#schmooping

[oil-4-breakfast]

I like how Todd Like glows red, he’s such a cutie patootie 🙁

#todd ingram #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #schmoop

[solarmorrigan]

Eddie, despite ample opportunity, has never commented on how much of a dick Steve used to be. Not when it’s the whole group ragging on him (with affection, usually), not when it’s Steve himself telling a funny story about something monumentally stupid he’d done in high school, not even when it’s just the two of them together, reminiscing, frowning over past mistakes

It takes Steve a while to notice, and while he appreciates it, he does sort of wonder why

“I mean, I must’ve given you reason to,” Steve says, when he brings it up to Eddie

Eddie shrugs. “Whether you did or not doesn’t really matter now. I think I, of all people, get that you sometimes just really gotta leave high school in the past.”

“Yeah, but you talk about other shit you did in high school,” Steve says. “Even Robin has a couple of stories about how much of an asshole I was. Why don’t you?”

“Because I know you,” Eddie says, far more sincerely than Steve had expected. “I know how you get sometimes, all up in your head, repeating all the shit you’ve heard people say about you. And when you get like that, I don’t want you to be able to hear it in my voice. Not even if I was joking when I said it.”

The words hit Steve like a fist in the sternum.

“Not even– not even if I deserve it?”

“No. Because you don’t deserve it.”

There are a lot of things Steve doesn’t deserve, and he’s pretty sure Eddie—Eddie’s friendship, Eddie’s forgiveness, Eddie’s love—is right near the top of the list. But Steve’s always been a little selfish; he’s always been too willing to grab for good things that he knows he shouldn’t touch

“I don’t want to make you feel worse,” Eddie says. “I wanna be the reason you feel better.”

And Steve doesn’t deserve that, either. But when Eddie says it like that, like he’s so goddamn sure, it’s hard not to believe him. Hard not to believe that maybe– maybe Steve doesn’t have to bleed to have this. Maybe he can let Eddie reach for him, be held against him, fist his hands in Eddie’s shirt and press his face into the curve of Eddie’s neck and just… be

And maybe that will be enough

#what even is this? is it angst? is it schmoop? it is a mystery #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #I dunno man I think I was experiencing feelings when I wrote this

[eyesofshinigami]

Brave

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Love confessions, fluff, so much schmoop

Prompt: From @sidekick-hero "Love is what makes you brave"

WC: 1812

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 7

Steve, admittedly, has done a lot of really stupid things in the name of love.

He hid so much of himself, what he liked, and who he wanted to be to make his parents love him. He was a perfect child, always seen but never heard, the perfect little trophy for his parents to put on display. He thought that was love for a long time. That it was performative, transactional. If he just did this one thing, surely they would love him, right?

Then, Steve forced himself to fit into a mold. He slid on a mask, played a part that was really easy to hide behind. People like Tommy and Carole seemed to love him when he was mean, when he looked down his nose at people they deemed unworthy of their attention. They would laugh and clap him on the back and keep him close, even if he knew deep down that it made him a little sick. And for some reason he still can’t fathom, it made other people love him too. Well, that superficial, surface kind of love where he was still seen as an object, an achievable goal. Be friends with King Steve and you’ll get something out of.

Transactional.

It wasn’t until Nancy that Steve really began to understand what love really was. He threw his whole self into loving her. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to go all in on something that he still didn’t really have a grasp on, but for the first time, it felt like he was being loved for love’s sake.

Until it wasn’t. Until Jonathon. Until the house. Until the world quite literally turned upside down.

Even with that falling apart, it opened up a whole new world of love for Steve. A new understanding to just what the word meant, the weight behind it when it really matters.

Love is protecting those that matter most. Love is staring down the mouth of a hell creature and still swinging even though your arms feel like jelly. Love is redirecting punches so that they don’t have to hurt. Love is diving into a murky lake into hell to help fix what someone else broke. Love is late night drives when you can’t sleep and the nightmares are too much. Love is admitting that maybe, just maybe, love looks a little different than what you expected it to.

Love is being brave.

All of these lessons, all of these people in his life that showed him that love can be so many things, if only you’re willing to give as much as take.

Which is why Steve makes a decision. It might be a bad one, but he’s learned that sometimes love means having to jump into the fray and trusting that they’ll catch you. He knows, deep down, that someone will, even if it’s not the person he really wants to.

“I’m going to do it. Tonight,” Steve declares that evening as he’s shelving movies. He’s working the late shift with Robin, but has plans to hang out with Eddie later. The very thought of it makes him flush, with happiness and nervousness in equal measure. “I’m going to tell him how I feel.”

It was a slow sort of descent, realizing that he loved Eddie. It started with their talk in the woods of the Upside Down, to pulling Eddie’s broken body out of that awful place, to helping him heal once they realized he might actually pull through. He was drawn to Eddie, drinking him in whenever they were together. He loved when Eddie was loud, or when Eddie was quiet, settled. The fact that Eddie trusted him with the different facets of himself blew Steve away. And Eddie listened when he talked. He listened when Steve talked about sports, or his newfound interest in carpentry thanks to helping Hopper fix up the cabin. He listened when Steve couldn’t sleep, or when Steve got scared about what the future was going to bring, now that it felt like maybe they could actually move on from the nightmare that is Hawkins, Indiana. Little by little, it made Steve realize that Eddie made him happy and maybe a little stupid. The good kind of stupid, the happy kind.

Robin turns to look at him, smiling softly. It’s her soft sort of smile, the one she only saves for him when he’s actually doing something for himself. “Good on you, bud. You’ve only been pining for him for months now.”

“You’ll have a pint of ice cream at the ready in case this goes south?”

“Sure, but I doubt you’ll have to worry,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Now go find something to do before you pop out of your skin. I can see you sweating from here.”

He lasts about another twenty minutes before she lets out a gusty sigh. “Okay, you’re starting to make me nervous. It’s dead in here, why don’t you just leave and head over there now?”

Steve wants to argue. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but she’s right. If he waits any longer, he might just vibrate right through the floor. Once upon a time, he was good at this, smooth and suave and so fucking fake. It was easy to talk to people he didn’t care about, but this? This thing with Eddie?

It matters a lot.

“Okay, okay. Sheesh. I know when I’m not wanted,” he jokes, clocking out and heading out the door.

“Go get your man, Harrington! I expect non-explicit details in the morning!”

He waves her off and gets into his car. The drive takes about fifteen minutes, heading to the little house that Wayne and Eddie got as compensation for their trailer being confiscated for study. Steve’s just glad that Eddie doesn’t have to live in the reminder of where everything went down.

He parks his car and sits for a long, long moment, fingers tight around the wheel and his breath coming in harsh pants. He can do this. He can do this. He can be brave.

“Steve? What are you doing out here? I thought you had work,” Eddie calls from the porch. He must have been sitting out here longer than he thought if Eddie had come to find him.

Steve takes one more big breath before he heaves himself out of the car. “I did, but Rob sent me home. It was dead and she said I was bothering her.” He smiles, trying to ease the angry butterflies he feels building in his stomach. “You good with me coming now? I guess I should have called.”

Eddie smiles, wide enough his dimples pop and Steve wants to feel them under his thumb. “Of course, Stevie. I’m still working on dinner, but you can keep me company.”

Steve eagerly follows him inside, feeling himself relax as he steps through the door. The place is always a little cluttered, a little messy; Steve loves it because it looks like people actually live here. The fact that he’s welcomed into this space makes him feel a little warm and gooey inside. “Thanks, man. What’s on the menu?” He’s babbling, he knows he’s babbling, but he can’t help it.

Eddie gives him a look but answers, “Just some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.” He heads to the stove and starts stirring a pot, the smell of it hitting Steve full force. “You okay? You seem a little off.”

He wants to brush it off, pretend it’s nothing. It would be so easy and he knows Eddie would let him. They’ve learned each other’s tells, when it’s time to push and when it’s time to leave shit alone. Just one more thing that Steve loves about Eddie.

So, no. He needs to say it. For himself, to let go of this thing that he’d been trying to hide for fear of it being yet another stupid thing he does for love. But his love for Eddie could never be that, even if Eddie says no. Eddie will still be his friend, will still love him, even if that love doesn’t look the way Steve wants. He doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t want more than Eddie can give him.

“Uh, well… actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about?”

Eddie nods and sets the spoon down, during the fire down as he turns to face Steve. “I’m all ears, Stevie.”

Steve nods, taking a deep, shaky breath. He can be brave. “Okay, so. Can you… let me just say it? Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” At Eddie’s nod, he continues, “Um, all right. So. Uh. Eddie… I’m… I like you. I like you a lot. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.” Eddie’s mouth drops and Steve has to look away, before his heart beats out of his chest and he gets sick from the way his stomach churns. “It took me a while to realize it, but I am. I just… I love you. I love everything about you. Even the weird, shitty parts that I know you don’t like, but they’re part of you, right? And I don’t… I don’t expect you to feel the same, or want me back. It would be great if you did, but like… it’s not why I told you? I told you because you deserve to know. To know that someone loves you because I can’t imagine not loving you anymore.”

There. It’s out there. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and tries not to count the seconds as they pass. It feels like they’re beating against his ribcage, in time with his pounding heart.

Suddenly, there’s a hand cupping his cheek, gently turning his head until he’s looking at Eddie. The look on the other man’s face is soft, his eyes sparkling and the curve of his mouth small but so so kissable. “Stevie… baby…” The words are like a gut-punch, making Steve weak in the knees. “How could I not love you back, hmm?” Eddie chuckles, his thumb caressing the skin of Steve’s cheek. “Always the brave one of the two of us, aren’t you? I didn’t want to say anything because this… I didn’t want to lose this. If I was wrong, you know?”

“Me too,” Steve whispers. He’s afraid to break the bubble that’s surrounding them, like if he speaks too loud it will break and he’ll realize this was all just a dream or something. “Eddie…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, he just pulls Steve in until they’re kissing, mouths moving against each other softly as they press closer.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. It feels like coming home.

Something settles in him as they kiss, as they touch and move together in this new way. He wants to cry. He wants to laugh. He feels like he could fly.

#les writes things #steddie #steddielovemonth #rating: g #fluff #schmoop

[blindmagdalena]

This is so self indulgent but how do you think Homelander would react to his partner falling asleep on his lap? Cause ngl after the day I’ve had I just wanna nap.

It's precisely that awful time in the afternoon when it's too early to finish working, but too late to take a break.

Homelander has been scrolling through page after page of overhead documentation for changes he plans to institute in the wake of his overtake of Vought, and as it turns out, change comes with an awful lot of fucking paperwork.

It's almost enough to make him regret ousting Edgar. Almost.

His only saving grace is working from his penthouse, where he can at least work in peace.

That is until you come home from work, and he hears the heavy slump of your bag hitting the floor. Oop, bad day, he thinks, swiveling his chair around. "In here, babe." Sure enough, you look like a rainy day when you step into the office, storm clouds and all. Homelander tsks softly, patting his thigh.

"C'mere, sweetheart, tell me wh-oh, yep, alright," he says, switching gears slightly as you climb bodily into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs on either side of him as your bodies slot together, chest to chest. His ungloved hands go to your back, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your back.

"Bad day?" He asks, idly spinning his chair back around to face his computer. "Bad day," you confirm, words half muffled in the crook of his neck.

"Mhm, mhm. Burgers and shakes tonight?" "Br'brs'n'shks..." You echo, barely legible now.

Homelander chuckles, leaving one hand to rub your back while his other goes to his mouse. He orders food first, and then flips back to his paperwork. He only needs one hand to sign off on the files anyways. He much prefers working like this.

Continuing to smooth his hand along your back, he hums a little tune as he methodically taps away on the documents, watching the little digital signature fill out on page after page after page.

Maybe twenty minutes later, he clicks off on the final page, and sighs his relief. "Aaaand done," he says, turning to kiss your temple. You, however, give no response. Homelander blinks, listening a second to your shallow breaths, the steady beat of your heart, and realizes right then that you're sleeping.

Homelander heaves a quiet little sigh, unable to keep himself from smiling. You never fail to surprise him with the depths of your trust for him, the solace that you find in him. How could he have ever known he would find someone who would not only love him, but who would make him—him—their greatest source of comfort?

After a lifetime of feeling unlovable, how in the world do you make loving him seem so effortless?

Homelander cups the back of your head, reclining in his chair, subtly rocking back and forth as you slumber. Your weight atop him is a balm to his soul, soothing old wounds.

He stays like that for as long as you sleep. He runs his fingers through your hair, counts the breaths you take, and recommits every detail of your body to memory, as if to ensure himself of the reality of you.

There are things in him that can never be unbroken. There is no one thing that will ever fix what was done to him, or wholly mend the deficit in him, but the warmth of your heart beating against his comes as close as anything he's ever known.

#indulgence is what we DO HERE MY FRIEND #i also had a really hard day so enjoy some shameless schmoop with me #i hope you feel better 🖤 #ask and you shall receive #homelander x reader #homelander x you #fluff

[0x5742]

schmoop rule

#196 #spronkus kronkus #schmoop

[mlobsters]

spndc 2023 jared padalecki and jensen ackles - main panel (video)

This isn't the first lifetime we've been friends.

#j2 #supernatural #jared padalecki #spndc #jensen ackles #dccon23 #spndc2023 #spndc23 #tinhat bait #mygifs #came for the schmoop and got this as a .. bonus? #tried to make the gifs not phone-crashingly-large #if i was watching an episode I'd make a comment about deflecting from those messy feelings :p #j2gifs

[lunesprite]

@dca-prompts @simpalert

Original prompt:

Trying this a different way this time! ~1500 words today. Takes a little bit to get there, but I hope you enjoy it!

______________

Nothing ever happens on Wednesdays. Well. Not from the hours of midnight to 6am at least. 

It’s the perfect night to come back. 

Around and above you, the lights of the pizzaplex flick off, casting your path in wells of deep shadow between islands of neon glow. 

It was unsettling walking to your office the first few times. Management wanted you clocking in no more than five minutes before your shift officially began, and unless you sprinted from the time clock, there was no way in hell even that would get you from point A to your office down in the depths of the place before it got spooky in the pizzaplex. You used your phone flashlight for a bit - speed walking between neon streams and the glowing eyes of the ever-watchful wet floor bots - but, well. 

Then Moon stole your phone. 

It was your fault, to be fair.  

You’d been late, you’d been hurrying, you heard a noise behind you and instantly thought ‘horror movie’ and whipped around and uh. Kind of flashbanged him in the face from two inches away. In your defense, no one had ever bothered to tell you what the other night security was, or tell you that it had a mischievous streak a mile wide. 

So you figured you deserved it when he stole your phone and spent a good fifteen minutes suspended above you, sulking like a kicked cat before you gave up and stumbled your way to your office in the dark. And there, in between staring at the screen static of a completely empty plex, you decided to write him an apology. 

One, you wanted your phone back. You’d just paid it off. 

Two, call you a sucker, but he’d been kind of… cute? You’d never seen an animatronic sulk before and he’d sold it so well you’d really wanted to beckon him down and pet him. 

You left that bit out of the apology. Which was a good thing, because when you’d clocked off in the morning and slipped by the daycare looking for the guy with your actually neatly written letter of apology, sealed with a sticker and everything, Sun looked at you like you were about to grow a second head.

And then, insisting that he was just checking it over for you, read the whole damn thing. Out loud. With acting. 

You hadn’t been allowed to leave the tiny table he’d plonked you down at. 

You’d been so mortified, your brain didn’t even register it when he whipped out your phone from somewhere and made you re-enact the incident with him - except Sun, wearing a hat also produced from places unknown, followed up the flashbang with dramatic wailing on the floor. Smote down, cruelly wounded, etc. 

Which was all well and good, you’d said. But Moon’s was a lot cuter. 

Yeah. 

You know in those choice games, where like. Sometimes it brings up a notice? ‘There will be consequences for this action’? 

There were consequences for that action. You still don’t dare go to the daycare during operating hours. 

Sun, the menace, had gotten this gleam in his eyes and started howling and you fled like literal hounds were on your heels. 

You hadn’t expected to clock in late the next day, the lights off before you even made it to the time clock, and then turn around to Moon right there. 

And. Look, ok. 

He was too big to be in that pill box of a room. So he was kind of scrunched up a bit. Hunched in on himself, his hat more crooked than usual, long legs and arms drawn in like. Like a cat, sitting behind you, with those big red eyes watching you. 

He was cute. And you didn’t know about his and Sun’s whole situation - that liar - so you just. Did what you’d wanted to do the night before. 

You reached out and pet him and that big cat just melted. 

He made the deepest, happiest purr, eyes dimmed in contentment and next thing you knew, you were on the floor with an animatronic oozed across you, his face in your hands and his claws kneading the shitty carpet. Only, worse than a cat, there was no way to move the big cute lug to go anywhere. 

Once Moon cuddled, you were stuck. 

But you worked things out. 

As much as the two of you enjoyed sitting in your office, his chin resting on your thighs as you watched the security feeds and idly pet him or wiped him down, he did have to do patrol, so you’d made a deal. 

Wednesday, when nothing ever happened, Moon could come flop on you. 

It wouldn’t take him long to show up tonight. After all, you’d been gone last week - vacation - and it’d taken a lot of pacifying to get your sulky cat to accept he’d have to go without cuddles for one week. 

You unlock your office, flicking on the light switch beside the door and leave it open as you dump your overstuffed bag beside your chair and set your drink on your desk. If you didn’t keep the door open, Moon would claw at it. The exact same way a cat would paw at a closed door, except his are titanium and explaining it to management is a lot more… awkward. They always seem to expect so much more from your answers when they ask. 

You only manage to get the screens turned on and dig out the wipes from your bag - the scrubby ones, a little treat - before the lights overhead go out, leaving you in only the faint light of the security feeds. And when you turn, you try very hard not to laugh. 

All you can see are Moon’s eyes, staring accusingly in at you through the window beside the door. 

“I’ve wronged you,” you say, as solemnly as possible. 

His eyes narrow. 

“Truly,” you turn, pulling out the starry blanket and new pillow wedged into your bag. “I have been a most cruel friend, to leave you uncuddled for a week.” 

His claws creep around the edge of the doorway. 

Almost everything else, you pull out from assorted hiding places in your office. Pillows. Not one, but two giant sleeping bags, spread out across the floor as you shove your chair to the edge of the admittedly small space. By the time you’ve finished, fluffing up the sturdy pillow you sacrificed from your old couch, Moon sits in the doorway. 

Now for the final bribe. 

Under his watchful optics, you set the wipes on the floor near the couch pillow. And then your drink. And then, with a wink, you reach into the bottom of your bag. 

And pull out a massive power cord which you hold out in both hands, head bowed. 

His eyes gleam, a quiet cackle hissing from his voice box. 

“As an apology, please accept this offering of a night of cuddles and charging - just as long as you don’t blow up the circuits again.” 

“No promises,” he hisses, already slinking inside and burrowing under the top sleeping bag as you huff out a laugh, pushing aside a bit of shelving to reach the heavy duty plug hidden behind it. You plug in the stupidly heavy cable and drag it over to the jingling blanket lump, grinning as he pops out his head. Just like a cat, he takes up 90% of any surface he deems his bed, and you drop the cable on him with a clunk as you clamber over him to the other side to your stash of wipes and drink. 

The screens flicker as Moon plugs in the cable, and for a second you pause, wipe in hand, before he slinks an arm around your waist and plops his chin in your lap with a soft purr. 

You laugh softly, checking over the security feeds for a second before you tilt up his face, smiling at his dimmed eyes and take the wipe to his forehead. 

“I thought you were gonna knock us offline there, Moony.” 

“Mmmm.” He hums, curling his lanky form around you until you’re hemmed in, his arms deceptively loose around you. “Still thinking about it.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to convince you otherwise, hm? Can’t clean you up all nice if I can’t see a damn thing.” 

You pat his head, settling back into your pillows as Moon mumbles something and, slowly, as the trash can fills with dirtied wipes - your eyes flicking to the screens each time you grab a new one - his purr evens out. 

It’ll be a long night. Somehow, you suspect he’s not going to let you up until the end of your shift this time.

With a fond sigh, you hook an arm around him in turn, fiddling lightly with his hat as he snoozes and turn your eyes back to the wall of security monitors. His fingers rest loose and light against your sides. Every now and then, his claws twitch. His inner machinery ticks and whirrs lazily. 

He really is a sweet thing, underneath all that mischief. 

You almost want to kiss him. But, ah. This is enough, isn’t it?

#HOWLS my tab keeps eating this whenever i open discord #i have done this TWICE like a DINKUS #prompt fill #moon x y/n #moon x reader #dca-prompts #moon can be a bit moe as a treat #anyway i hope this works right and you see it and also like it #have some schmoop #spritewriting

[sky-kiss]

(apologies if anyone asked you this before) do you have any tips on how to write raphael? i'm always in awe on how you manage to portray him down to a t and i....what's your secret? are there any rituals you follow when you write the lil brat? do you have tips for someone who wants to write him? anyways i think you're neato, your fanfics are amazing and i hope you have the bestest of days

Hallo!

I'm happy to offer the tips I use for the little brat, sure! Raphael...sucked to write at first. He has such a distinct cadence to his speech, much like Astarion. I have saved games positioned before each of his dialogues. If I'm really stumped, I can go and listen to him speak. Sometimes, that will help clear up the block.

More often I just like...try and picture the character in my head. Summon your Mindphael. Try and picture Raphael saying the dialogue you've written. If you can hear Mr. Wincott's lovely self speaking, chances are you're going to be alright. If you can't...maybe try swap some things around.

Raphael gesture a lot, too. He's a very expressive conversationalist, but far more controlled about it than say....Asta. Asta wiggles. Asta uses his whole body. Raphael uses his hands and arms to focus you on specific points in his argument. His body language is more open when he's trying to persuade you/is pleased with you, and more guarded and close-stanced when he's attempting to look imperious, or he's frustrated.

Load up his scenes and watch his facial expressions a few times to try and get a handle on them. I think...there's a compilation of all his dialogue floating around on Youtube. Apologies, I no longer have the link. It was extremely helpful.

Hopefully some of this helps, anon! Thank you so much for the kind words! Please have an exceptional New Years Eve/Day.

#asks #bg3 raphael #I know its not helpful to say “i imagine the character saying the dialogue lol” #but its the best way i can describe it lol #you're also going to have to wrangle how much you love him #because its easy to let the schmoop in WAY TOO MUCH #and I am guilty of this

[green-fifteen]

Day 7: Kiss it Better

Prompt: Recovery Fandom: Teen Wolf Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Summary: Even a magical dad needs backup sometimes. Word count: 1,793 read on ao3 instead

written for @fluffyfebruary

The McCall house was full of people. They packed in together on the living room rug, leaned against the walls in the hallways, slid around each other in the kitchen to grab this or that. They spilled out of the door to the backyard, where John Stilinski and Chris Argent were not-so -passive aggressively fighting for control of the grilling spatula. Stiles couldn't believe they knew this many people, but he did recognize almost everyone he saw, with a few Argent exceptions.

His favorite (former) Argent was currently scrubbing a horrifically caked-on serving dish, muttering to herself about something he couldn't hear in the all of the party noise. Stiles, his hands and arms full of hot dog and hamburger buns, took pity on her. As Allison held the platter underwater, as if to drown it and be rid of it for good, he focused his gaze. It didn't take long for his magic to find the source of her problem and it scoured the baked-on food in an instant, as if it had never been there. She turned around to face him and almost grabbed him up in a hug before she noticed he was carrying bread. Thank you, you're amazing she mouthed instead.

These days, Stiles' magic was literally the ultimate household problem-solver. It seemed to have changed over the years as he settled and aged and now the things it did best basically amounted to chores. Cooking? Cleaning? Mysterious underwear stains? All he needed was a few seconds of focus and his magic could do it all.

Stiles waved away her thanks and continued outside to the patio, where the grill sat beside a pair of long white tables. There wasn't really any room for all the buns he held, so he just dropped them on top of some of the toppings, trusting the gathering of assorted mythical and/or magical beings to be able to open and use them for themselves. As he stood back, a shape darted out at his legs from beneath the tablecloth. Years of practice had honed his reflexes and he bent down to catch the beast just before it collided with his kneecaps.

"Grargh!" it cried, but its roaring dissolved into laughter as Stiles tucked it under one arm and began walking toward the woods that bordered the house on one side.

"I can't believe these creatures keep getting past my wards," he grumbled, letting out a frustrated huff. "Oh well." He set it down in the grass and nudged it with his foot. "Back to the woods with you, beast."

This time, the little thing jumped to tackle him, and Stiles let himself fall to the ground. "Oh no! Somebody, help!"

"Rarg! Graah!"

"I'm being mauled by a creature of the night!"

He continued wailing and being afraid for several moments, after which he seemed to find a second wind and pinned the little monster.

"I won't let you hurt any more innocent people," he cried, voice desperate and determined. "This is a birthday party!" And he reached down to tickle the creature's belly. It writhed in place, shrieking with laughter until suddenly it stopped. Stiles stopped too, watching its little face.

"Daddy," it said seriously. "I actually need to use the bathroom."

"Oh." Stiles climbed back to his feet and then lifted the little boy into his arms. Dry leaves and bits of grass clippings fell from their hair and clothes as they stood up.

"Do you need any help?" he asked.

"No. I can do it by myself," his son replied and then darted into the house.

"Patrick! No running on the patio," he called after him.

When he turned, his father was standing at his shoulder with a paper plate. "Grub time," he grunted. "Where's your husband? I bought cheddar dogs just for him and they're no good cold."

He shrugged and sighed. "He's supposed to be getting the cake but I think he got held up. He'll be here soon, just keep his food in the grill with the lid closed."

"Like I wasn't gonna do that anyway."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Dad."

At that moment, two things happened at once. Stiles heard glass break and turned his body toward the pool, where everyone seemed to have frozen in shock. Just as they started moving, everyone hurrying out of the water, he heard a second noise, one that kicked up his parental instincts the instant it hit his eardrums. Whirling around, he saw his kid sobbing on the concrete patio just in front of the sliding screen door, knee scraped up and beginning to bleed.

Without hesitation, he strode over to his son and hefted him into his arms. He was almost getting too heavy to be held like this and the screaming crying was happening way too close to his ear, but Stiles held on to him as he walked back over to the pool, trying to comfort him with soft words and rubbing his back.

Melissa McCall was pulling little kids out of the water, reassuring them gently that they'd be able to get back in soon. "You can't see shards of glass in the water," she said, voice gentle but firm. "You might really hurt yourself." As Stiles approached with his son, the kids looked up at him crying in pain and scrambled out as fast as they could.

Melissa met his eyes with a small smile, as if to say, Oh boy, what a mess.

Stiles could get the glass out of the pool. Without calling in a specialist or draining the pool, which would take too long, his magic was the only option if anyone wanted to use it again during the party. He looked at his son, gasping for breath where he was perched on his hip. Maybe he could calm him down and then come back to fix the pool? There was no way he'd be able to focus with him bleeding onto his jeans.

One thing at a time he told himself. He crouched down and pulled the little boy into his lap, rocking and shushing. "Really hurts, huh?" he murmured.

Patrick only wailed, tears and snot dripping down his face. Stiles heard another child start to cry somewhere nearby, likely startled by the glass breaking and only further upset by the sobbing Stiles had brought over the them. He was really starting to think, Those damn wolf powers would be pretty handy right about now and cursing his magic for being selectively useful, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Derek was crouched on the balls of his feet just next to him, eyes fixed on Patrick's red face. To Stiles, he looked like an angel sent to rescue the both of them. He squeezed Stiles' shoulder lightly and then reached out for the boy.

"Hey, Pat," Derek said, gently. "Look, Pat, Papa's here."

Patrick's eyes flew open and he lunged forward into Derek's arms. Stiles fell back onto his hands and patted his husband's thigh in thanks. He could see black lines tracing their way up Derek's forearms, beginning with the little knee he held in one hand and traveling up under his sleeves. The pained wailing was already dropping off, replaced by Patrick's normal, more familiar fussing. Even that faded into the background as Derek walked them both over to the food table, kissing and soothing the little guy as he went.

Stiles turned back to the pool. It was the work of a few heartbeats to make it safe again-- he stared into the water and imagined he could hear the tinkling of the shards as molecules of water brushed over them. He imagined he saw their jagged edges glinting beneath the brighter gleam of the water's surface. Then-- blink-- suddenly he could see the fragmented pieces and he could hear the barely-there tinkling of water on glass. Focus came easily with something to fix it to and he let his magic free to find the problem. The pieces were gone in seconds.

"Alright!" he shouted. "Open swim!" The splashing started up again immediately and he had to scurry away to avoid being hit. Smiling, he made his way to the grill. His father was holding Patrick while Derek stood at the start of the condiment line with two paper plates, a burger on one and a cheddar-filled hot dog on the other.

Stiles stepped in close to him and kissed his bristly cheek. "You never stop saving my life," he chirped. Then, "Is that for me?"

"Yes." He handed Stiles the plate with the burger. "Sorry I was late, there was an issue at the bakery and then traffic was pretty bad on the way back."

Stiles tsked. "That's what we get for going to the bougie place for a five year old's birthday cake. Grocery store sheet cake next time."

"Agreed."

When they finished filling their plates and returned to their son, he was staring raptly at the sheriff, who was telling a story in big, exaggerated motions.

"And that's why you never peel off your band-aids, son," he was saying as they came within earshot.

When Patrick saw them, he squirmed out of John's hold to the ground and ran up to Stiles.

"Daddy," he said. "Papa made my leg feel better, but it still hurts. You have to kiss it so it heals and I don't get a bacterial infection." Stiles shot a bewildered look at his father, who only smiled serenely.

"Of course," he said, smiling when he looked back at his son, then planted a loud kiss to the skin just below the open wound. "Now it will heal all better in no time. No infections."

Patrick stood up and dashed away before Stiles could even process it, screeching and chasing one of his little playmates.

"Has he eaten yet?" Derek asked him. Stiles stood up cracked his back.

"He can eat later. Or maybe he'll just have cake for dinner. It's his birthday, who cares?"

Derek sighed but smiled and tugged Stiles into a hug. "I cares. You cares. We all cares when the birthday boy doesn't fall asleep tonight. And Daddy and Papa and Patrick all stay up doing jigsaw puzzles until midnight again."

"You love family puzzle time," Stiles counters, poking him in the ribs.

"Is there really nothing else you would rather do tonight?" He pushed his nose into the space behind Stiles' ear. "I haven't seen you all day." He breathed in a huge inhale.

"Quit sniffing me, my dad is standing right there." Stiles smacked him and pulled out of the embrace. "Fine, I'll go track down the beast. Make a plate for him?"

Derek hummed an agreement and Stiles took off after their kid.

#sorry this doesn't really have an ending #teen wolf #fluffyfebruary #fluffy february #green-fifteen #fanfic #fifteen #fanfiction #fifteen fanfic #fifteen fanfiction #sterek #derek/stiles #stiles/derek #original child OC #kidfic #fluff #schmoop #established relationship #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sheriff stilinski #word count: <2k #word count: 2k #word count: 1k

[lesbaurinkos]

another jarch scribblie while im approaching running away together era in my rewatch ^_^

#all i can do is draw schmoop thru my anguish and misery. u understand im sure #if i draw enough domestic jarchies surely i can manifest east village endgame somehow. somehow #jarchie #riverdale #archie andrews #jughead jones #riverdoodles

[solarmorrigan]

Eddie has always loved music

Metal doesn’t entirely define who he is, but it helps him express who he is better than any other genre he’s known yet. Still, he loves other music, too. He loves the old country songs Wayne taught him, he loves the rock that crackles through on Hawkins’ only cool radio station, he loves the pop songs his mom would play in the car when she was still there to drive around with him in it

More than anything, though, Eddie loves the music of people

It sounds kind of dumb when he tries to explain it out loud (Wayne had at least humored him; his friends had looked at him like he’d been trying to sell them on a particularly outlandish D&D campaign), so he’s stopped trying, but every single person brings with them their own personal soundtrack – the little noises that come together in a way that’s unique to just them

Wayne has the rasp of sturdy denim, the gurgle of their old coffeemaker, the click of his lighter. It’s solid, earthy music, but not to be mistaken for anything common

Gareth’s is much faster-paced; a staccato beat. The rapid clicking of a pen, the squeak of slightly too-large boots, the constant drumming of his fingers on whatever surface he’s nearby

Dustin’s got paper: the whisper of turning pages, the crinkle of a crumpled sheet, the occasional, jarring pitch of its ripping into pieces. Something regular and constant that feels like it’s always building

Chrissy – Eddie hadn’t known her long, but he’d been left with the impression of something bright but... sad. The jingle of her jewelry, the gentle swish of her skirt, and the soft underscore of her tired sighs

But Steve’s– Steve’s is hard for Eddie to pin down. It’s hard to tell which parts are really his music. The clatter of pots and pans as he cooks, the sound of him mumbling to himself when he thinks no one can hear? The wood-metal clatter of a nail-studded baseball bat hitting the ground, the slam of car doors? Sure, steady footsteps and the absent, nervous knocking of knuckles on wood?

(The comforting rustle of bed sheets, the pitch of his voice when Eddie touches him just right?)

Eddie can’t pick just a few defining sounds. He can’t leave any of them out, he can’t bear to. He hears what Steve sounds like when he laughs—really laughs—and realizes he’s too greedy for all of Steve’s noises to settle for anything less than a symphony of them

“What?” Steve asks one night in bed, in the after, leaned back against the pillows and catching his breath when he turns his head to see Eddie staring. “What’s the look for?”

Eddie shrugs. “I like the way you sound.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, smiling like that wasn’t a weird thing to say, like he’s delighted that Eddie is saying anything at all, and isn’t that a fucking revelation? “What do I sound like?”

Eddie smiles back. “My new favorite song.”

#steddie #eddie & wayne #eddie & dustin #eddie & chrissy #eddie & gareth #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #solar wrote #comin' in way over my quota for schmoop this quarter

[oathwilled]

[ ADJUST ] @oathfcrged / post coital collapse

His  hair  is  getting  downright  unruly.  Thick  and  messy,  too-long,  shaved  down  a  little  just  above  his  ears  but  overall  just  ——  rumpled.  But  they’re  in  the  middle  of  nowhere,  and  the  best  he’s  got  is  a  sharp  knife  to  manage  it  here  and  there,  he’s  just  getting  —— fluffy.  It’s  even  starting  to  curl  a  little  at  the  back  of  his  neck.

And  right  now,  he’s  half  asleep,  half  sprawled  on  Aksel’s  chest,  arm  slung  over  him.  He  floats  in  that  sated  and  near-asleep  place,  breathing  deep  and  even,  words  heavily  slurred  when  he  does  speak  — half  because  it’s  against  skin,  half  because  he’s  too  out  of  it  to  make  sure  his  tongue  works.  

He  shivers  as  fingers  catch  on  a  little  tangle,  and  he  hmphs.  "  —— do  more’ve  tha’  ’n  I’ll  assume  ye  want  round  two,  "  he  says,  thick,  but  it’s  contented  and  with  a  pleased  sound  somewhere  deep.  "  —— 'ventually.  "

#;; & still alive despite everything. ( bg3 v. ) #oathfcrged #( more schmoop )

[blindmagdalena]

imagine homelander with a gf that gets really really clingy with him after watching sad movies where the one of the partners dies. obvi he’ll try to make it abt her, but really he’s touched that someone cares about him enough to worry about him..😭

This movie is... ridiculous. Homelander's biting back a laugh through the emotional climax of the film, unable to empathize with the choices of these characters, when suddenly he hears you sniffle. Looking down with his brows lifted, he catches the glint of tears rolling down your cheeks. "Whoa, hey, what?" He asks, sincerely baffled. Normally he can understand your responses to things decently well, but this catches him wholly off guard. You'd both been laughing about how silly the movie was not ten minutes ago. "What's with the waterworks?"

"I'm not crying," you answer stubbornly, pushing your cheek into the soft chest padding of his suit. "Right, my mistake. Just leaking lacrimal fluids then," he says wryly. He expects you to retort, maybe give his thigh an ineffectual slap, but there's a flicker of concern amidst his bewildered amusement when you don't respond at all, pressed tight to his side, tears still falling. "Babe," he calls, the word softly stressed. His brows knit together as he hooks a finger under your chin, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "C'mon, talk to me. No way that movie—

"It wasn't the movie," you admit finally, exasperation in your voice aimed not at him, but at yourself. "Not really, it was stupid, it just... I don't know. It got me thinking. I really don't know what I'd do if I lost you," you say, voice falling quieter and quieter with every word. It doesn't matter to him, he hears every bit of it. Homelander's shoulders sag.

"You won't," he says, face still pinched. You're the fragile one, not him. It makes his chest feel wrung tight, uncomfortable in a way he can't make sense of. You are his only vulnerability. You exist in his life as a precarious thing, a knife wedged in his heart that can be twisted and used to hurt him. A wicked part of him, the part that yearns for true invulnerable godhood, hates that about you. He swallows, mouth twitching. "You won't," he says again, needing it to be true as much as you do.

"I know," you say quietly, shifting up to press a kiss to his lips. In moments like this, you are so gentle with him, he almost feels fragile. It's as terrifying as it is indulgent. No one has ever worried about him the way you do. They've only ever cared about the damage he could do to others, but not to himself. Not about what could be done to him. "But I love you. A lot. More than I've ever loved anyone. I think I would go nuclear, you know? Just... Burn it all down kind of crazy," you say, huffing a teary little laugh. "But that's what they say. Love makes us crazy." Homelander kisses you fiercer than you're prepared for. He cups your face and holds you firm, soaking in your words, the salty smell of your tears, the tremble in your voice. All of it for him. "Say it again," he murmurs against your lips, voice tight.

"I love you," you say again, taking hold of his wrist. "I love you, I love you, I love y—" Your lips meet again with even more fervor. Homelander pulls you sideways into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as he sinks deeper into your touch, your lips, the warm sweetness of this vulnerable, unconditional love you have for him. He would kill for you without question, decimate a world that would see fit to take you from him. Knowing you've thought the same sets him aflame. "I love you so fucking much," he rumbles, kissing his way down your throat. "Show me how much," you rasp, tears drying in the wake of heat crawling through you, ignited by his touch. In the background, the film continues to play, wholly forgotten. It may not have been a particularly good movie, but it does at least serve as the catalyst to a very, very good evening.

#beep boop SCHMOOP #thanks anon this was a very cute prompt! #fluff #homelander x reader #homelander x you #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #lil spicy at the end there oop

[morallyinept]

JETTTTTTTTTTTT.

If I were to grant you the One Boop To Rule Them All, which Pedro boy would get it?

Lovely Megan! 🖤

Once again, here you are teasing me... (keep doing it, I love it)

I mean, it's gotta be Dieter. Boop that nose. Boop that belly. Boop that butt. Boop that di-

He'd get all the boops and then some. 🫠

I assume you're boopin' the hell out of Javi P? Good girl.

Love you! 🖤

Come on. How can you not boop this schmoop?

#jett's asks #dieter bravo #boop the schmoop

[alackofghosts]

how swiftly we choose it / the sacred simplicity / of you at my side

#was ready to take a bite out of my ipad this morning because of armour so no armour for now as a treat #warrior of light #Ardbert #fanart #speedpaint #i draw sometimes #Final Fantasy XIV #i actually listened to animal attraction by she wants revenge while drawing otherwise i think the schmoop levels would have been lethal #gotta balance it out. and she wants revenge is so aro to me lmao

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2023 Day 28 - Shower curtain

Suguru wakes up disgruntled on the couch. His neck hurts, his arm is asleep and he’s vaguely cold, because Satoru acts as if his room is a bigger fridge, and none of these things help to make him feel better. He just wanted to take a quick break as he waited for Satoru to come back but clearly his body had different plans.

And clearly Satoru doesn’t care for him at all, because Suguru hears the shower running which means Satoru must have walked right past him.

“Great,” Suguru mutters as he shakes his arm in hopes to bring feeling back to it. “Just great.”

He rolls his head around too, trying to soften his neck up again and his mood takes another hit when hair tumbles over his face.

“Fucking great,” he hisses, his hair wild and unbound and it’s just serving to annoy Suguru even more. He is very certain that he had it all tied up when he laid down, though, so the hair tie should still be around somewhere.

He fishes around the couch cushions and lets out a triumphant grunt when he finds it, quickly putting his hair back into its usual bun. He immediately feels better, but then a new problem rears its head.

Suguru really has to pee. The shower is still running, though and Suguru knows Satoru well enough that this could take forever, though he has no chance to gauge the time. 

He’s not going to wait for Satoru to finish his luxury spa day, though, so he’ll just have to be quick about it; it’s not even as if he’s going to see anything since Satoru will be safely behind the shower curtain and he probably won’t even notice him.

Suguru ignores the thoughts that a stark naked Satoru will be right there and instead slips into the bathroom. He’ll be in and out, no problem at all. Suguru doesn’t even make it to the toilet before Satoru turns off the water though and just a second later the shower curtain is being pulled to the side, meaning Suguru comes face to face with Satoru.

Who immediately screams as if he is being murdered before he yanks the shower curtain back, effectively hiding behind it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Satoru screeches but Suguru is too dumbstruck to reply.

Satoru is all lanky limbs and smooth, white skin, that much Suguru knows. What he doesn’t know is what that black spot on his chest is.

“What’s that on your chest?” he eventually gets out, his mind still racing.

“What’s what–Suguru! That really doesn’t matter right now, what the hell are you doing in here?”

“I need to pee.”

“Then go to your own fucking room, oh my god,” Satoru groans out but Suguru is still stuck on that dark spot he saw.

“Satoru, what is that on your chest?” he asks again and he has half a mind to reach out and tear the shower curtain away, so he can inspect it for himself.

“It’s a tattoo, what else would it be,” Satoru snaps out and Suguru’s hand instinctively moves to his own hip bone.

Satoru having a tattoo shouldn’t be quite so surprising and Suguru isn’t sure why he’s having such difficulties wrapping his head around it.

“Could you please just leave already?”

“What’s the motive?” Suguru finds himself asking, the mere second of the ink flashing on Satoru’s chest replaying in his mind over and over again.

“That’s none of your goddamn business, Suguru, get the hell out of here!”

“I–alright, alright, I’ll be in my room then, I guess,” he mutters and turns around on his heels to practically flee back to his own room. 

He had been looking forward to spending the evening together with Satoru but now he’s no longer sure if he even wants that; he needs to know that kind of motive Satoru deems important enough to permanently ink on his skin.

Satoru’s attention easily gets snatched up by all kinds of things and it’s hard to imagine that something piqued his interest enough for something like this. Suguru would have thought that Satoru would hate anything permanent on himself but clearly he has been wrong about that. Suguru isn’t one too judge, not with his own tattoo, and it’s not even like he is in any position to judge Satoru anyway, because it’s not as if Suguru had told him about his own tattoo either.

It’s just–

The need to know what’s marking Satoru permanently now burns in his mind.

“Fuck,” Suguru whispers as he finally uses the bathroom and his feelings only get more complex when he spots his own tattoo again.

It’s nothing fancy, just the outline of a lollipop, but it means so much to him that it almost feels as if he’s going to choke every time he sees it.

Satoru would probably laugh at him for it, if he even remembers at all and Suguru really is in no rush to have him make fun of this, not when meeting Satoru for the first time is still such an important memory for Suguru.

To this day Suguru still remembers the painfully surprised look on Satoru’s face when he’d offered him that lollipop, the careful way he reached out for it as if Suguru would snatch it away right before he could take it and then the absolutely delighted smile when Satoru got to taste it for the first time.

Suguru no longer remembers what kind of flavour it was and sometimes he chides himself for not paying better attention back then but they had been nine and they weren’t formally introduced either so it’s not really a surprise that he doesn’t remember.

He does—of course—remember the fluffy white hair and the piercing blue eyes; those are hard to forget and it had been quite the shock to meet Satoru again, here at the school.

Satoru doesn’t seem to remember him at all—and again, why would he—and so Suguru has never said anything. 

He still thinks often about how lonely Satoru had seemed, standing at the edge of the playground, simply watching the kids as if joining them to play wasn’t even an option for him. And with what Suguru knows about his childhood and his family now, that might as well be the case.

Suguru lets his head drop onto the backrest of the couch, covering his face with his hands.

It had felt like the most natural thing in the world, getting a tattoo of the lollipop, if only to remember that precious first smile he had ever gotten from Satoru.

Suguru is so incredibly fucked, it’s not even funny anymore, because just the memory has his heart beating fast in his chest. Satoru smiles a lot at him these days, so he should be used to it by now, but it steals his breath away every time, just like it did that very first time.

Suguru is still caught up in that memory when the door to his room flies open and Satoru barges in.

He takes one look at Suguru on the couch, before he comes over and kicks his legs. 

“Scoot over, asshole, letting me lay down is the least you can do right now.”

Suguru bites his tongue, swallowing the urge to apologise down but he does scoot over, just like Satoru demanded. Satoru doesn’t waste any time and flops himself down, his head neatly placed in Suguru’s lap and Suguru can’t help but to immediately sink his fingers into Satoru’s wispy hair.

“You do not simply barge into my bathroom unannounced,” Satoru says, staring up at Suguru, who playfully tugs at a strand.

“Didn’t know you were suddenly big on personal space,” Suguru teases, because if anyone, it’s Satoru who regularly disregards any kind of personal bubble when it comes to Suguru.

“I’m not,” Satoru huffs out and when he worries his lower lip with his teeth before he goes on, Suguru knows that this really bothers him. “I just–”

“You can just say that you don’t want me to see your tattoo, I’m not going to be mad about that,” Suguru interrupts him when it seems as if Satoru has problems finishing his thought.

“No, you’re just going to be disappointed and that’s so much worse,” he whines out and Suguru chuckles.

“I’m not going to be disappointed either, dummy. I can’t deny I’m curious, but it’s not as if you have to tell me.” He hesitates briefly before he goes on. “It’s not as if I told you about mine, either, so I really can’t judge you.”

“Yours?” Satoru yells out, shooting up and twisting around to stare at Suguru in betrayal. “You got a tattoo and didn’t tell me?”

“Yes? Same as you, it seems like,” he teases Satoru and immediately he feels better about this whole situation because he just knows that Satoru is going to be so much more bothered by this.

“That’s so mean, Suguru, how could you?” Satoru whines and flops back down again, burying his face in Suguru’s thigh. “Are you going to tell me?”

He sounds completely dejected and Suguru’s heart aches just at his tone but he will not be swayed.

“Are you going to tell me?” he shoots back and knows he has his answer when Satoru sighs.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier,” Satoru says after a moment of silence. “I was just startled.”

“It’s fine,” Suguru replies, getting back to carding his fingers through Satoru’s hair. “I’m not mad.”

“Good,” Satoru breathes out and goes completely lax.

Suguru enjoys their proximity for a while, letting Satoru rest and doing exactly what he wanted to do all evening: spending time with Satoru.

At least until he remembers something.

“Wait, I’ve got something for you,” Suguru says, scratching Satoru’s scalp and then leaning over the side of the couch to get his bag.

“Stop moving,” Satoru whines, like a disgruntled cat but he falls silent and goes cross-eyed when Suguru holds a bag of lollipops in his face.

“They re-stocked your favourite. I got you a bag, but I guess if you don’t want it, I can just bring it back,” he teases, because he damn well knows that Satoru is going to want it.

“No! Give it here,” Satoru immediately rushes out, clutching the bag to his chest before he takes out one of the lollipops and sticks it in his mouth.

“How are these your favourite, anyway? They are more on the sour side, aren’t they? You prefer your candy teeth-rottingly sweet.”

Something pensive passes over Satoru’s face, even as he sucks on the lollipop and when he looks up to Suguru, he seems determined.

It immediately puts Suguru on edge.

“What?” he quietly asks when Satoru still stays quiet and his stomach falls when Satoru looks away from him again. 

“They are my favourite because this flavour was the first thing you ever gave to me,” Satoru mutters. still avoiding his gaze.

Suguru goes completely still.

“I knew you wouldn’t remember,” Satoru breathes out, turning his face away from Suguru again which is what finally jolts Suguru into action.

He bends down, contorts himself until he can press his forehead against Satoru’s temple and he can feel the faint tremor that goes through Satoru.

“I could never remember what kind of flavour I gave to you. I should have paid more attention back then, honestly,” he whispers and nearly sustains brain damage when Satoru whips his head around and their foreheads smash together.

“You remember?” There’s an urgency to his voice that Suguru can emphasise with so he is quick to nod.

“Of course I remember. You seemed so happy when I gave that to you.”

“That’s what you remember? Not my hair or my eyes? That’s usually what clues people in.”

“Well, that helped to identify you when I saw you again, but really, those features weren’t the most striking ones about you.”

“What was then?” Satoru wants to know and Suguru smiles softly at him.

“Your loneliness,” he starts with because that was what caught his attention in the first place. “And then that joy on your face when you tasted the lollipop.”

“So you pitied me,” Satoru grumbles out and Suguru goes back to carding his fingers through Satoru’s hair.

“I didn’t pity you,” he corrects him. “You made me sad and I thought it wasn’t right that someone could look so sad at a playground.”

“My handlers wouldn’t let me interact with any other kids, because of the bounty on my head,” Satoru remembers. “So I wasn’t ever allowed to talk to anyone. I still don’t know how you made it to me.”

“I–” Suguru starts and he can feel himself blush at the memory. “I might have kicked one of your handles in the shin to let me talk to you,” he admits and Satoru blinks at him, once, twice, before he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, that is so good, and also deserved,” he chuckles out and Suguru joins him.

“You were so guarded, though. I had never met another kid who was so unwilling to talk to me.”

Satoru shrugs before he talks.

“Usually kids only approached me for two things: gaining a favour with my family or gaining a favour with me. I wasn’t used to someone simply giving me something.”

“Yeah, that was painfully obvious,” Suguru mutters. Then a new thought occurs to him. “How did you recognise me, anyway? I was a pretty scrawny, small kid.”

Satoru points at his eyes in explanation and Suguru momentarily feels dumb before he remembers that Satoru is always immensely pleased when Suguru forgets about his abilities for a moment. Of course the Six Eyes would tell Satoru everything he would need to know about a person.

“But that’s not it, actually,” Satoru says. “I recognised you because of your eyes. They are–kind,” he settles on and when a faint blush settles high on his cheekbones, Suguru gets the distinct impression that ‘kind’ isn’t quite what Satoru was going for.

Satoru still has his head in Suguru’s lap, still allows Suguru to play with his hair as if Suguru has all the right to it, and he still remembers their first meeting; well enough even to remember the exact flavour of the lollipop and declare it his favourite one.

Suguru thinks it’s time he takes a leap of faith.

“I have a tattoo of a lollipop,” Suguru tells Satoru who blinks at him with unabashed surprise. “On my hip bone.”

His heart is already beating painfully fast in his chest, because admitting that he has a memory of their very first meeting tattooed on his body surely must clue Satoru in on what it means to him–what he means to him–but when Satoru bursts out laughing his heart falls right into his stomach.

It must show on his face, too, because Satoru tries to stifle his laughter as he reaches up with one hand to clumsily pat Suguru’s face.

“No, no, don’t look like that,” he tries to console him. “It’s just funny because–”

Satoru breaks off there and instead pushes his shirt up. Suguru’s gaze is fixed on every inch of skin that is being revealed but when his eyes fall on the tattoo on Satoru’s chest, right over his heart, the breath gets knocked out of him.

It’s a tattoo of a lollipop.

“You can’t be serious,” Suguru breathes out and now Satoru’s laughter makes more sense. 

“I’m serious when I say that you’re my one and only,” Satoru says and Suguru can no longer hold himself back, he simply has to reach out and put his hand right over the tattoo.

“You’re my one and only, too, in case that wasn’t clear,” Suguru breathes out, because he knows he doesn’t say it as often as Satoru, but there is no trace of insecurity or doubt on Satoru’s face.

“I know,” he simply says and reaches out to thread their fingers together. “So,” he then says and Suguru knows that something very Satoru is going to come out of his mouth next. “When do I get to see yours?” His voice alone is suggestive enough but Satoru being Satoru pairs it off with an exaggerated eye-brow waggle that makes Suguru laugh again.

“Maybe when you barge in on me showering,” Suguru teases him but he leans down to kiss the pout right off Satoru’s face. “I’ll show you,” he promises then and is met with the same delighted smile that made him remember Satoru for all these years.

And he hopes it will accompany him through his life for so many more years to come.

#bt writes #beetober23 #jjk #satosugu #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #fluff #candy #tattoos #getting together #love confessions #schmoop