the room to the walls, they’d covered some of the lights with blue butcher paper, and one lone window had a wave taped to the bottom. Either they ran out of time or dedication.

It was no surprise to find half his AV equipment pulled in for a sound system. Which was resourceful but made Scott’s skin crawl a little knowing he’d likely have to put it back to get it how he liked it. Currently, it was playing The Supremes and Scott found something a little too fitting about hearing how you can’t hurry love.

There was a little drink station on a desk with what looked like the largest Tupperware bowl the Munsons had and Dixie Cups Scott recognized from the bathroom. Around it were hand-drawn fish and a single mermaid. The chalkboard had more of the same, including mermaids made to look like Steve and Eddie. They may not have been the third wheel Scott wanted but they could be so adorable sometimes.

Scott dared to venture into the classroom, slowly wandering around and humming along with the music. Lost in thought as he inspected his very own school dance. Which led to him finding the first and second post-it notes, among the school of fish on the chalkboard.

     We promise we will clean everything up.

          And put it back where we got it.

The second one had a tiny "no" in the corner, in pen, that looked like someone tried to erase it. He could hear the boys bickering and see that affectionate annoyance on Steve’s face. But it switched his admiration to a mission as he sought out any other notes.

Another set was on the desk beside the bowl of mystery liquid in color plastic. A string of words no science teacher wanted to put together.

     It’s Hawaiian Punch. No liquor.

          There’s rum under the table if you want to change that. (Written in a different handwriting than the first)

Scott debated the alcohol but he thought he’d wait and see how Wayne felt. Who he was starting to doubt was coming. With a deep breath, Scott tried to avoid letting all of that take over. There was a clear plan here and it wasn’t going to fall apart just because he wasn’t included in the making of it.

Resuming his wandering, Scott caught a duffle bag on his desk. By far the most out-of-place item in the room. Immediately he moved to investigate. A mess of yellow notes lay in front of the bag.

     We couldn’t figure out how to get Wayne to dress up (half a page worth of sad faces finished this message)

     So I (Eddie) picked out the nicest outfit he has and put it in this bag. Sorry about the wrinkles. Steve says sorry about the color.

     You’ll have to tell him to change. Also sorry about that.

     A friend of ours will be by at 7:30 to take your picture. Gotta have the full experience. At least get him dressed up for that.

      Have my uncle home by midnight.

The last note came with doodles in the corners, a nice little demon stabbing the word midnight because some things never change.

What this told Scott was that Wayne did not have a hand in this. All of this work came at the hands of Steve and Eddie and he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to feel like a compliment but it did. It went beyond that, this was an honor.

So many horror stories were out there trying to get involved with a family and right now, Scott had more confidence the boys were welcoming him in than Wayne. It couldn’t hurt his chances though if he had Eddie’s approval.

Scott tried to stop stressing about every little thing and remind himself to just enjoy the journey. It was going well and he knew that. He also knew Wayne well enough to know what he was getting into. This was enjoyable, he needed to relax and take it all as it happened. Something Scott had been telling himself since childhood.

Somewhere in the middle of his ancient mantras, Wayne materialized. Standing in the doorway, not unlike Scott had minutes ago but looking far more out of place. It softened those bits of anxiety, preventing them from taking hold and Scott needed to figure out when the man started to have that effect on him.

“The boys have been busy,” Scott said just above a whisper.

“I’m guessing you don’t need help with repairs and setting up for the school year?” Wayne let out a chuckle that said he really should have known they were up to something.

“They usually don’t let us in for that this early.”

With a laugh, Scott walked across the room until he was just out of reach. Trying to find some of the confusion he had when he first showed up.

“So what’s all this then?”

“I think they decided to give us that school dance we never had. I mean, I didn’t get the chance to ask if you wanted to go with me but I’m hoping the answer is yes at this point. It’d be awfully awkward if it wasn’t.”

Smiling brightly, Scott clasped his hands behind his back and rubbed the toe of his shoe on the ground. Expecting a yes, or more likely a sure, to follow his playful question.

“They’re idiots,” Wayne shook his head and leaned back into the hallway, looking in both directions.

For the first time, Scott thought this wasn’t going to happen. That Wayne was going to turn around and walk out. A typical school dance experience, Scott supposed. He didn’t have a whole lot of experience asking anyone but the rejection would be an expected risk.

He stopped the over-the-top nervous fiddling and tried not to deflate. That could wait a few minutes. Scott didn’t say a word, he didn’t want to agree that the kids were idiots. Not when they went through all this trouble. Not when they made him feel this much a part of the family before he had any right to. Even the mermaid self-portraits and tiny demons were worth appreciating. He'd have to figure out a way to thank them for their troubles later.

And like he did, Wayne stayed silent. Something Scott usually didn’t mind but right now every second of it felt like a lifetime. Of which Wayne subjected him to several.

“They got a lot right,” he started “But they shoulda let me ask you properly. I don’t even have one of them flowers for your jacket.”

Weight dropped off Scott. He knew he was smiling like an idiot, his cheeks hurt from trying to broaden them beyond what his face could hold. “With everything they thought of, I am a bit surprised they didn’t leave us any flowers. They probably would have been picked from the field behind your place or, worse, one of Steve’s neighbors.”

“Yeah, probably and I’m guessing they already got a list of crimes.”

“They did steal my keys.” That might have come out more as a complaint if Scott had stopped smiling, words still laced with promise and a touch of affection.

“I’m gonna have to ground ‘em both and I’m tackin' on a couple of extra days for letting me come looking like this.”

“Ho-ho!” Scott said, raising his finger in the air. “They thought of that. There’s a bag of your clothes on my desk and there's plenty of places to go change.”

“Those little shits!” Wayne said with a laugh, walking over to grab the bag. “Which way are the bathrooms in this place?”

“Take a left, then another one. You can find them from there.”

Wayne disappeared and Scott half wanted to swat at the air. No doubt there were little cartoon birds and hearts flying around his head. He was definitely floating as he went back to looking around for any additional notes.

As Fats Domino told the room where he found his thrills, Wayne returned. Scott immediately greeted him with a wolf whistle that echoed off the halls and earned a now-familiar growl of required protest.

“I don’t know why they picked this shirt,” he grumbled, tugging at the buttons and trying to get it to lay right.

“I do.”

“Are y'checking me out?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders, diverting his eyes but not denying the claims.

“We are far too old for that nonsense,” Wayne said with a shake of his head and a very sly smile. The sort that wrinkled his face in just the right spots and said there was so much more to him than the stoic man everyone else saw.

“We’re also standing in a makeshift high school dance. Lean into it, I say. We aren’t going to get another chance at this.”

“Does that mean you saved a dance for me?”

Scott raised his eyebrows and took a page out of Wayne’s book. He nodded his head rather than saying anything.

They continued with the silence after that, comfortable in it but not something they were dedicated to. A couple of stories triggered by their mixtape here, a few jokes about getting caught making out there, and sitting on the desks to complain about long days, but they didn’t need to say more. Swaying around the room to music, regardless of the tempo of the song, happy to be there.

And if they shared a couple of soft kisses, and snuck their hands a little lower than they should, then that was their business. This wasn’t a high school dance. No one was here to tell them how to behave.

If they were younger, if they still did things like that, Scott would have asked to go steady or to make this official but he was in his forties and stopped sending check yes or no notes decades ago. Yet, he didn't have to ask. There was more than a gut feeling the "yes" would be checked. Wayne was going to be someone in Scott’s life for a long time.

#steddie #clarkson #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #scott clarke #fun little fic

[keferon]

I’ve been thinking about the fact that Drift and Deadlock are actually the same person

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #lost light #drift #tf drift #deadlock #tf deadlock #yeah no because #I draw Drift and I draw Deadlock but I always draw them so differently #I’m reading some new fic rn #and it has a lot of thoughts about personal growth and changing #but it also shows that Deadlock wasn’t something Drift just changed into like a costume #he was Deadlock and he was doing terrible things #he stopped his harmful actions but he never stopped being Deadlock #…man #these fics #I found another 300k words one and I have fun can you tell #it was intended like a little warm up sketch btw hahah

[dapper-lil-arts]

You try to do a favor for a friend, but

#rarijack #rarity #sunset shimmer #this is inspired by a fic i wrote #the deleted scenes had some fun jokes on there heh #and i simply could not forget this one #mlp gen 4 #gen 4 #my little pony #friendship is magic #pony posting #lmaooooo #i like to think rarity would have no qualms about bragging

[bonchobrick]

So I’ve seen some posts going around about a ‘Bruce adopts Danny and everyone thinks they’ll finally have a normal family member—Danny is very not normal’ and here’s my late night take on it.

Or

Danny batfam au where they batfam tries really hard to keep their vigilante ass-kicking nightlife a secret from danny because he is ‘the only normal one in the family’ this becomes a problem however when danny gets kidnapped.

——-

The batfam all work together in a deeply serious family meeting to save their boy. After hours of combining their brains together they come up with a plan that will effectively save danny from joker, kick joker’s ass, and also make them look really cool while doing it.

So they bust in that warehouse, guns blazing, explosions fading in the background, a gust of dramatic dust covers the air

Batman steps infront of the rest of the team and demands to the blurry figure somewhere in the distance, “Where is Danny!”

The dust clears–they expect bad guys pointing weapons meancingly at them, they expect a cackle of a wicked clown amused at whatever plot he had planned coming to life, they expected a terrified boy perhaps tied somewhere likely siting in a chair that joker could present to the bats as a way of taunting them.

The dust settles–they observed their surroundings looking around and realize that, there are few new facts to be added into this ‘defeat the villain, get the bro, happy ending equation’

There is decidedly no weapons being pointed at them: In fact, all of the henchmen are already knocked out and tied up.

There is decidedly no evil laughs being echoed their way: In fact, the only noise that isnt coming from them is a light scritch scratch of a pencil

And there is decidedly no terrified little boy, there is a Danny however and he seems to be doing alright–actually scratch that.

Danny is doing wonders for the situation he’s in right now: In fact–

–Danny is sitting criss cross applesauce on-top a knocked out tied up Joker doing his algebra homework

The small blue eyed boy looks up at Batman's voice and visibly brightens, “Oh hey guys, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Jason says with the utmost of comprehension, “...what.”

“So hi, I’m kinda new to gotham so sorry about beating these guys up, I think they’re villains? I dunno, anyways if you could take care of these guys while I call an uber home that’d be great.”

Danny sends them a blinding smile which would've been adorable if there weren’t a massive pile of bodies he were casually walking away from.

As Danny nears the exit he looks over his shoulder to the baffled group of vigilantes and blinks

“Oh yeah one last thing,” Danny rubs the back of his neck nervously, “Could you guys not tell the Waynes about this.”

Damian speaks up for the rest of his frozen family, albeit hesitantly, “I do think they have already been alerted of your kidnapping.”

“Oh no that's fine.” Danny starts nervously, “It's more about me being the… fighter… in this situation. I was just adopted by them and they seem really nice, I don’t want to scare them away being all grrrr im a scary monster boy and i love to hurt people argh.”

“I don’t think they’d think you're a monster.” Tim adds quietly

“Eh, tell that to my birth parents–they went psycho on me. Like evil scientist psycho, it was not as awesome as the movies make it sound, having scientists for parents.” Danny says bittersweet as he admits with a shrug

There is a moment of silence as the batfamily reevaluate the adoption file that states Danny’s family before they passed were very good people–albeit a bit excentric.

Dick blurts out, “Where did you learn to fight?”

Danny sends him an anxious chuckle, “I actually started when I was fourteen–my town always ran into some trouble so I had to step up. It’s part of the reason I moved here actually. I really don’t want anything to do with that hero vigilante life anymore…” The boy puts his hands together in a pleading motion, “So please don’t tell The Waynes!”

Bewildered at the situation as a whole they nod in a daze

The boys eyes widen at their easy agreement and he grins, “Thank you so so much! I’ve got to go now, it’s way past my curfew. but you’ll probably see me again next time I get kidnapped–I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you guys with my family bye!”

And just like that Danny slips off into the night leaving behind a family who were so sure they finally found a normal addition to their pack.

Jason sighs looking forlornly at the spot Danny had previously been standing, “You could just never pick the just semi-mentally healthy normal kids could you?”

Bruce groans pinching his the bridge of his nose

#dc x dp #dp x dc #fanfiction #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #maybes a fic #this was fun to write so probs part 2 later #Batfam: hello normal son #Danny with practicing the knot he learned in home ed on 37 criminals: hey guys #batfam: fuck #danny is a little shit #it’s up to your interpretation whether or not he’s genuinely clueless about the Waynes being the Bats #or if he’s fucking with them #ohkay going to sleep bye bye #mwah #also we do not see the bad grammar haha gn #veerliwrites

[time-slink]

Voidwalker scar pretty please? 👉👈

[ ask game ]

HI STIFFF this actually kicked my ass super hard i haven’t drawn scar in forever

#my art #asks #art asks #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #dude. i went thru so many ideas with this n at some point i just went fuck it. lineart practice X) #he looks a little classic green alien but love that for him ? #my idea of voidwalker is limited from fic and mostly centered around breathing a different atmosphere tbh #was fun tho tyy stiff #last one of these asks i’ll do for the foreseeable future but there were also some i liked n might do one day :D

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍 #also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant??? #then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo) #also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

[teethkid67]

PAYDAY

aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!

this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it

happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!

#mcyt-valentines #things i make #c!wilbur #wilbur soot #wilbur soot fanart #dsmp wilbur #blah blah blah WHO CARES. I LOVE YOUR WRITING #i read your little um um superhero slash las nevadas Theft fic as well it was so fun :3 #AND I okay maybe this is creepy idk i backscrolled ur blog to hell and back lmfao #UR PAINTING OF TECHNOS CABIN IS SO SWEET AND CALM AND PRETTY i was originally going to do something with ctechno but the art just wouldnt c #come to me #i did get one (1) ctechno design/doodle out of it though its my most recent post before this one in my things i make tag #idk i hope youre having a good day you seem super cool and. ya #AND TO WADDS. idk i love your art so much . i think about some of your pieces literally all the time #your um. backrooms drawing with tommy & charlie & ranboo i love the warped perspective i tried to reflect that in this #your painting style anddddd yeah. your composition your everything its so good #happy valentines dayyyy

[kitamars]

lovey dovey (alt ver of the first one under the cut!)

#HEEHEEEEE GINHIJI BIG LOVE #so refreshing that i can mess around and draw them to my hearts content….. #so domestic here……..im sick cough cough splat #i love them so goddamn much you have no idea #all the little moments that are possible are so fun to draw even if i mostly just draw them yelling and arguing most of the time #i’ve read too much fluff fic and now this is what i have fhdnnfjdjfn suffer with me #silly men are silly and in love #sakata gintoki #hijikata toushirou #ginhiji #gintoki x hijikata #hijigin #hijikata x gintoki #gintama #ok bye

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

#poorly drawn mdzs #better drawn mdzs #mdzs #jiang yanli #I'm back! #She would never say 'get souped idiot' but I like to imagine JC and WWX would say it to each other if the other got sick and needed soup #JYL would never throw soup without knowing full well you would be able to catch it #She would rather fall face first than drop a bowl of soup after tripping. #She’s been hard at work preparing this soup! And all of you get to have some B*) Thanks for all the support while I was on break! #‘was your break relaxing op?’ unfortunately it was like being kicked down several flights of stairs. Didn't draw much sadly #Though I did end up writing a little mdzs fic! I haven’t written anything in a long while but it was fun. Maybe I'll post it....maybe... #regardless of all this rambling; thank you for all the kind messages. ill try and reply soon! #i have a few more fun doodles before I'm ready to crack into season 2! #Enjoy the soup in the mean time! #(PS: I know that's not the right hand shape for the meme redraw but augh...the OG hand angle was...way too hard to draw). #edit: retagged as better drawn mdzs. I put a lot into this one

[doodlesforfics]

Who’s Old Now? by @lirabuswavi​ (um i hope i tagged the right person, cause like im 80% sure you are same ao3 lirabuswavi, if not im sorry <;D)

ok this one-shot literally opened my eyes to sheer chaos possibility of Adult!Fenton adopting kid Billy B. while Teenager!Phantom being mistaken as Shazam’s ward and just ladskjsdk??? superhero/magic/ghost community would not be prepared. amazing fic. such fun.

and some doodles inspired by the fic

let lil Billy have retired ghost superhero possibly eldritch overpowered being Phantom as protective Dad.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #Danny Phantom #shazam #billy batson #danny fenton #captain marvel shazam #jazz fenton #adult danny fenton #i build a little headcanon in my head that out of all communities ghosts are the most accepting?? of this strange development #like. superheroes are: oh anicent magical Shazam has a ward. a son now about whom he cares very much and also he is apparently?? ghost WAIT #magical ppl: ah Shazam aka Billy has gained an incredibly powerful being as his guardian. oh. he is ex-hero.HE DEAFEATED THE GHOST KING #AND HE KNOWS A TIME LORD?? #ghosts: oh hey halfa got himself a kid! he is also magic. huh neat. anyways back to usual ghost shennanigans #also now Shazam is under Phantom protection. so if ghost ever attacl JL they are like: Hey wait a sec arent u like... Phantom's? #Billy: sweating nerviously #ghost: aw shit cant mess with you then. ur friends are fair game tho #maybe some new ghost uncle and aunts for billy too who knows. #just really fun ;) thoughts that this fic inspired lol #anyway i hope you might like the silly art LiraBuswavi! #Who's Old Now? by LiraBuswavi #fanfic fanart

[rocknrollsalad]

Title: I See That It's Me Who's Lost and Never Found Rating: General Word Count: 1890 Ships: Steddie Major tags: depression Additional tags: I can't think of anything Summary: Eddie has been slowly introducing Steve to his music to better learn Steve's tastes and find that perfect middle ground. Thew newest album found a little more than either of them expected. AO3 Collection: here Author's Note: This came from a prompt on discord to use Dio's Rainbow in the Dark as a prompt and this is what I came up with. it's not much but I like it.

Music was a major part of Eddie’s life but Steve could take it or leave it. Sure he’d click the radio on when he drove to work but he didn’t always give a lot of thought to which station. His parents gifted him albums they heard were popular and his grandparents would send records of stuff that’d never been popular. 

Friends had always shared their favorites with him and he’d eventually associate the music with the person. Not loving the songs as much as the memories attached. Robin’s mixtape for deep cleaning days at Scoops was something he still had memorized. There were a few bands he didn’t like, again, not because of their music but because of who listened to them or where he’d heard it last. 

Still, it was nice. Collecting all these bits of people he knows, people he cares about, and putting them in a mismatched little collection just for him. Like people who bring rocks back from every vacation. 

Eddie was now folded into that. Dropping little bits of himself into Steve’s musical taste. He was so eager to share his massive music collection with Steve that the first time he brought music over for Steve it was twenty tapes shoved in a grocery bag. Some were entire albums, bought from a store, others were mix tapes recorded off the radio. All of it was very, very Eddie.

It wasn’t all metal either. He also had bits of other people folded into what was expected. Stuff Wayne had taught him about, albums his old neighbor gave him, and others he wouldn’t talk about. There were as many surprises as expected albums. 

Steve learned there was no shortage of tapes either. They were coming out of everywhere. Yet with all that selection, Eddie seemed to pick one and carry it everywhere. Stuffed in his pocket like a wallet because god forbid they took a drive and didn’t listen to the album of the moment. 

Music meant something to Eddie though. Tunes were prepared just in case. Not an afterthought but a reason to gather. Something to be experienced, digested and played to death. With it not being a big concern for Steve, it was easy to default to what Eddie wanted to listen to. Sometimes Eddie would ask, though, he’d offer to let Steve pick the music or he’d pull from Steve’s limited selection and just decide that’s what they were listening to.

Not that Steve didn’t like what Eddie listened to. He wasn’t going to rush out and buy everything Black Sabbath ever made or fight to be front row at Judas Priest but there were albums he preferred over others. Something Eddie took diligent notes on and brought over new music accordingly. 

It’d been a while since Eddie had dropped off music homework but he said he needed Steve to listen to this one for data purposes. Straddling the line between things Steve had enjoyed and ones he’d been less excited about, this album held the answers to cracking the code. According to Eddie. 

The album was Holy Diver by Dio, a name Steve had heard plenty of times. In a weird way, a name he already felt an attachment to after wearing it across his shoulders. It’d become synonymous with not just Eddie but a crush, the journey of self-discovery that followed, and the trying on of new labels that fit better than that vest. (Which is to say nothing the war waged whilst wearing it)

Making it odd this never came up. If it was a band Steve already linked to Eddie, one he could name, he should have known a song or two but it’d been months since they started this journey of musical discovery. Leaving Steve a little too curious to hear it. He’d yet to be excited about an album but this one didn’t wait around long.  

Eddie had come back for the review after Steve had the tape for a couple of weeks and oh how he’d listened to it. More than any other album and he’d gone so far as to bring it into the car when he had to head out of town the other day. Something Eddie couldn’t learn about or Steve would never hear the end of it. 

For now, he sat clicking the cassette case open and closed, there was something so satisfying about the sound it made. It kept a lot of Steve’s attention as Eddie asked his questions. Steve played his part, answered like he always did, and downplayed how he felt about it. Carefully peppering in real feelings and testing to see how Eddie handled the review. 

It was the first time Steve had something more to offer than which songs he liked or how he felt about the lead singer’s voice. He just had to figure out a way to share this all with Eddie.

The normal stuff was quickly exhausted though and Steve was left with a bit of awkward silence. He had more he could say and he’d practiced putting it into words. However, faced with something other than his empty room, it was a little harder to get them out. The last time he’d reviewed something beyond the basics it was to say it brought on headaches. Something both personal and accurate. Eddie was surprisingly understanding in that situation but this was so much more. 

“Do you know that one, uh, Rainbow in the Dark?” Steve asked, smoothing his finger along the spine of the tape, adamantly not looking at Eddie. 

Eddie gently took Steve’s hand and robbed him of the comfort he was providing himself. Also giving the all too real reminder someone else was here, his words were being heard. 

“Of course, it’s a great song. I mean, maybe not one of my favorites but I don’t try and skip it or anything either. I keep it cranked when that comes on,” Eddie kept his voice soft, like late-night conversations they didn’t want heard but were secretly thankful the other was there for. 

“What does it…what’s it about? I mean, a rainbow in the dark? That’s not even possible, right?” 

“You’re not supposed to think about it that hard. It just sounds cool?” 

Steve’s eyes wander up, and that familiar feeling of doing it wrong started to paint the edges of Eddie’s words. Like there’s a joke sitting under them, waiting to be revealed, because Steve can’t even listen to music right. He can’t do anything right. So he nods in agreement, better to just feel dumb for a minute than explain himself and hear how dumb he’s being. 

Unlike Robin or Dustin or Erica, Eddie doesn’t accept the silent resignation. His forefinger slips under Steve’s chin as he forced eye contact. The gesture showed off the way Eddie softened while Steve wasn’t looking. The vibrating excitement of talking about music has disappeared and his big brown eyes were trying to read Steve, to assess this situation. 

“What about the song?” he asks in the quietest of voices. One that would shock the Hellfire Club too used to their boisterous, animated leader. 

“Well, it’s just like, the lyrics maybe do mean something? They do totally sound cool, I wasn’t sure if they were, like, talking about the good things coming out of bad or impossible things maybe? I listened to it a lot.” 

“You did?” 

“A lot,” Steve sighed. Admitting it felt a little less shameful than he’d expected. 

“Tell me about it? What-what-what…why that song?” 

“I think it’s kinda hard to explain. I thought I was going to bring the song up and you’d go off on what it means to you and I could just agree.”

Steve shifted in his seat for what felt like the millionth time, why his bed wasn’t comfortable anymore didn’t make a lot of sense but Steve couldn’t find a good way to sit. Eddie moved enough to let him shift and returned a hand to some part of Steve each time. 

“You wanna try anyways?” 

Flopping backward, Steve signed again and Eddie turned to face him, rubbing a hand on Steve’s thigh. The constant touch took a while to get used to and even now, Steve didn’t feel deserving of it. Unfortunately, he’d run out of ways to try and convince Eddie of that so he focused on the warmth and comfort Eddie’s hand provided.

“It’s about not being able to be what you know you can, right? You know how sometimes I don’t want to go do whatever and Robin has to come to drag me out of bed? I always have fun, I’m usually glad I went but, like, it’s hard to get there. He says the lightning is free but he’s not.” 

Eddie didn’t say anything but he nodded, still paying attention completely. 

“That didn’t make a lot of sense, it’s not the same thing, those two things. Robin’s making sure I don’t stay trapped or whatever, like, I don’t let myself? But that’s different than being free because I’ve never been that, ya know? Not really.” 

“No, it made sense. I got you,” Eddie said with a smile. 

Steve didn’t need any prompting now, the floodgate had opened. He hadn’t expected the relief he felt though even as he struggled to put coherent sentences together. 

“You know? It’s needing help but help isn’t coming so you just have to hide it. Maybe that’s the rainbow part? Since you can’t see it in the dark, it’s hiding. But it’s also kind of like all the stuff we’ve seen too. We can’t talk about it and me and you? We probably carry pieces of the literal demon, which obviously the singer doesn't mean but we’re in a weird position. All that stuff, it bogs you down, man. It’s hard.” 

“This one spoke to you, huh?” 

“I liked the whole side, I probably played it out.” 

That brought out that soft smile with sad eyes that people did all the time. Steve hated it. He earned it back in childhood, back before he knew what it meant. Eddie, however, followed it up by laying down. With his head on Steve’s chest, it was Eddie’s turn to take a moment and pick his words.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, you know I’m here, right? No matter what or when. And if you want to talk to someone else, I’m okay with that too. Professionally, I mean, because if you start spilling your guts to Wheeler, I might get a bit jealous.” 

“Does it matter which one?” 

“Very funny. I’m serious though. You don’t have to hide in the dark.” 

The way Eddie’s voice wavered when he said that, the way he didn’t take the joke as a path out of this conversation, had Steve aware of the tears building up. He’d been holding them back and he was thankful Eddie couldn’t see as they started to fall. Something Steve showed appreciation for by rubbing Eddie’s back. A gesture he hoped also conveyed his thanks.

They lay like that for a while. Supporting each other was always a bit tricky, Steve struggled more than Eddie, but this felt right. He’d let out everything he was thinking and it was accepted, not mocked or used against him. Things felt a little lighter…a little brighter. 

#fun little fic #steddie #hawkins radio shack prompt #stranger music anthology

[fishfission-dc]

Batfamily Powerpoint Night! (Part 4: Jason)

<<Part 3: Tim    |    Part 5: Cass >>

[Masterlist]

Jason: Alright everyone get your hopes way down

Tim: I’m truly terrified of whatever you made for this

Dick: Let’s just be happy he participated!

Dick: Okay yeah nevermind

Bruce: Jason. This is-

Jason: Let’s just be happy I participated

Steph: If I’m not your favorite I’m rioting

Tim: Yeah this is the only right answer

Duke: He really does put up with way too much

Dick: Like childhood Bruce

Bruce: Hn. (in reluctant agreement)

Cass: (signs) I love you too :)

Damian: Cassandra is undoubtedly a very skilled combatant.

Steph: A rare good opinion from Jason

Jason: This is why you’re higher on the hate list

Duke: I am literally so honored, I would like to thank the Academy- 

Barbara: He called you “Nightlight”

Tim: And said your suit is ugly

Duke: I don’t even care. I’m too low on the hate list to care.

Dick: He said you’re going to snap?

Duke: I mean I don’t disagree

Tim: I’M THE FOURTH BEST?

Jason: After some new information learned in the previous presentation, Timmy should probably be a lot higher on the list. 

Steph: Oh calm down Timbo you barely got “tolerable”

Tim: HE TRIED TO KILL ME AND HE STILL LIKES ME BETTER THAN THE REST OF YOU

Barbara: Fair.

Dick: For the record, Jason, we are dating and I am not a cop anymore

Barbara: I still did date a cop though Dick he’s not wrong

Jason: See this is why she’s lower on the hate list than you

Barbara: You’re just scared to cross me

Jason: ...that too.

Tim: AHAAHAH

Damian: THIS IS UNFAIR

Steph: HAHHHAHHA

Damian: I AM NOT DONE GROWING YET TODD

Jason: You’re still short

Dick: It’s okay Damian, Jason was even shorter when he was your age!

Dick: ...crap.

Jason: Thank you for proving my point.

Tim: At least you’re not a cop anymore

Bruce: You broke his nose, Jason

Jason: He deserved it 

Steph: ...wait a minute

Tim: (laughing, in realization) You mean... no

Steph: guys wait no-

Steph: NO WAY AM I YOUR LEAST FAVORITE

Jason: THE F*@#%&$ YOGURT HAD MY NAME ON IT 

Steph: YOU CANT CALL DIBS ITS FIRST COME FIRST SERVE

[squabbling continues]

Dick: I’m surprised Bruce didn’t score the number one spot

Bruce: Hn. (in understanding)

Tim: I thought it’d be me honestly

Barbara: Oh come on, he loves all of us. He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t.

Cass: (signing) Agreed. I can go next?

<<Part 3: Tim    |    Part 5: Cass >>

[Masterlist]

#the saga continues #batfamily powerpoint au #these are still so fun to make ngl #i am unsure about the dialogue all the time though #i've never written a fic or anything so i'm just spitballin #i firmly believe jason loves all the little guys even though the joker is still alive #dc make jason happy challenge (impossible) #i liked his characterization in Cheer #dc comics #batman #jason todd #dick grayson #dc robin #batfamily #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ chronicle #4 : welcome back ♡

wc : 5338

somehow, you've gotten used to living without your dragon man.

it shouldn't have been that hard to began with, you reason. since you'd only been living with him for a couple of weeks. you'd spent your whole life without this rude, bratty, infuriatingly handsome dragon guy. it really shouldn't have been hard.

you wake up to get ready for work feeling more tired than usual. this had been the case for the last two weeks now. you're lost at work, you've been really close to coming late more than once. you're coworker sachi has also asked if you were sick at least 5 times in one week, so you assume you don't exactly look your best right now.

you grab some leftovers from the fridge, hastily throwing them in the microwave to check up on your coffee. when you're done eating with the only background noise being the tv playing some game show reruns, you put your plate in the sink and remember a little too late that no one's there to clean them up for you anymore. you feel stupid, staring at the dishes like they'll suddenly wash themselves.

you'll wash them when you get back.

work goes by in a blur. you hardly remember what you did, who you'd talked to or what you had for lunch. the trip back home feels unfamiliar, like someone else was controlling your body for you. you don't mind as long as you can go home and sleep.

when you walk through your door, you check your couch reflexively, even though you've reminded yourself multiple times no one would be waiting there for you. the tv's turned off like it was when you'd left, there's nothing cooking on the stove, and there's no one on your couch.

despite reminding yourself.

you really need some sleep.

you order take out and eat while watching your favorite show for the 5000th time. it feels boring instead of comforting like it usually is, so you end up skipping a bunch of episodes straight to your favorite.

sometimes, you feel like it was all one big dream. falling in love with a dragon only for him to leave you seemed like something you could really only see in your own fantasy. but you know it isn't, because if it were you'd be able to forget about it. about him. but you can't.

it isn't painful, it doesn't feel like your heart is about to burst. it just feels so lonely. you feel like a part of you is missing, like a piece of your heart was filled to the brim with warmth only for that part to be taken away from you and leaving you cold and hollow. you don't like feeling like this. you shouldn't feel like this over someone you'd technically just met.

but it wasn't like that with him, it didn't feel like you'd just met. despite only living with him for a few weeks, you felt like you'd known him all your life. it was like you were catching up with an old friend the more you spoke to him. everything in you felt good with him. everything felt so right with him.

before you know it there are tears clouding your vision, you will yourself not to let them overflow. you hadn't cried since the day he left, you'd been distracting yourself with work not to. your favorite part of the episode comes up yet all you can do is focus on not bursting into tears. you can't go to bed feeling like shit since you've got work tomorrow. you decide to head to bed early tonight.

you'd like to think you can fool yourself into believing you've gotten used to living without katsuki. but unfortunately, you have to admit you aren't that good at lying to yourself when the first teardrop hits your pillow.

katsuki feels incredibly wrong.

it's way past the time he's usually asleep, but despite tossing and turning he can't keep his eyes shut because every time he does he sees you.

you, with your stupid bright smile. you with your stupid puffed out cheeks and pout when you'd caught him nabbing your food too late. you with your bright eyes when you come back from work to see he's made your favorite.

and you, with your glossy wet eyes when he told you he was leaving.

he really needs some fuckin' sleep.

for the last two weeks, he's been telling himself that this was better for you—for you both. he knows he could never truly be good for you. no matter how well he'd learn to cook your favorite meal. no matter how many movies and tv shows you watch together. no matter how good it feels to be with you, you'll always be a human and he, a dragon.

you're different beings made for different lives. he wasn't raised for battle, but it is a primary part of the dragon code, especially in his faction. survival of the fittest and whatnot. you were made for office jobs and midnight take out and romance movies, not for anything he was.

his friends were more than happy to see he'd finally come back home. they had basically choke-slammed him to the ground to hug him, and he can't deny he felt really a little bit happy to see them again.

he'd expected his mom to nag his ear off like she usually does but he was more than shocked to feel her wrap her arms around him tightly. she had told him she was happy to see he hadn't caused any trouble for himself and he could hear the quiver in her voice and feel the slight shakiness in her tightly strung limbs. he hadn't said anything and simply quietly held her back. his father had joined the group hug soon after and katsuki closed his eyes, indulging in the warmth of his parents' love.

this is good. this feels nice. this is where he's supposed to be.

it felt nice at the time, he recalls. but it didn't feel right.

for the last two weeks, he's been trying to tell himself that despite how much he aches, how much he yearns for you, you aren't made for him.

unfortunately, besides admitedly being a horrible liar, katsuki will forever be a selfish dragon. he only focuses on what he wants, and he wants you more than anything. he needs you more than anything.

" fuck this.." he mutters, throwing and arm over his eyes. he starts absentmindedly rubbing at his hair, like you used to. but it doesn't feel as comforting, so he huffs again.

he'd been told he unfortunately couldn't do anything about the tournament, but on a better note the guy he faced off again would be disqualified from participating since he did end up getting something from a witch, like katsuki thought. kirishima had wrapped an arm around his shoulder and told him it was a good thing. but to be honest, katsuki had almost fully forgotten about that shitty tournament. his father told him there would always be a next one. the next one in ten years. the thought of not seeing you in that time crosses his mind at makes him feel like he swallowed something sour. there's a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought but he can do nothing but try to ignore it.

just as he's about to turn to the other side of his bed a knock his door startles him. his mom walks in shortly after, opening the door halfway before walking in when she sees him awake.

" i didn't say you could come in." he grumbles half heartedly, sleep riddled voice slightly groggy. mitsuki simply sits on his bed near him, patting at his leg over the covers.

"m'not allowed to check up on my runaway son ? don't want you to leave again." she jests. katsuki knows she's joking, but he still feels a pang of guilt in his chest. he grumbles something unintelligible in response.

no words are exchanged for a moment, then mitsuki pats her son's leg a little harder, he snarls at her but she simply smiles at him.

"what do you say we go get some air ?"

the night air feels good.

soaring through the sky feels comforting. feeling the way the wind rushes through his scales feels almost therapeutic to him. it can be thrilling to soar through the air the same way it can also be calming. it provides him serenity he can't quite put into words.

katsuki finds himself wishing he could fly like this with you like when he brought you back home from work. he remembers how you'd screamed your lungs out, clutched onto him so tightly and when you'd landed back home with wobbly legs and messy..everything, you'd proclaimed it was the first and last time you'd ever go for a dragon ride. he remembers how hard he laughed and he chuffs to himself unconsciously at the memory.

flying around when he was irritated or stressed wasn't uncommon for him but he only remembers a handful of times he'd went flying with his mother. other than the times he was younger and still learning how to get the hang of it. he has to admit that that feels good, too.

they decide to rest on a nearby mountain they saw in the horizon. as soon as they land katsuki changes back into his human form, stretching as he let's out a yawn. the only remaining traces of his dragon form being his red horns and scaley tail accompanied by large red wings. he hears his mom flap her wings behind him as she also let's out a little yawn of her own. she sits down onto the gravely bottom and katsuki raises a brow before taking a spot next to her.

it's quiet as they both silently stare at the moon. it's a little chilly out but katsuki doesn't mind much.

"so," mitsuki sighs, taking a large gulp of the fresh air " you gonna tell me what happened when you went on your little expedition?" she bumps her shoulder with his playfully, katsuki growls but doesn't snap back like he usually would.

he simply shrugs "it wasn't an expedition." he gulps, it feels like a knot grows in his throat. "it wasn't anything." he doesn't notice the way his hands are tightened into fists, but his mother does.

"that so ?" she utters. she speaks in a nurturing way. that soft tone that only a mother could use for her child. it upset him even more as the knot in his throat tightens.

"i.." katsuki starts "i was around a lot of humans.." he admits. his mother hums in response, urging him to continue. "saw a lot of things, tried a lot of human stuff."

"human stuff ?"

"human foods and desserts and stuff. and movies. they're people moving around acting inside a big box that they call a tv." he tries his best to explain it in the simplest way considering it took him a while to grasp the concept of electronics himself. he can tell his mother doesn't really understand, but he's thankful she simply nods and let's him continue.

"it wasn't too bad." he concedes. " i didn't wanna kill too many of them." he jokes, his mother chuckles in response.

"anything else happen ?" she asks with a smile. katsuki can already tell shes's onto him. screw this mother's intuition shit.

he opens and closes his mouth a few times, nothing he wants to say seems to come out right.

"ma.." he starts, she hums " when you--how did it feel for you when you fell in love with pops ?"

her eyes widen at his question. she sits and thinks about it for a minute, then a smile grows on her face. " it's not something i can really explain. i just knew it when i saw him, i knew he was meant to be mine."

"even though he's a human..?" he mumbles quietly. his mother doesn't seem fazed, her dazed smile remains.

"yeah." she answers simply.

"it didn't bother you ?"

"nope." she immediatly answers, popping the p.

"it wasn't weird ?"

" it took a little gettin' used to." she hums "we're completely different after all. his family wasn't exactly on board with it. but they didn't say anythin' when i showed 'em my dragon form, i think they were just really amazed." she laughs at her own joke and katsuki fights an eyeroll.

"how'd you do it then ? how'd you..get used to it ?" he asks almost urgently.

her smile hasn't faltered since the beginning of the conversation. it seems to have gotten even wider and even brighter. " i didn't do anything. i loved your father, i still do." she sighs dreamily " when i was around him i didn't worry about anything. i didn't worry about what others thought to begin with, but i didn't worry about that. i wasn't scared of the future or anything."

"there was nothing for me to be worried about when i was around him. it always just felt like things would work out. we made each other happy, and when i was around him it all felt so.." she can't seem to find the right word to use but katsuki finds one for her immediatly.

"right ?" he finishes.

"yeah" she smiles, eyes softening as she looks at her son "yeah, it felt really right."

for the last two weeks, katsuki's been trying to deceive himself. by now he knows it isn't working. at all. he'd been trying to keep his mind quiet. he's been spending time with his friends and it's been nice. but there's clearly something missing. something he knows that his parents or his friends can fill, despite them caring so much for him. and he feels bad because he cares, he really does. but there's something he needs.

you're the one he needs.

"i think.." katsuki jumps a little when his mom speaks up again "i think there's somewhere you need to be, isn't there ?" she asks, though that knowing look she gives him clearly says she already knows the answer.

katsuki bites his lip, looking down towards the ground below. he can't see the bottom.

"i'm scared, ma.." he admits, meekly. mitsuki's heart squeezes at her little boy's heart showing in his eyes, scared of the unknown despite trying his best to convince himself he isn't.

his mother places her hand ontop of his and squeezes " i know, i know you are.." she comforts.

"w-what if it's too late and i messed shit up ?" she shakes her head, shushing him.

"you didn't, i know you didn't." she speaks carefully "if that person is the right one for you, then there's absolutely no way you have." she pulls him into a hug and he hugs her back tightly. no more words are exchanged as katsuki and his mother sit there. she pulls away and presses her forehead to his.

"you get goin' now, okay ?" she feels him nod after a moment and her smiles grows wider. she ruffles her son's hair and he grumbles, pushing at her arm and he fights off a smile.

he's sure, he knows what he needs to do now.

he gets up with vigor and stretches out his limbs and his wings as they flex and expand on his back. before he takes off though, he hears his mom call for him. he turns to look at her proud smiling face.

"you'd better come and visit !" she grinned, sharp fangs on display. katsuki smiles back at that, sharp grin rivaling hers.

" obviously !" he affirms, before taking off.

you wake up like you'd had the best sleep in your life. probably because you cried yourself to sleep.

you're awake an hour earlier than you usually are and you can't seem to get back to sleep. so bitterly, you decide to just get up and start your day an hour early.

you're definitely not getting ready for work at this hour, so your hello- kitty jammies are staying on. you remember you have a half eaten tub of vanilla-caramel-brownie ice cream in the freezer and it makes you a little happier. you walk over to your fridge with a little skip in your step.

when you sit down on your couch and turn your tv on you can already see the sun rising from your balcony. and it makes you dread having to go to work in an hour and a few minutes, you do your best to ignore it and watch a rerun of some old drama tv show you found.

you take your first bite and hum to yourself happily. the ice cream melts on your tongue and the flavours burst onto your tastes buds. if you could you'd eat ice cream every single day.

but katsuki would scold you for it.

it feels a little harder to swallow down your next bite.

the female and male lead on the show are arguing about something. the man says he only has eyes for the lady. he says that it's always been her, that if he were reborn in another life, in another country, he would still always find his way back to her.

you quietly keep watching, taking smaller and smaller scoops of ice cream. the lady is doubtful, she asks the male how she knows he won't break her heart. he responds that she only needs to trust him, that she needs trust herself.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?" he asks.

"it's telling me.." there's a dramatic pause " that i love you..!" she declares.

the two share a hug and an old ending song plays, you can hear an audience clapping like you sometimes do in old sitcoms. you really wish you could go back to sleep when you check your phone and see that only twenty minutes have passed. you wonder if you can call in sick as you play around with your ice cream, but you draw the line at that. that'd be too childish and you're too grown to be faking sick just because you got your heart broken.

you switch through a couple of channels before you land on an animal documentary. it's about red panda's and red panda's are adorable, so you shuffle on your couch to get comfortable and scoop up another big bite of ice cream.

the moment you bring your spoon to your lips though, you suddenly feel a big gust of wind. accompanied by a loud crash. and a giant hole through your fucking wall.

your spoon stays frozen against your lips, it's cold but you can barely feel it. slowly, you turn to look at something coming out of the cloud of smoke caused by the debris.

or no, it's a someone. you can see them stand up straighter as huge wings stretch on their back along with huge pointy horns and—actually maybe it is a something after all.

except you squint and you realise that it isn't a something.

it's katsuki.

it's katsuki and he's looking at you, bright red eyes focused solely on yours. he's here, he's here with you.

and he's once again blasted a hole through your wall.

you almost want to laugh, but you're afraid if you do you'll start crying. so you simply stare at him. he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth

“hi..” he exhales.

he’s heaving, taking in the force at which your wall was blasted into pieces one could assume it was probably because he was flying really fast, and he was. but this wasn’t really going all out for him. frankly, katsuki bakugou is heaving because he’s so incredibly nervous.

“h-hi..” you utter back, wide eyed. katsuki zones in on something on your face and furrows his brows.

“you’re eating that cold shit that early in the morning ? you’ll get sick.” he chides. this time you do laugh, because he’s so insanely ridiculous, how could you not.

“yeah well, no one was here to stop me so..” he knows the other meaning to your joke very well and his heart hurts at the sadness in your eyes when you fully realize he’s actually here.

“why did you—i thought you had to go home ?” you stutter. he takes a hesitant step towards your couch, towards you. his hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you, to touch you, but he holds back for now.

“yeah i did.” he nods “so here i am.”

your heart feels like it’s beating while being held down under a huge weight. you want to do so many things. you want to cry, ask him so many questions and kiss his mouth off but you can only bring yourself to ask “why ?”

katsuki frowns at the way your bottom lip wobbles and he immediately decides he can’t have that. he walks up to you and grabs your hand to pull you towards him, you stand up with a squeal as he pulls you into him. you’re ice cream long forgotten as neither of you notice the tub hitting the floor.

right now you’re only focused on him and he on you.

“i-i tried to tell myself that i didn’t need you at first, that it was better if i didn’t. we both know we’re—more than completely different,” he chuckles humorlessly. “tried telling myself that i didn’t need you because i didn’t need you my entire life, so why should meeting you, a human, change anything ?”

"but then—i don’t know, i realized that i’d spent so much time with you and your normal human life. with your weird habits and routines and your cheesy animal love stories. and then suddenly i just—" he stops himself mid rambling, he’s still heaving and he can’t seem to calm down. until you reach up and place your hand in his hair.

in seconds it’s feels like he can breathe again. your hands in his hair feel like taking a flight in the dead of night. your entire being is like the way it feels when the wind rushes through his scales.

he needs you, he needs you, he needs you, he needs you and he needs you so bad.

he plops his head against your shoulder and you hear the purring sound from when you’d first pet him in your office building. when you didn’t really know why you did, and that it just felt right to.

“suddenly i realized that i couldn’t be without you. i couldn’t see myself without you and your stupid smug face whenever you’re being a smart ass. without you and your weird taste in movies and your hands in my hair and your smile and—" he cuts himself off again. seemingly realizing he’d said too much. you don’t want to embarrass him too much too soon so you hold back the giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“i thought you liked my taste in movies.” you joke, playing with the hair on his nape. you feel him huff a chuckle against your shoulder.

“never said i didn’t like it. said it’s weird.”

“is there really a difference?” you snort.

“hell yeah there is,” he retorts “ya go from watchin’ that weird demon cat on your phone to watching the conjuring in the same breath.”

“ that just means i'm open to a lot of genres, it’s a good thing !” he snorts then grumbles some kind of agreement under his breath “and don’t you insult hello kitty like that ! she’s done nothing to be classified as a ‘demon cat’.”

“ it’s fuckin’ weird. why doesn’t it have a mouth ? and why are it’s black beady eyes starin’ into my fuckin’ soul ?”

“ quit calling her 'it' ? and she’s adorable !”

“she’s freaky is what she is.” you groan.

"you're insufferable. so incredibly annoying." you grumble in defeat. he lifts his head up to look at you then, his award winning cheese on display with a tiny fang poking out.

"yeah, maybe..but you missed me." he counters. you huff, but you really can't lie "yeah, yeah i did" you say. it comes out sadder than you'd wanted it to, and he seems to notice it. his eyebrows furrow and the remorseful look on his face makes your heart burn. your expression mirrors his as you speak.

"i really did miss you, katsuki. i really did." you whisper sorrowfully. you feel him wipe the tears you didn't even know where about to spill from the corner of your eyes. he grabs your cheeks in both of his large hands and wipes at your eyes, then rubs at your cheeks softly. his eyes burn with unspoken words and feelings and you don't need to hear him say anything to understand. you understand him better than anyone. human or dragon.

and that's all you need.

"i know." he leans in until you're inches away and your eyes flutter closed when he nuzzles his nose against your tenderly. he places his forehead against yours in a way you can only describe as loving. "i know." he whispers again.

"but i won't leave again. i promise." he vows, rubbing his nose against your cheek. the gesture feels very animal like and you giggle a little. he huffs against your cheek in amusement. "you're mine, you've always been. i know that—i'm sure of it now." he corrects "so i'm not goin' anywhere." he's so close. just like that night.

you want to let go, want to give yourself to him and trust him but there's something holding you back. katsuki can tell you're doubtful. he nudges his head against your softly, "talk to me." he urges.

"i just..i'm scared.." you admit "what if things don't work out ? i really, really like you katsuki." your voice trembles and your bottom lip wobbles the slightest bit "i don't want you to go away again.." he shakes his head adamntly, his hair tickles against your forehead. he breathes a sigh and pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes properly.

"i don't know how the future will turn out, or what's gonna happen." he knocks his forehead against yours again "but that doesn't scare me. mostly cus i'm not scared of anything," you roll your eyes but you can't help the chuckle that rips out of you. he smiles, obviously proud of his joke.

"but also because i know you're it for me. no matter what happens, i trust that i'll always come back to you." he seems to realize he's been awfully out of character. a cute blush grows on his face but that doesn't deter him in the slightest, as his eyes stay fixed on you. it makes chills run down your spine.

"you..were made for me. that's all i need." he closes his eyes, embarrasment catching up to him. you smile at how adorable your cranky dragon man could be when he wanted to be.

that's all he needs. you're all he needs. the thought fills your body with so much warmth and love.

you bring your hands up to his cheeks. he opens his eyes. looking down at you with half lidded eyes and so much affection it makes you giddy.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?"

you smile up at him, a watery giggle slips past your lips.

" i love you."

you trust yourself. you trust katsuki. you trust your love for him.

his eyes widen. and suddenly he's leaning down and all he gives you as a warning is a breathy whisper of your name. you don't think twice when you nod your head fervently and then he's closing the distance and kissing you.

in a second it's like you feel whole. it's like he breathes life into you with the kiss he presses onto your lips. and the next one, and the one after that.

he pulls back to catch his breath for no less than three seconds before he's stealing yours away again. but you don't mind in the slightest. you'd give all of yourself up willingly to him. you wish you could stay close with him, holding onto him like this forever.

but then there's a sudden sharp pain in your lip.

"ouch !" you yelp. katsuki immediatly pulls back, eyes racking over your face until he notices red on your lip. you lick at your bottom lip and taste blood. you look up at him, a mix of amusement and suprise on your features. after a second, you let out a chuckle.

"guess you missed me lots, huh ?" you laugh some more when he growls at you. trying his best to seem somewhat intimidating despite the state he's in. he's breathing heavy and he's sweating a little bit, cheeks fully red.

"b-be quiet, human." he leans down and licks the blood off your lip. it flusters you despite him meaning it innocently, dragons are way more direct when it comes to physical affection, it seemed. "i'll roast you alive."

"no you won't, liar." you answer arrogantly. you bring your arms to rest around his neck, your hands play around with the hair on his nape. "you like me too much."

"you're gettin' real cocky, aren't ya ?"

"am i wrong ?" you counter. he narrows his eyes at your challenge but lowers his head in defeat soon after. he shakes his head with a chuckle. "no, guess you're not." he concedes.

"you guess ?" you tease.

"don't push your luck, loser." he nips at your nose, and you giggle. he snarls at you when you tug at his horn, but he can't hide the smile on his face.

"i—uh." he looks away, off to the side towards your tv "love. you. too..or whatever you humans say.." he confesses shyly. too much direct eye contact for one day, it seems. you giggle, then lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips. it takes him a second before he eases into it. slowly, just as passionately as the first time, but you both know there's no rush to let each other know how you feel. you've got all the time in the world together.

"i'm glad.." you say once you pull away. "so, can i assume that means you're back now?" you joke.

"i told you i'm not goin' nowhere. you're mine." he asserts " i'm back." he states with a fanged grin.

you smile wider at his words. you're smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt but you really don't mind "welcome back." you answer lovingly.

this feels right. this feels like where you both belong. he's back.

back where he belongs.

you pat his nape "to make yourself back at home, you can make me breakfast !" you chirp. "you owe me at least twenty five homemade dinners too, so you'd better get to work." you laugh out loud when he pokes at your side with one hand, with the one on your face squeezing your cheeks out.

"cheeky brat, already puttin' me to work, hah ?!" he grins "i guess i do owe you dinner though, but definitely not fuckin' twenty five of 'em !" you both laugh at each other some more and you wish all of your days with him here could feel like this. but even if they don't, you're not worried. as long as you're together, you know everything will be okay. you trust that with all your heart.

"katsuki ?" you start after a moment. he hums in response, urging you to continue while he nibbles and presses smooches on your shoulder. you smile, you're so incredibly happy.

"fix up my damn wall, would you ?"

and here it is yall, the final chapter ! thank you all sooooo much for the overwhelming amount of love for this silly lil series. i couldn't be happier that you guys liked this fic just as much as i did writing it ! and i hope this ending makes yall happy (cuz some of yall were losin it last chap LOLOLOL) take this super fluffy ending as an apology for that then !! much luvv <333

taglist ! : @sikuthealien @rosemarygalaxy @guccirosegold @queenpiranhadon @k0z3me @katsuisbaby @lovra974 @katsus-mistress @briokayama @sixxze @lupikekee @nymphsdomain @berryvioo @roboticsuccubus83 @yao-ai @haruesme @omayrac @raatass @touyasprettydoll

#ITS TIIIIMMEEEE #im SO SORRY I MADE YALL WAIT SM ML'S BUT ITS HERE NOW!! #pls take this sweet ending as an apology for last chap i noticed yall were in shambles over it..</3 #fire breathing roommate chronicles #last part yall :((( #im attached i loved writing this little series it feels like my baby #thank you sm for the love and support on my silly little fic yall ily muah muah #lollolol im not getting emotional at all lololol #it was sm fun to write tho ! #cant wait to make more !! #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #bakugou drabble #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n

[kenjakusbraincum]

Hi, i can’t help but request this because you write so beautifully.

So I just had the idea of a former ballerina being sacrificed to Sukuna. She does her work good and gracefully but she longs for old times where she was able to dance and feel like she’s flying again. So she does it in the evening in Sukunas garden. He of course notices and as culture lover he is he makes her his personal dancer. And a cute lil love story forms from this scenario.

I would be so thankful if you form this to a proper story because i don’t have enough imagination. Love your work

Thank you for the compliment! I apologize in advance for my butchered descriptions of dance scenes and hope you like what I came up with anyways <3

Swan Lake

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 6.3k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader but the words maid, whore and bitch are used, true form! sukuna, bullying, fluff with a very brief and soft smut scene at the end!

Sukuna doesn't care where his servants come from. People get offered to him all the time, and he takes them when he feels his palace is understaffed. And that happens quite often, considering how eagerly Sukuna gets rid of his servants for the smallest inconveniences. His staff is disposable to him, having no value beyond the services they provide him with.

So he doesn't know about your past. He doesn't know you were once an esteemed entertainer. He doesn't know that you were touring the world, sharing your art with audiences of all different classes and ranks in society. He doesn't know you were once the star of the stage, hypnotizing people with the fluidity of your movements in rhythm with the music. He doesn't know you were snatched from fame, taken against your will and brought to him to pay your capturer's debt. You're not sure he's even properly looked at you, much less heard your capturer tell him who you are. You were that worthless to him.

Now you are but a maid. You spend your days on your knees, mopping blood soaked floors. At night, you share chambers with dozens of other servants. Privacy is a foreign concept in Sukuna's palace. You are not entitled to it even in the bathroom. Everything is shared for the servants. There's no space for you to even try to indulge in your beloved profession, even as a hobby. Except...

The garden. Most servants are in bed, prepared to sleep, but your eyes linger on the windows. In every way, going to the garden would be to your own detriment. Losing sleep was dangerous, it could lead to getting caught slacking off, or being ratted out about it. And the consequences for that... well. One could only imagine it wouldn't be a simple slap on the wrist.

Still, you longed for this. The work you did during the day drained you, it was repetitive and soulless. You weren't made to clean floors. You were made to dance, it was your destiny. Since childhood, you don't remember a period of time as long as this one, where you haven't had the opportunity to enjoy your passion. Tears stung your eyes as this revelation found you. Every day, you could feel your life slipping through your fingers. You were alive, but your energy, your liveliness, your personality, all of it was dissipating in the pools of blood you were forced to clean.

''Can you be quiet? Some of us are trying to sleep.'', a servant who sleeps in the bed next to yours snaps you out of your thoughts. You are sobbing. You apologize quickly, and snuggle in bed, trying to muffle the noises against your deflated pillow.

But sleep just doesn't take you that night. You grow more and more frustrated, as time passes and you toss and turn in bed. Eyes wide open, fixed to the window across you. The garden lures you, calls for you. Damn it. You have to try. This is not much of a life anyways, you think. Sooner or later Sukuna or Uraume would find faults in what you're doing anyways, and you'd be served for dinner. You don't exactly have a lot to lose.

Sneaking out of the chambers is easy. You spent your whole life on your tippy toes. No one moves in their sleep as you cross the room, open the door and slide through the crack. Quietly, you make your way around the mansion. Outside, you're greeted by a light summer breeze. The garden is eerily peaceful, lit by the moonlight in this late hour.

You start to warm up, hopping, circling your neck, swinging your legs. Feeling the stretches in muscles you forgot you had. The grass tickles your legs as you splay across the ground and reach for your feet. Then stand and shift your weight to your toes, feeling out how rusty you've gotten in the time you've missed out on practicing. It's not too bad.

So you start out slow. The music plays in your head and you mouth silently, counting the rhythm. Your eyes are glued to the ground, you're trying not to trip and fall on the uneven surface. Your movement feels as smooth as it did before, but you can't see yourself in the mirror to check your form. You close your eyes, surrendering to the cadence of your motions. The music carries you, and as you turn into a poised second arabesque, time seems to slow. It's only a moment, but when you turn back to continue...

Slam. So hard you start to fall back, but his arms catch you around the waist. If you weren't scared out of your mind you would've wondered how did he even show up there without you noticing. But of course, he's Sukuna. You look at him with eyes so wide you think they may fall out, and he stares back with an amused smirk. Then he bites the air in front of you, clanking his sharp teeth together, and you scream in response. His hand flies to your mouth in an instant and he shuts you up.

"Quiet now. You wouldn't want to wake your colleagues up, would you?", he tilts his head, observing your terrified expression. "Or do you want everyone to slack off with you tomorrow?"

"I-I won't slack off I promise!!!", you panic, hands shaking as you bring them up in a defensive stance. Tears pool in your eyes as you stare death in the face. He is... weirdly beautiful, lit by the moonlight. And he holds you sturdily, but gently. It doesn't hurt. And he doesn't seem particularly mad.

"Is that so?", he asks. There's a smile on his face, but it feels dangerous, threatening. Like everything else about him. "Then just what do you think you're doing outside at this hour?"

"I was- I was dancing -", you stutter, struggling to form coherent sentences. Why are you so close to him? You're pulled flush against him. You can almost feel his -

"I didn't know I had a dancer in my ranks. Why didn't you say so?", he says, and surprisingly lets go of you.

You're so sure he's playing with his food. You're so sure he's going to slice you into pieces. You've already crossed so many lines, broken so many rules. You look to the ground, only now remembering eye contact with him was strictly forbidden.

"Speak.", he growls, audibly irritated by your refusal to reply.

You didn't think he was genuinely asking. What the hell are you supposed to say? Why didn't you say so? Maybe because you wanted to see the light of day again? "I ... A lowlife such as myself has no place speaking to your Highness.", you duck your head low in an apologetic manner. And he seems satisfied, smiling playfully again. Except you don't see it, you feel it. Sukuna's presence pulls the most demeaning, self-depricating things out of people's mouths.

"Humble.", he comments and walks a couple steps around you. He's huge. "Go on then, dance for me."

You stand frozen. It's not that you're ashamed... you've performed for audiences bigger than you ever could've imagined. But the weight of his stare is harder to bear than that of hundreds. And the stakes are higher than ever. He has to like it, or else...

"Dance!", he orders sternly, and crosses his arms over his chest. So you give it your all. Remembering where he interrupted you, you get back into position and start. Dance. Your life depends on it, doesn't it? Well if there's one thing you can do to save your life it should be this.

But it's not like before. Fear seeps into every muscle in your body, and your movements are unsure. Every jump is fleeting, every landing shaky. Tears blur your vision, and it's so hard to keep your breathing steady when you're struggling not to cry. But you're a ballet dancer, you were trained to endure. You finish the variation, cross your legs and gracefully bow.

Sukuna watches intently with narrowed eyes, like a predator stalking his prey. You can't see the sly smile on his face, but you can feel it.

"I apologize, your Highness.", your voice trembles. "It wasn't my best."

Sukuna huffs in amusement and waves his hand dismissively. "Go to sleep.", he orders.

You bow before him again, and quickly turn back towards the mansion. You don't feel relief from his piercing stare until you disappear behind a corner in the hallway.

You can't shake the feeling when you're back in your bed, snuggled in the sheets up to your eyes. You just survived a close encounter with Sukuna. And he must've liked what he saw at least a little bit, if you're still alive.

The next morning, you wake up and start getting ready for work with the other servants. The bathroom is busy, and as there's little else to do in the servant circles, gossiping starts immediately.

"Did you hear the scream last night?", the servant taking up the sink next to yours says, tapping foundation into her skin.

"Screams come from Sukuna's chambers all the time. It must be a new pet getting used to him.", another one replies. You shiver.

"Everyone knows how that sounds. This was different!", the two maids exchange a look.

The second rolls her eyes. "So, he killed someone. Nothing new.", she shakes her head.

"No. Uraume would've called someone to clean it up immediately.", the first servant continues. You really, really wish they would just drop it, until... "Hey you.", she turns to you. "Your bed was empty last night, did you hear anything?"

Your blood runs cold. "I was... feeling sick. And went to the bathroom.", you say quickly. "I probably couldn't hear... over the sound of throwing up."

"Hm.", both of them look at you now. "Well you look sick too.", one of them says. "Be careful with work today.", then they finish up and leave. You breathe a sigh of relief and finish up getting ready.

The next few days pass spotlessly. You don't cross paths with Sukuna. But some nights, you feel his presence in the garden. You stretch and practice simple movements in the bathroom, when no one's around. And the variations, you save them for the garden. At night. The only time you feel alive, the only time you feel like yourself. Human. Free. You think you might just get away with no one knowing, but then...

He walks past you and another maid while you're scrubbing the floors in the hallway. Both of you freeze as he passes by, assuming a submissive position and greeting him. You pray he won't notice, pray he won't know you by your voice, but he stops. Right by you, and then there's a moment of silence. He lifts his foot, touching your chin, and nudges you to look at him.

"Oh.", you watch his stern expression soften. "It's a shame for a talent like yourself to waste away on their knees.", he says. You look to the servant next to you, and she mouths a silent 'what?' as she turns her head in your direction.

You swallow your shame. It's not the first time you had to in front of Sukuna. "Its an honor to serve you, your Highness, even if it's on my knees.", you say.

Sukuna hums. "What a good servant you are.", an amused smile graces his face once again. "Well, get to rubbing then.", he nudges your face back downwards with his foot, and walks away.

You and the servants keep rubbing intensively, until he's out of sight and a couple minutes have passed. Then she grabs you by your shoulders and gives you a look that is both terrified and angry. "You did what with Sukuna?", she asks.

You frown, offended. Why does everyone in this mansion immediately think of that? "He knows I'm a dancer.", you say simply and look back to the floor, rage brewing in your chest.

"When did you do it. Was it you screaming? Oh my god it was!", the revelation hits the servant and she puts her hands on her cheeks, looking at you in shock.

"It wasn't me!!", you lie, agitation showing in your voice.

"Does he really have two dicks?", she asks.

You drain the washing rug and smack her in the face with it. "You disgusting pervert, how dare you ask that about your master!"

"You hit me! Whore!", she smacks you back, but harder, and her rag is full of dirty water.

"I'm not a whore!!", you cry, and wipe your face with your dirty, wet hands.

"Dancer. Yeah right, I can only imagine!", she throws the wet rag on you, and it sits on your lap, soaking you in the nasty liquid. "And you're a liar too! How shameless!"

"What is this commotion about?", a voice calls from the back of the hallway, and you turn around with teary eyes. Uraume looks like a blob of white in your vision, nonetheless they're recognizable.

"Tell them! You hit me, you little bitch!", the servant slaps your shoulder. You don't have it in you to fight back. The injustice pains your heart, and you can't bear the embarrassment.

Uraume smirks, noting your disheveled appearance. Your whole uniform is soaked now, even your hair. There's a pool of water forming around you as the liquid seeps out of the rags. "Clean this mess immediately. Master will be notified of this issue.", they say, and walk past the two of you.

The servant looks at you with contempt burning in her eyes. Then spits in front of you. "Clean.", she says, takes the rag you hit her with and starts cleaning.

Sukuna sees you that evening. He sits on his throne, head in his hand, and looks down on you and the other servant. He hides his inner smile, the joy he takes in executing power over others. And it's you again. He asks what this is about, and the servant wastes no time pointing her finger at you, saying you hit her first.

Sukuna's critical stare turns to you. ''Is that true?'', he asks, scanning you from head to toe, noting the state you're in. He's not particularly happy to see you like that.

You timidly nod, admitting your fault in the situation. Your stare is fixed to the ground, where dirty water drips down from your soaked clothes. You smell, and look like a rat, all of that in front of Sukuna. You wish the ground would swallow you whole and spare you this humiliation.

But he knows you. You've captivated him. Otherwise he wouldn't have cared to ask if you have anything to say in your defense. You tell him, omitting the details of her perverse question, you simply say she was slandering his holy name.

Sukuna moves, leaning his elbows on his knees. You care about his name? How lovely. So what is this slanderous thing his servants fought about?

Silence. You and the servant exchange uncomfortable looks. If there was one thing the both of you could agree on for the day, it was that repeating it in front of him was too vulgar. With that, Sukuna quickly grows bored with the situation. When he raises his hand, both of you flinch, expecting immediate punishment. However, nothing happens when he flicks his fingers. You're dismissed.

Quickly, both of you scurry away, leaving the throne room and going back to your jobs. The rest of the day is harrowing. The rumor spreads among the servants quickly, and you are the butt of every joke. You hear whispering and giggling behind your back, and everyone's stares linger on you as you go about your day. The culmination happens next morning, when the servants are getting ready in the bathroom, and the insults start getting more direct.

''Show us how you dance for Sukuna, why don't you?''

''Did you take both at the same time?''

''He didn't like you very much if you're still working as a servant.''

And then everyone goes quiet. When you turn around, you see Uraume at the door, their eyes fixed on you. ''Come.'', they say quietly, and leave without waiting for you to catch up. Well, it seems your punishment is due. You gladly leave the bathroom and follow them down the hall, anything is better than spending another second with the other servants. But now that you think of it, where is the servant that shares your punishment? Have you even seen her this morning? Or after the meeting with Sukuna at all?

You turn a couple corners, and stop at the end of the hallway. Uraume opens the doors to a room, and ushers you inside. What is this? It's furnished. Modestly, but... You open your mouth to ask a question, but you're quickly cut off.

''Make yourself at home.'', they say, and turn their attention to you.

''What about my things?'', you ask, looking around the room, then back to Uraume.

''You won't need them. Do you have good table manners?''

''Uhh.. yeah... I think.''

''Great. You dine with Master Sukuna tonight.''

''Huh!?''

''Your outfit is on the bed, be ready by sunset. I'll come to pick you up.''

Then the door closes and you're left alone in your new room. This isn't what a punishment should look like. Not when a beautiful kimono waits on your bed. Not when there's a barre fixed onto a mirrored wall, and there's a box on the ground, and when you open it, you find pointe shoes. Multiple pairs. He didn't know what size to get you. Ribbons, a sewing kit, glue, scissors... everything you need to break them in. Under that, a simple black leotard and a wrap skirt. By all means... this looks more like a reward.

You try everything on, find the perfect pair of shoes, and test them. It's not a big room, but there's enough space for you to practice with the bar. For the first time in so long, time passes quick. You're doing something you enjoy. It feels like in a blink of an eye, your shadow gets long on the wall opposing the window, and you have to get ready for dinner. You put the kimono on to the best of your ability - you don't have the opportunity to wear it often as a servant, being usually restrained in a uniform. And then reality hits you. Sukuna wants to have you over for dinner. This... is this a date? Unless he was planning to eat you, but you suppose he wouldn't have bought you shoes and furnished a room specially for you if that was the case... Come to think of it, what are you eating tonight?

Uraume knocks on the door, and takes a long look at you when you open. They fix your collar and nod, taking off down the hallway and expecting you to follow. They lead you to the dining room, vast and expensively furnished. You hear your heartbeat drumming in your ears. You only let your eyes explore for a second, before you fix them back to the ground and lower your head in Sukuna's presence.

''Your Highness.'', you bow in his direction.

''Master from now on.'', he says, and stands up to greet you. Master. You've only heard Uraume, and occasionally his pets, when he'd walk by with them, call him this by this... less formal title. He towers over you as his hand touches your shoulder, urging you to turn around. You follow obediently, making a circle and displaying your outfit.

He hums in approval. "Suits you much better than a cleaning uniform.", he says, and pulls your chair out for you to sit. You mutter a quiet thank you and sit down, already overwhelmed by the interaction.

He sits on the other side of the table, facing you. You can't bear the intense eye contact, and the silence that spreads across the room. Your eyes are fixed to your hands in your lap. ''Don't be shy now. I didn't invite you to sit there and be quiet. I reserve such duties for my pets.'', he breaks the silence.

''Master. Sharing a meal with you is a privilege, and I want to thank you for that. I'm not sure I'm deserving of it, though, and how my company may be of use to you.''. The kitchen servants scatter around the table, bringing food and pouring drinks. Various appetizers decorate the table, and only now do you notice you're hungry. You shyly pick the foods that catch your eye the most.

And your humility draws out a smile from him. ''You are an artist. And I am a man who takes great joy in consuming art.'', he says, and taps his finger against his glass, watching you pick. He's getting to know you, through your taste in food.

''I didn't know that about you.'', you say and look to your plate. You feel your hand shaking as you reach for the cutlery. You know Sukuna is judging every move. He was in your territory when you were dancing, now you're on his. And he will recognize the smallest mistake.

''Oh.'', his tone changes. It sounds like he didn't particularly like that comment. He finishes chewing. ''Did you take me for a savage?'', he narrows his eyes. More food is brought to the table, plates come and go quickly as the conversation progresses, and the tension grows.

You stutter, reading his volatile mood. ''I've only heard rumors.''.

He huffs in amusement again. ''I've heard rumors about you too.'', he says, leaning into the table. ''To be fair, I was asking around.''. So he took interest in you. ''They say you were the best there was, until you got captured.''

You chew slowly, taking his story in. He continues. ''They asked about you. Asked if I knew where you are. I said no.''. Sukuna watches as you grow visibly distressed by the mentions of your team. ''The best there is? What a wonderful prize. I'd rather keep you to myself.''. Oh. So that's what this is about. He gets off on the thought of owning you, the best there is, just for himself. You curse whoever told him about you. ''You showed me your worst, and mesmerized me. I want you to show me your best. Dance for me. Convince me you're worth my patronage.''.

The servants bring the main dish, and your head droops, stare fixed into the finely decorated red meat. You touch it with your cutlery, feeling it's texture. Sukuna eyes you as you cut a slice and bring it to your mouth, expectantly waiting for your reaction. You chew slowly, savoring the taste, but your expression is puzzled. ''What is this?'', you ask. And to make sure it doesn't sound like you're unhappy, you cut another slice. Truthfully, the food is incredible, but... you can't quite place the meat.

Sukuna bares his sharp teeth in a grin. ''Veal.''.

The conversation steers into a different direction then, and you quickly forget about how powerless you felt just moments ago. Sukuna is nothing like you've imagined him. He's right, you did take him for a savage. After all, everything you've heard about him pointed to a monster, who only took pleasure in wreaking havoc and destruction. Now, you find him to be eloquent, knowledgeable, and quite sophisticated. In a way, he appears similar to the other people you've met through your job. But way more powerful, and with it, way more intriguing.

Once again, time passes quickly, slipping through your fingers. The dinner is over, and you're facing Sukuna at the door. He seems to be pleased with your company, if you can read his face at all. ''Should I consider my offer accepted?'', he inquires. ''Everything will be provided for you. You just have to dance.''.

Well, it doesn't sound half bad, does it? You're not sure if the terms of the offers convinced you, or his presentation during the dinner. It might just be him. He made you feel you wouldn't be a jester, but a respected entertainer. And not for just anyone, but for a man as thoughtful and cultured as Sukuna proved himself to be. ''For you, gladly. Master.'', you smile at him. And he smiles back, taking your small hand into his, and planting a soft kiss to your fingers. You bow to him, wish him a good night, and you part ways.

Later, in your new bed, you find yourself replaying the interaction. Tracing his features in your memory. It's the first time you've had the chance to observe him, without fear of consequences. And he was beautiful. So elegant in the way he dressed and carried himself. Like a true king.

From then on, life in Sukuna's mansion is a game. Sukuna courts you in his dining room, feeding you delicacies from all around the world Foods that are hard and expensive to come by, that you've never heard of before. He courts you with the things he allows you to do, and the gifts he gives you. You dance and eat and walk around his garden and library. You don't dine with him every night, but when you do, rest assured that a new outfit is waiting for you in your room when you get back from practice.

And you court him on the floor, with feathery leaps that leave him on the edge of his seat, and dizzying turns that force him to focus all four eyes on you. You court him when you finish the variation by bowing before him, on one knee, a breath away from where he's sitting. And when you look up at him, he sees a lover rather than a personal dancer. Even though he's never touched you, or pressed his lips to yours.

There is love in the foods he picks for you specifically to enjoy, and there is love in the way you let him watch you practice. Even if you mess up, misstep and fall out of rhythm. Even if you stumble and fall in the most unceremonious of ways. There is vulnerability in letting him see you fail. It only happens a handful of times, but when you slip before him, you feel more naked than you would ever feel with your clothes off. And the relationship that the two of you foster grows intimate, despite the formal distance you keep from each other.

And that distance closes in, one day when Sukuna is there during a particularly nasty fall. You yelp when you hit the ground, and reach for your ankle, checking for injury. You only notice Sukuna when you feel his hand on your shoulder, and his brows furrowed in worry as his head looms over you. Your eyes meet for a moment, and you're hypnotized. Then you look away quickly, feeling your face heat up from the closeness.

''It's nothing.'', you say, and look down.

''Sure?'', Sukuna asks and stands up. You nod, and he offers you a pair of his hands, to help you stand. You take them, and he hoists you up effortlessly. And now you're face to face with his chest, and you're still holding his hands... ''That should to for today.'', he says, and when you look at him, there's a tender smile on his face. It sounds like a suggestion, but you've learned Sukuna is subtle about giving you orders. You nod, dust yourself off and untie your shoes.

That night, you recall his touch on your skin. Long fingernails ghosting over your shoulder, sending shivers through your whole body. You never expected Sukuna to have it in him to be gentle. But, that wouldn't be the first time he's broken the mold you thought he fit. And now in the cold of night, you find yourself craving him.

The next time you're invited to dinner, the tension is almost unbearable. ''Aren't you a sight to behold?'', he tells you when he welcomes you into the room. He always gives you compliments, but tonight they weigh heavy on your heart. You look across the table and curse every plate and glass that stands between the two of you. You look at him with quiet longing, and you think he knows. Because his smile is victorious, almost teasing. And when you accidentally hit his leg under the table, you start to credit it less to his size, and more to him deliberately crossing into your space. Subtlety is not a word you ever thought you'd attribute to Sukuna, but it seems this is the way you've established communication. You resist the instinct to remove your leg apologetically. So they stay touching.

Unfortunately, this little interaction slowly turns your brain into mush. By the last bite, your hand is trembling and you know you don't have the precision to pick up the last piece of food with your chopsticks. So you leave it on the plate, and wait for a moment when Sukuna is at least a little bit distracted, to attempt eating it again.

But such a thing doesn't happen. Today, he looks at you like you're the food on his plate. "Come on, eat it.", he nods in your direction. You can't read his expression, but it seems benevolent.

"I'm so full.", you make up an excuse.

"Just one strip.", he nudges your leg under the table, and you flinch, cheeks heating up.

"I.. I think I'll combust.", lies.

"I'll be offended.", Sukuna plays along with your game.

"Ah...", he wins, and you pick up your chopsticks with shaky hands. But as hard as you try, the little piece of food keeps escaping you, traveling through the plate.

"What makes you so flustered today?", he asks. "Is it the leg?". You blink at the plate, and feel your face going as red as the wine in your glass. "Come.", he waves his finger at you. You lean into the table, used to following his commands. And in no time, he is looming over your plate, one hand picking the last piece of your food with his chopsticks, and the other gently taking hold of your chin, nudging your mouth open. You part your lips obediently, and he places the bit onto your tongue, never breaking eye contact. His face is mere centimeters away from yours, observing you as you chew.

And the moment you've swallowed, and opened your mouth for air, he seizes you in a kiss. Slow, as he tastes your lips, and lets you adjust and catch up with him. He feels you go tense with the initial shock, then relax in his hold and kiss him back. His tongue brushes past your lips, and you think you'll sink right through your chair, and into the earth beneath the floor. The taste, the smell of him, so expensive and intoxicating. If this moment could last forever -

Foolish you. So much stress and tension, and you barely notice how quickly it passes. , how quickly his lips leave yours. His eyes scan your face, making sure you're alright, and then he's back in his chair. "There.", he says, "Have something to be flustered about."

That night, you think about his lips, slipping away from yours and moving to your neck, collarbones, shoulders. Not stopping until they've explored your whole body and touched your soul.

In the meantime, you practice your chosen choreography to perfection. And when you're standing in his throne room and awaiting the music, and your deciding performance to start, it's the first time in a while that you recognize feeling nervous. Uraume is there too, and his other disciples and guests. But he is the only one that matters. The only one your life depends on. Although the times when your life was truly on the line are long gone, Sukuna is still your patron, and now it's your turn to either satisfy or disappoint him.

The music starts, and the nervousness wanes as you start dancing. Sukuna's gaze is heavy, critical. He's seen you do this times and times already, but now it's final. Now, he's telling you, ''Bewitch me.''. Now, you're joining it together, one seamless show just for his enjoyment. And with every spin, you keep your eyes fixed on him. Enticing him with your movement, seducing him.

And for once, time passes quick for Sukuna as well. He finds himself lost in your dance. In your quick glances, in the way your body moves, contorts, withstands your weight on your tippy toes with so much grace and fluidity. You make it look easy. You nail the landing you failed so many times before his very eyes, perfectly, effortlessly. He almost wonders if you fell intentionally when he was watching you. And he's captivated. By the end of your performance, you earn his smile. You earn the clap of his hands, you even earn his standing ovation. The king himself, honoring you with the highest form of praise.

''It takes quite a performer, to entertain a crowd all by oneself.'', he comments later, over dinner. ''You've convinced me. You're worth keeping.''

''And when I can't dance anymore?'', you ask.

''You'll still be able to eat with me.'', he says.

At the doors, he bends down to kiss you again. You anticipate it, and accept it, kneading your hands through his hair. He asks if you're tired, and you shake your head no. He asks if you want to come with him. Yes, please yes, you've wanted to for so long. You almost thought he'd never ask. Again, his face lights up in a victorious smile.

He walks you through the halls, to his quarters of the mansion. Vast, and decorated with various works of art. They hang on the wall, or stand on the cupboards in forms of statues of various sizes. Sukuna likes to collect things, if that wasn't evident by your presence in the mansion.

''You're dragging behind. Did you have a change of heart?'', he asks, and extends his hand towards you. You step closer, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer. You're standing at the doors of his bedroom.

''I was just admiring the interior.'', you smile at him, and take it upon yourself to cross the doorstep. His bedroom overlooks the garden, through a tall set of windows, little plants sitting on his windowsill. And his bed is massive. You think it could fit four people of your size. But then again, Sukuna is not a normal sized person. Your hand finds the mattress, testing it's sturdiness. And when you turn around, he's right behind you. Towering over you, and forcing you to look up at him, like the king he is. But you're not scared. You have no reason to be.

''Lay down.'', he orders, but his voice doesn't sound stern. Still, you obey, climbing into the bed. And he follows, letting you ease into the pillows only for a moment, before he settles above you, urging your legs apart. You welcome him, finally feeling the closeness you've been craving for so long. His body, big enough to enclose you completely under him, so carefully pressed against yours. Light enough not to hurt, but heavy enough to establish power. To give you what you want, what you've craved for a very long time.

He never lets you forget whose grasp you're in. He folds your smaller body with ease, adjusting you to his liking. And you let him, trusting him with your body and pleasure. He takes you gently, slowly, making sure you're comfortable in the process. You feel so full of him, but it's not enough, not enough until all of your senses are overwhelmed with him. You feel up his muscled arms and back, wrap around him, pull him closer with every stroke, every swipe of his lips against yours. Sukuna draws the moans out of you with practiced thrust of his hips, hitting spots inside you you didn't know existed. In no time you're seeing stars - his four eyes, never leaving yours as you come apart.

And Sukuna is stoic for the most part, but by the end of it, even he is loosing his composure. Hungry moans slip past his lips, his brows furrowing as he concentrates, trying not to let out too soon. You encourage him, babbling sweet nonsense into his ear. This flustered Sukuna, completely engulfed in the chase of his own pleasure, is as close as you've come to seeing a god. Moments later, his hips still, and you feel his muscles tense as he reaches completion, deep grunts filling your ears like the sweetest music.

You lay in his embrace, and trace your fingertips over his tattoos. Your stare is fixed on him, as he tells you various anecdotes from his long lifetime. You enjoy the opportunity to admire his beauty from up close. His eyes, so unusually benevolent as they stare outside the window and turn to you from time to time, to check if you're awake. The curve of his nose, the glimpses of his sharp teeth, his strong, masculine jawline. He is an art piece on his own.

After a while, he notices you struggling to stay awake. His hand on the back of your head nudges you to lay on his chest. He whispers you a good night, and runs his hand through your hair as you drift off. It's been a long day you've dedicated entirely to him, so he finds you worthy of this special treatment. After all, it isn't often that someone claims the title of both Sukuna's personal dancer and his lover, much less in the same day.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #soft sukuna #sukuna x you #see i love ballet. i even know a little bit about ballet #but WRITING ABOUT IT?? HELLLLLP #i just didnt know how to incorporate terms specific to it so everything is super vague #tons of dialogue in this one too!! #and the first fic i write where sukuna genuinely considers reader to be his equal and not a subhuman pet lol #it was fun to consider how he would act with someone like that #the dining scenes and the whole courtship thing? 100% inspired by hannibal. #dont ask me about it or i will write an essya

[nomazee]

Silly little thing I thought of

Like like imagine dazai and the reader have been friends for years like the reader knew him since his 15 goofer era... and they got used to eachother sm they usually sleep in eachothers beds n stuff :3

LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING ON BUT THEY STILL HAVE THE FRIENDSHIP LABEL.. 🐺🤞

this concept stuck itself in my head like a tapeworm and it has not escaped me for days IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED i wrote SO MUCH for this omfg i had so much fun writing this thank u for this wonderful idea pairing: dazai x gn reader word count: 2.5k content: fluff, vignette-style writing, friends-to-lovers unspoken label type of thing, soft dazai, domestic fluff without the marriage bit, banter, idiots in love im taking requests!

===

Dazai’s toes are still as frigid at night as they were seven years ago. You, of all people, would be the best person to measure this—not in a weird way, but you two have shared a bed at least once a week since your teenage years. You know all of Dazai’s annoying sleeping habits, including his ones of sleeping without socks and digging his feet into your shins for warmth. 

Annoying fucker. You sigh, batting his arm away from its loose hold around your waist. “Get your toes off of me,” you croak out, half-conscious and mind still addled with the remains of your once-deep sleep.

“What toes,” Dazai mutters back, smacking your intervening hand away and returning his arm to its rightful place around you. “I don’t have toes. I got rid of them after puberty, ‘member?” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” You won’t, not really, and the threats have lost their edge after all these years, but it’s fun to throw at him when he annoys you like this. “I know all your weaknesses, Osamu. One wrong move and you’ll be missing more than just your toes.” 

“I’m cold, dear. Would you really let me freeze like this? So mean.” 

You try not to choke up at the nickname. He’s been a fan of those recently, at least in the last year. You think it has something to do with your new places at the Agency. New workplace, new life, and new nicknames, apparently. If you overthink it you might puke on him and fall back asleep. 

“Not cruel. We have money now, you know. Go buy yourself socks. Wool, or something. Stupid ass cold ass toes.”

He goes quiet. Even in all these years of knowing him, half-living with him, you can’t tell if it’s a normal lull in the conversation or a calculated pause. It doesn’t unnerve you as much as it used to, but there’s still a cold chill at the nape of your neck that springs up at times like these. 

“Why would I do that when I have you?” 

Dazai has also been a fan of this recently—strange uncharacteristic moments of tenderness. He peels himself back for you and bares himself raw. The implications make you nauseous. Swathed in the darkness of the night, he can’t see your fingers twitch from where they lay next to your head, away from his sight; or the conflicted expression that crosses your face. 

Easing your breath out into a steady, deep rhythm, you pretend to be asleep. It’s not like he can’t tell, but the message is there. Let’s not talk about this until the morning. Let’s just sleep for the night. Let’s keep what we have and not change it for the worse. 

==

At age eighteen, shaken with the death of his friend and haunted by blood stains on his fingers, Dazai defects from the mafia. 

He doesn’t take you with him—at least, he doesn’t mean to. He expects to leave quietly, or as quietly as blowing up Chuuya’s car can be. He doesn’t expect you to drag yourself along kicking and screaming. 

Dazai doesn’t remember much about specifics, but he knows that one day he was alone in his underground apartment and the next day you were there. The kitchen smelled like melted marshmallows and rice krispies and his dingy counter was covered in sprinkles. 

“Hi, Dazai,” you’d greeted conversationally. “I’m making your favorite.” 

He doesn’t even like rice krispie treats. Hates them, actually. 

In truth, your presence is less the result of you “kicking and screaming” and more like an after-effect of your own quiet stubbornness. Your kicking-and-screaming was done in the passive aggressive way that you cleaned his dishes and made his bed and left big trays of rice krispie treats in his fridge for the next week. 

Neither of you talked about Chuuya. It was better for you that way. 

On the first night, Dazai remembers you holding him from behind, forehead pressed into the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. He’s sensitive there despite being wrapped in his stupid scratchy bandaids. His memories for the rest of the night are overrun by a feeling of want, an itch to feel your fingers on his bare skin, a craving for your hand on his stomach to slide beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the tender skin of his abdomen and keep him warm.  

===

“Leave me alone,” you grumble from behind the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m napping.” 

“It’s not napping if you’re still awake.” 

“I wouldn’t be awake if it wasn’t for your annoying ass.” Rotating your body to face the ceiling from your place on the Agency’s couch, you sigh when your view is blocked by Dazai’s ugly stupid face. He’s smiling in that conniving way that he does when he’s about to do something super annoying. Another sigh escapes you when he leans down close enough for the overgrown ends of his hair to brush against your nose. The puff of air from your verbal discontent makes the strands sway slightly. You try not to think about how mesmerizing he looks when he’s this close, with the light from the window casting a golden sheen on the crown of his head. 

Since when did you get this sappy? Must be Dazai rubbing off on you, obviously. 

“So tired already! It’s barely noon.” 

“You came into work an hour ago. I’ve been here since eight. Try being responsible for a change, might exhaust you just as much.” 

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, big stupid shiny brown eyes blinking down at you like he’s observing a specimen. “I think I’m more than responsible enough.” 

“Sure,” you relent, turning back around to shove your face into the corner of the couch and block out the incoming light. It’s the truth—you’re exhausted. A persistent weariness permeates your bones from how much you’ve been working these last few weeks. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault in particular, not even Dazai’s despite how much he slacks on paperwork. But looming threats from enemy organizations hang over everyone’s heads and there’s no shortage of uncertainty in the Agency. It’s been mission after mission for you, and you’re taking every break you can get. 

Rustling sounds from above you, but you pay it no mind, busying yourself with nestling all of your body into the crevices of the couch and hopefully turning into a piece of furniture yourself. It might be a more peaceful life, really. The calm is short-lived when you feel fingers tap along your cheek—not in a rousing gesture, but something along the lines of placating. 

Dazai squeezes a hand beneath your head and cups the side of your face pressed against the couch, tilting it closer to him before you feel a warm press of lips against your cheek. He lingers. He always does. You can feel the gentle inhales and exhales breeze against your face before he breaks his kiss away. Your cheek is warm for more reasons than one. 

“Take care of yourself,” and oh, god, you’ll never get used to this, never get used to how tender and soft he’s become with you, never get used to how this Agency has fostered something like kindness in both of you. Your stomach stirs with something unnamed and if you were braver, you’d blink your eyes open and reach up and grab the sides of his face and pull him down to you. 

But you’re not brave, and there’s people still behind you in the office, and you wonder what led Dazai to be soft enough to kiss your face like that in front of everyone. You’re sure they’re watching you both. The Agency is full of gossips, whether they admit it or not. 

===

“Dazai,” Ango Sakaguchi grits out from behind the crackling reception of a burner phone. “They were not a part of the plan.” 

“You think I don’t know that, Ango?” Dazai replies, tone more playful than aggressive. “I know they’re not a part of the plan. They knew they weren’t part of the plan, too. But it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s just a minor change.” 

“A minor change?” Ango’s voice is strained with stress, no doubt pulling out strands of his hair as they speak. “I have to deal with not one, but now two members of the mafia defecting. Do you know how much work this was to begin with?” 

The thing is—of course Dazai knows. He knows everything. The minute he found you in his kitchen, his stomach dropped with the uncertainty of the future. Going underground with another person was nothing short of a burden, at least on paper. But, he couldn't find it in himself to think of you like that. Like a burden. 

“We’ll figure it out, Ango. If you don’t, then we will.” 

A gritty sigh sounds from the other side of the phone call. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dazai. Don’t screw this up.” 

===

“Made you lunch. Since, obviously, you’re not gonna do that for yourself any time soon.” 

A closed plastic container is thrown on the counter in front of Dazai. He looks at it, then up at you, eyebrow raised as if he doesn’t have a clue what this could be about. He’s not that stupid, though. You of all people would know that. 

“How nice of you! Too bad I’m not hungry.” His lip juts out in a poor imitation of a pout, and he looks ugly with it. So ugly. Ugly enough to make you feel the need to kiss him all over and then slap him. An incredulous huff escapes you. 

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat. It has crab in it, see, your favorite.” 

“I thought my favorite was rice krispies?” 

You freeze. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might remember that, after all this time. You don’t dwell, because that’s the worst thing to do with Osamu Dazai—dwell. 

“Don’t act stupid. Just eat it. Even if it’s not the whole thing, at least some of it. It would do you some good.” Getting serious with Dazai is one of the most awkward, unbearable things you could ever do. He has a way of making you feel stupid for worrying about him, with all his roundabout jokes and skills of evasion built up over years. You’ve found that being straightforward is the best way to avoid all those blank moments of silence. 

His fingers curl around the plastic lid and pop it open. The container is still warm, having cooked all its contents just half an hour before showing up at Dazai’s apartment with conviction in your eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll have some.” 

You bring out a duplicate container with a serving for you, and treat yourself to a juice box from his fridge. You try not to launch into a lecture at the sight of his barren pantry—that’s best done by Kunikida. The both of you eat in silence, sitting across from each other at Dazai’s dusty kitchen island. 

He only gets through a few bites before pushing the container away and complaining about how full he is. You know it’s not the truth, but it’s the mixed-up signals that his body sends him. It’s not that he’s full, but his persistent lack of appetite has caused a lot of troubles for him in the past and you don’t doubt that it’ll keep causing troubles in the future, too. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you tell him, dragging him up from his chair despite his whining protests. “I won’t make you shower, but you should probably do that tomorrow, ‘cause your hair’s about to get all greasy and disgusting.”

“So crude.” 

“I do my best.” 

You let him change on his own, but not before picking out a nice soft set of matching pajamas from deep inside his closet. You grumble a little in annoyance. The set was a birthday gift you got for him a year ago and that asshole pushed it to the back of his wardrobe and never touched it again. What a brat. You throw a pair of fuzzy socks at him to boot. 

Once he’s changed into proper sleep clothes, you can tell that the exhaustion is starting to hit him. He sways a little on his feet and his blinks last for a little too long, as if he’s chasing sleep every time his eyes shut. With another begrudging sigh, you set him down on the floor of the bathroom and dollop his toothbrush with fruity kid’s toothpaste—because of course that’s the only toothpaste he owns—and brush his teeth for him. 

Dazai dozes off in the middle of it, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up in the most annoying way possible. You try really, really hard to not think about how soft you’ve gotten. You’re an ex-mafia member, past coated with dark stains and entrails and death, all of those dark things. Your blood is just as black as Dazai’s, if not more. And yet, being a part of this stupid Detective Agency with this stupid man has melted you down into something parallel to good.

Don’t dwell. It’ll do you no good. 

You use a gentle grip with the toothbrush, ensuring that his delicate gums don’t tear with the force of the bristles. A warm feeling stirs in your chest. It feels like you’ve proven something, like you’ve proven to the world that your coal-stained hands can be gentle, too. You can kill and you can nurture. You tap Dazai awake with a little more care, now. 

“Rinse your mouth,” you tell him in a whisper. “Then you can sleep.” And after a pause, you add, “I promise,” because now you’re in the business of making promises to people. 

Dazai rinses his mouth, and you wipe off the remaining droplets of water from his face with a paper towel that you leave on the counter for your future self to throw out. You lace your fingers with his as you walk to his bed. Not that he needs any guiding. Of course he doesn’t. It’s just a little extra insurance, you think. 

“Stay with me,” he mumbles out the minute you lay him down on the bed. It’s a sentence, and not a question, because he’d rather die than ask you something so vulnerable. He’s doing it again—peeling himself back and baring himself raw for you. Your head swims and your vision blurs with either a migraine or with tears, you can’t tell. But your lips quirk up into a stupid smile and he sees it despite his half-lidded eyes, and he smiles back like the stupid dope that he is. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m right here, Osamu. Go to sleep.” 

And he does. Of course, not before he feels you cup the opposite side of his face and plant a warm, lingering kiss on the swell of his cheek just as he did for you weeks before. The faint laugh that he lets out before he falls asleep is enough to tell you that he’ll be making fun of you for it in the morning. For now, though, he’s soft and pliant and warm between your hands, and you sleep.

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