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starrystevie · 10 months

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steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

#did drugstores back then have fragrance aisles let alone samplers? who's to say just go with it #inspired by me looking cute for work today and forgetting to put on my perfume and wondering if i should stop in to target on my way in #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #steddie fic #is this realistic? absolutely not but ignore that for the blorbos sake #stranger things #stranger things fic

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vampireposter · 3 months

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meeting wyll at the grove, as someone who the tieflings trust enough to train their children, says so much about him. it's so sad that he doesn't get explored in acts 2-3 as deeply as the other companions, when his problems are equally intense. the average player probably long rests once before coming across the grove, but even if not, in that time wyll has already proven to the tieflings that they can rely on the Blade of Frontiers.

this is the immediate first thing he chooses to do after being condemned to slow death via ceremorphosis. his priority list in the first conversations with tav is: 1) hunt down a dangerous devil, 2) help zevlor with the goblins, 3) once nothing threatens the tieflings he will gladly search for a tadpole cure. wyll is perpetually his own last priority, and i wonder if it has to do with the lore about souls.

if he believes mind flayers' souls have been destroyed, and fiend warlocks will all have their souls sent to the hells after death, then becoming a mind flayer isn't the worst possible way for him to die. he would never become a mindless monster to save his own soul, but he's not gripped by horror the way that some of the other origin characters are. lae'zel has been made revoltingly impure to her people, astarion is terrified of losing the scrap of bodily autonomy he just regained, gale is guilt-ridden over the orb detonation if he dies, shadowheart has to survive to prove herself to her cult leader, and karlach has also just regained bodily autonomy and is desparate to live.

this is just another quest for the Blade, whose persona guards wyll ravengard against the vice of self-concern when he ought to be concerned for those in need.

#wyll ravengard #bg3 #writing a wyll pov thing in order to roleplay harder in my durge playthrough & ive become obsessed w him #i love him so much. he doesnt even really get to realize in-game how traumatized he is and in act 3 he has not healed any really #come here wyll we are going to learn about self care. you & durge need to overcome the desire to give up your lives for your fathers ideals #faerun doesnt have LMHCs so wyll gets my durge who currently thinks he is (a miserable failure of) a cleric of ilmater.#this fic is practice for my 'ascended tavastarion struggle to quit being Like That' character study thing wherein i am struggling w dialogu #loving working on both. im in my little dollhouse making my toys try out lines until they fit #vampireposted

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autumnalmess · 2 months

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Hey man sorry I've not posted in a while, it's a funny story actually. I actually got arrested for stealing bread for my sister and her seven starving children. yeah, it was pretty bad. I tried to escape 3 times so yeah I got 19 years, yeah and then I broke my parole and now there's this slutty little man after me, yeah I think he has a crush on me or smt idk

#jean valjean #javert #bro im so sorry i fully ABANDONED that fanfiction #ive become the very thing i sought to destroy #I'll probably go back to it at some point....#les miserables #victor hugo #les mis #les misposting #valvert #in all seriousness I'm really sorry if you were committed to the fic i know a lot of people were but im going through the incredibly #horrible palaver of completely losing interest in a hyperfixation #who knows maybe one day ill go mental and write all of the rest of it

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mp100days · 2 years

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087 - reigen takes mob out to get ramen for the first time. from another fic i’m really normal about

#freaks GET OUT OF HERE !!! this is not ship art im biting you to death #mob psycho 100 #mob #reigen arataka #mp100 #mod 1 #i can kind of be normal about early reigen and mob’s dynamic. like . the fic writes it so well #reigen being standoffish to Not Get Attached to this small boy who makes being so kind and silly a sport #and whatever. the part abt not realizing how cold his apartment is until after he leaves the ramen shop #whatever GO READ IT !!! its so good alas i wish i colored this but that wouldve killed me

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teethkid67 · 2 months

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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

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theminecraftbee · 7 months

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There are several things Martyn realizes, all at once, when he opens his eyes:

He is dreaming.

It's one of those in-between dreams, the ones that aren't quite dreams.

He is sitting at a green felted table. It is sitting on a stage. The lighting is dim, and no one is watching, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the stagehands dressed in black, waiting.

He is not the only one sitting at the table. There is a Watcher, draped in purple. There is a Listener, draped in yellow. There is someone he recognizes in a red sweater. There is someone he thinks he should recognize, but can't quite, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Right. What's all this, then," he mutters.

We are playing blackjack, the Listener says.

We are deciding the rules, the Watcher says.

"It's not like we have anything better to do. Honestly, I'm glad you're here. Do you know how boring these guys are?" Grian says, and Martyn decides to quietly file Grian away as a dream-Grian, as opposed to real-life-Grian, so he doesn't go insane and/or stab him when he wakes up. He waits for the almost-familiar dealer to say something. He does not. After another few moments of awkward nonsense dream-silence, Martyn sighs and leans forward on the table.

"Sure, this might as well be happening," Martyn says. "Deal me in. How's the betting work, again?"

"You put your bet on the table. If you beat the dealer, you get to add it to the game," Grian explains. "If you don't beat the dealer, it takes it."

"Yeah, but like, that's abstract, isn't it? What does that mean, exactly, me losing what I bet if I don't beat the dealer," Martyn says.

Grian shrugs. "Don't ask me. To be honest, I'm hardly the storyteller you are."

"Me? Why are you acting like I have any control over these things when you're--"

Are you ready to play?

Martyn shuts up, looks at the Listener, and sighs. "Yeah, sure, I'm ready to play. Why not."

The dealer looks to its left. Grian sighs. "Why are you making me bet first. Again. We should rotate where we're sitting--fine, fine, I know it's an advantage because I'm the worst at this. Uh. Hm. No trading or giving away lives again. Not even as time or something. It makes the dynamics all weird, and I think we could use a nice straightforward death game next time."

(Martyn wants to roll his eyes. Nice and straightforward. Sure.)

The Watcher goes next. I would like there to be deep and wonderful bonds between the players. I would like those bonds to seem unbreakable.

"Coming from you, that's ominous," Martyn says.

Can I not just miss the alliances of the early days? the Watcher says.

"Never left the desert," Grian says, rolls his eyes, and looks at Martyn in commiseration. Martyn just stares back. So sue him, he's a bit more worried about this whole concept than an eye roll and a pithy phrase. Things Watchers want are rarely good.

When the bonds are enforced, they're less interesting, complains the Listener.

Martyn looks over sharply. Hey, wait, he thought--

I didn't say they had to be enforced by rule. I said they had to be deep. Encouraged, as opposed to discouraged.

Just saying. You'll never recapture Third Life.

Martyn swallows. His throat is dry. Weren't the Listeners supposed to be the good guys, here?

Besides, what I want is for each death to be meaningful again. They've felt too meaningless, lately, the Listener continues.

Martyn thinks the dealer raises an eyebrow, but it strikes him he's not exactly sure. Grian snorts. "Meaningful deaths. That's rich for you to say. I mean, I guess they're meaningful sometimes? I don't know, Martyn's the one who understands dramatic sacrifices, I just like killing things."

"Why do you keep on looking at me when you say those things," Martyn says.

"Look, you wouldn't be here if you weren't helping write," Grian says.

"What?" Martyn says.

We're here to play our cards for the story, the Watcher says. Aren't you also one of the authors?

"Me? What? No, I'm--what are you talking about," Martyn says.

Oh, well. I also hope your meaningful deaths make it in, the Watcher says the Listener.

Thanks, even if I disagree on the bonds, the Listener says.

"They hardly ever talk about real, concrete rules they want," complains Grian. "It's easier to understand the consequence if they bring up actual rules. Like boogeyman or no boogeyman."

"We're all just betting on cards!" Martyn says, throwing his hands up. "You're giving me a headache!"

It's your bet.

"Fine!" Martyn says. "Fine! You know what? Screw all of you. I hope this is the last one. I hope we never have to go back to that stupid death game. I hope it's miserable to watch or to listen to or to play and everyone just gives up. How's that for a bet?"

You're no fun.

Is that what you really want?

"Suit yourself," Grian says. "Honestly, if I still had that to bet, I guess I probably would."

"What do you mean, if you still had that to bet?"

"Well, I mean, that's not how blackjack works, is it? I don't just get back my in when I play it."

The dealer nods, and then silently, with a long bony hand, deals the cards.

Grian is dealt the four of diamonds. The Watcher is dealt the nine of spades. The Listener is dealt the five of clubs. Martyn is dealt a jack of spades. The dealer deals itself a seven of hearts. The dealer deals Grian a six of clubs--

"Hey, isn't that supposed to be face-down?" Martyn asks.

"Not here," Grian explains. "They're all face up so we can't touch the cards. So we don't have to. So we can't cheat."

"Who said anything about cheating?" Martyn says.

"Please," Grian says.

The dealer makes a hand motion. Martyn, grumpily, falls silent. He supposes they're playing by casino rules, then. He hasn't been in a casino since--he wouldn't know. Hard to remember anything that isn't this, isn't it? Isn't killing and dying and things out of his control and things very much in his control and, apparently, bizarre dream sequences designed to make him want to strangle Grian.

Anyway. Grian is dealt a six of clubs, giving him ten. The Watcher is given an eight of spades, giving it seventeen. The Listener is dealt a king of hearts, giving it fifteen. Martyn is given a six of clubs, giving him sixteen. The dealer deals its own second card face-down. Martyn stops to try to speak, and then shuts his mouth. Right. Dealer's advantage.

He stares at the numbers.

Grian sighs. "Well, I've got to double down, don't I? Fine. I want the whole 'red lives can kill' thing to be enforced somehow. I don't care how. There's my double down."

The dealer nods.

"Why would you want that," Martyn says blankly.

If we all win, that will be interesting with the bonds, the Watcher says mildly.

Grian shrugs. "I mean, we've enforced red names not befriending green names, but not the murder thing before. Figure we should switch up the game, right?"

"Why?" Martyn says again.

Well, it wouldn't do for it to be boring.

"No, not that. Just... isn't it easier to handle when the rules are laid out properly?"

Martyn throws his hands up, but stops arguing. The dealer gives Grian a face-down card. The dealer moves to the next party at the table.

The Watcher looks over at the dealer and makes a cutting-off motion. I stand.

The dealer moves on. Hit me, the Listener says, and is dealt the queen of diamonds. The Listener gestures to Martyn. It seems I bust. Pity. I suppose there will be no guarantee of meaning, then. Not what I'd prefer.

The dealer looks at Martyn. Martyn looks at the other hands. Martyn pauses.

"Wait, this is like, casino blackjack, yeah? I'm only playing against you, not the whole table?"

"Why would you be playing against us?" Grian says. "Writing's a collaborative process."

Martyn looks entreatingly at the Listener, but the Listener is a little too caught up in the bad hand it has been dealt. Martyn looks entreatingly at the Watcher, but the Watcher just looks somehow confused.

"I was under the impression that, I don't know, you all were adversarial."

Why? All we want is the same thing as you: the story to be told a certain way.

Martyn's not sure if he's furious or just numb.

"Fine. Got a sixteen, don't I? Hit me."

Two of spades.

He's furious. He wants to win against the dealer. He wants to win against everyone. He wants his idea to make it through. He has an eighteen, though. There are only two numbers in the deck that will not bust him, and he's no fool. Hitting on sixteen is a risk enough; if he wants his stupid bet of everything finally ending to make it through, he's got to hold here.

"I hold," he says through gritted teeth.

The dealer silently deals itself another card. A three of hearts. Distantly, Martyn's ears rush. He could have taken that. He could have taken the hit. He could have won. He could have had blackjack, and he doesn't know what the extra payout for blackjack even means in a game like this one, but he could have had it, and he held back, he didn't take the risk, he didn't--

The dealer flips up its cards. Seven, eight, three. Eighteen.

Martyn's heart pounds. A stand-off.

Grian flips up his own card and groans. It's a five of diamonds. "There goes that bet," he mutters.

The dealer makes a sweeping motion around the table. The Watcher smiles, a terrible, terrible thing. Martyn, all at once, realizes that he can't ask again. He can't say 'this is guaranteed to be the last one' again. He backs out of his chair. To the sides, he sees the stagehands change the lighting. A spotlight, on him and the dealer--

"That isn't fair," he says. "It's a tie. I should get my bet back, right? It's a tie!"

THAT IS WHERE WE DIFFER FROM THE HOUSES IN VEGAS, the dealer says, and Martyn's heart stops.

(The voice is familiar. Familiar, but he cannot place it.)

YOU SEE, IN THIS GAME, THERE IS ALWAYS ONE THING THAT HAS AN ADVANTAGE. ONE THING THE STORY IS ALWAYS PLAYING AGAINST. ONE THING, THAT INEVITABLY, AFTER LONG ENOUGH PLAYING, WILL WIN.

There, the dealer looks Martyn in the eyes, and Martyn, all at once, knows exactly what the dealer must be.

AND THAT IS ME.

Martyn stares Death in the eyes.

Then, in a cold sweat, Martyn wakes up.

He does not sleep again for a long time.

#trafficblr #martyn inthelittlewood #grian #the watchers #the listeners #a bee fic #this is me getting ALL OF MY MOST PRETENTIOUS URGES OUT before i go write more giftfic #literally all my most favoritest pretentious tropes. death personified. weird audience/writer avatar watchers and listeners. cards.#the series abstracted as a stage show. martyn being tired and confused.#really really ominous portents of the next game that hasn't actually happened yet #this is what self-indulgence looks like. if you're me.#there could not be. a more me fic.#anyway. ANYWAY. martyn doesn't understand why he's here. but why WOULDN'T he be here?#out of everyone in the series he's one of the ones who shapes the narrative the most after all

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shrimpchipsss · 7 months

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read Living With a Tiger by x_los !

#ty jacks pyrzqxyl for betaing my comicmaking #sorry to drop you guys in the middle of the scene but i just really love the dialogue here #i beg you to go read this fic #watched a lot of melts' bingqiu wedding extra storyboard and jo and laurie's proposal scene from the 2019 little women while working on thi #also--it occurred to me while rereading living with a tiger #that bingge and shen qingqiu are the only two characters who have seen the entirety of the other's story (discounting airplane)#shen qingqiu read all of PIDW and bingge watched all of sqq's memories #so even though their actual interactions are limited to that day #sqq has been insane about binghe/bingge this whole time #and bingge has a lifetime to be insane about sqq #it really makes you think #it makes you want to turn into a void of nothingness #cheers to xlos' writing the gift that keeps giving #living with a tiger #svsss #scum villain #bingqiu #binggeqiu #shen qingqiu #sqq #luo binghe #lbh #luo bingge #long post

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divorceconnoisseur · 1 year

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There's a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Eddie's face wavers for a second before he snorts, running his hand down his face. "What are we even doing here, man?"

Steve falters, the inanity of the situation hitting him. "I, uh, I think we're about to actually fistfight over-- over who a bunch of 14-year-olds think is cooler."

Eddie considers that briefly, tapping his fingers against his mouth before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I've heard of worst causes. Dukes up, Harrington, let's go!" Eddie pushes up his sleeves and waves his fists in the air cartoonishly as he starts to circle Steve.

Steve laughs, following Eddie as he goes like a compass drawn north. "Oh yeah, man? To the death, right?"

"Of course. Is there any other kind of fight?" Eddie says, overly serious, and abruptly tackles Steve.

They wrestle for a moment, and it's playful and stupid, but it still takes Steve an embarrassingly short amount of time to get Eddie in a headlock.

"This is just sad, man," Steve teases as Eddie struggles. "Those guns just for show, then?"

"Oh shit oh shit not the hair please, please have mercy O King Steve," Eddie laughs breathlessly.

Steve considers it-- Eddie seems to take as much care in his hair as Steve does, and real respects real-- and in that moment of hesitation, Eddie hooks his leg around Steve's and pulls.

Steve yelps as Eddie cackles, dragging them both down into the grass.

He hits the ground with a choked gasp, breath knocked out of him, and he squints up at the sky, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a grin.

He turns his head to say something to Eddie but loses his breath a second time for a very different reason.

Eddie's still giggling to himself in little fits, winding down, and there's a lightness to him at this moment that Steve's never seen, only heard described by the kids pre-Vecna. Laughter suits Eddie Munson, much better than terror or guilt or seriousness, and Steve's suddenly aware that he would do anything in this moment to keep that surprised look of happiness on his face a second longer.

Eddie catches his eyes and turns his head toward him. He's got grass stuck in his hair, and Steve doesn't think before he reaches over.

It's soft. Softer than he was expecting. He's careful not to catch any of Eddie's hair as he pulls out the grass and ends up lingering longer than he means to, setting a curl back to rights before realizing that this is, like, maybe a little weird.

He jerks back, and the back of his hand brushes Eddie's cheek, which is-- which is--

Warm. Soft, too, but with the rough start to stubble, and the feeling of it lingers against his hand like a brand.

Eddie's eyes, dark and impossibly wide, watch him, quiet for once. He wets his lips before speaking, and Steve's eyes catch on that, too, before darting back up to Eddie's. Which, god, what even was that? Why-- why is he--?

"A draw, then," Eddie says, turning over onto his stomach and kicking up his feet, and the weird atmosphere vanishes like it never was. "You are a worthier opponent than I realized, Steve Harrington."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says, relieved and disappointed. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Eddie clicks his tongue and fans himself. "You're too kind."

Steve looks away, tracking the clouds passing overhead. "No, really. I know I haven't exactly been, y'know, the world's best welcoming committee-"

"Was pretty convinced you hated my guts, yup." Eddie agrees, nodding.

"I don't. I never did. You're just--" Steve wracks his brain, trying to fit a word to the squirming feeling in his chest that Eddie inspires. "You're really good, y'know?"

"I... don't know, actually." Eddie's voice goes flat, and when Steve turns back to look at him, he's looking at Steve like he's a live snake, or something else dangerous and close to his vulnerable bits.

"You're good with the kids. Good for the kids, too. God, Will's really opened up since he joined your dumb nerdfest. You're good with and to the girls, too, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and probably anyone else that crosses your path. You are, patently, a good dude."

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, but Steve barrels on, feeling electric and more than a little crazy. "And, and it's just-- I don't know, I just--"

"Harrington, if you're about to tell me you think I'm a better man than you, I will lose it," Eddie interrupts regardless, voice high and reedy. "I know you're being, like, genuine and honest right now, but I will laugh in your goddamn face-"

"No, it's not that."

"Okay, I know this directly contradicts what I just said, but the speed with which you said that... Ouch."

"No," Steve shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. It's-- it's not a competition."

Eddie's eyebrows leap up. "It's not? I invite you to remember what we've spent the last few weeks on."

"That was just an excuse," He snaps his mouth closed the second the words leave his mouth.

"Excuse?" Eddie repeats slowly.

"I just. I don't know, man. Maybe," he swallows. "Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of you being good to me."

"... Why not?" Eddie asks, eyes focused on him, open, not judging, and god, this is exactly what Steve was worried about.

Eddie looks at him, and Steve--

Kisses him. Can't really do anything else but kiss him.

And when Eddie, after the longest moment of Steve's life, starts kissing him back? It's like the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

Turns out it's not the kids' attention he'd wanted-- or not just the kids' attention, anyway.

When Eddie pulls back, lips red and wet, eyes dark and focused just on him, Steve knows he's finally won it.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #been sitting on this one for a bit and have finally come to terms with the fact im probably not going to write the rest of it so... here!#i really like this little scene #in my heart it's at the end of a 5+1 fic where steve and eddie do a bunch of very dumb competitions to prove who's cooler to the kids #... enjoy lmao!#writing outputs

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sincosma · 8 months

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I know this connection has already been talked about in excess, but as someone that was deep in the doctor who fandom in the early 2010s, I think this recent and violent obsession with good omens is really just revealing i have an uncontrollable desire for tragic love stories that involve David Tennant and a lovable blonde.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #doctor who #tenrose #personal ramblings #really trying to resist writing GO fic at this point

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little-pondhead · 4 months

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Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

#pondhead blurbs #dpxdc #how we feeling about this fellas #i think it's an ideal angst fic #but i don't wanna write it lol #the younger danny is the worse it gets #someone said that danny shouldn't be afraid of the joker because he's a clown and freakshow is a ringmaster. not a clown #if i find that post i'll tag the creator cause i can't remember rn #but i'm imagining danny who is heavily traumatized and scared and lonely #finding out that one of his worst enemies he hoped to never see again is hunting him and is so close danny has to check his eyes every day #just to make sure they haven't turned red #his anxiety is out of control and he's not about to go find a Bat or Bird to talk to #who would believe him anyways? he's a monster #but danny needs help cause he will not survive this on his own and he knows it #freakshow haunts his every waking dream #but freakshow isn't from gotham. he doesn't have the city's curses engraved into his blood. he never died and he's not truly teasing death #so danny chooses to plead for help from the only predator bigger than freakshow (in his eyes) who IS from gotham #danny goes to the Joker. prepared to offer everything but his free will and free mind. he can't give those up. it's all he has.#danny is a feral house cat asking a tiger to take care of a mountain lion for him by offering the tiger his own liver on a silver platter #joker is...delighted? maybe? no one is quite sure. but he takes what danny offers.#here is this little boy. almost the same age as the second robin when he died. pleading for the JOKER to be his savior. this will be fun

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muffinlance · 3 months

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Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

#for the record if you ever find something kind of rancid in my fics #do please let me know #EX: I've rewritten scenes to be better Actual Blind Rep for Toph based on blind reader feedback #and I'm debating how hard it would be to ignore/re-write the canon issues of Water Tribe sexism (for the Southern Tribe at the least)#because that is a common complaint I see from the people who's RL cultures the Water Tribes was based on #probably I can do more interesting things with that going forward #in other words justice for Hama and Hahn #at least the show itself made Hama excellently complex #anyways back to doing actual writing #please no follow up questions #though I will say anyone who wants to update their own fics to use Wanyi (or any other name): go for it!#all you need to do is plop your chapters in a word editor and find/replace the ship name! it took about 40 minutes to do literally #all of my fics and I had some other editing to do besides! it'll be even quicker for you!#let's sink the Wani #avatar the last airbender #atla #Zuko

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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

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For the ghostlights drabbles: “Say my name” with a favor being called in?

Duke had saved Phantom years ago, back when he was just out of high school and working to take down a branch of the government that was kidnapping and experimenting on people, targeting magic users and metas. Phantom had been working on his own to take them down, and they met in the middle, trashing a lab and freeing as many people as they could.

They had managed to shoot his back, knocking him down and making him bleed a glowing green. Phantom couldn’t move, protecting two kids with his body, and Duke couldn’t reach them in time before they were taken away by another swarm of agents.

He was able to go after them in time, free Phantom and the kids, and evacuated the victims before Phantom rained hell down on the facility.

At the end, standing in the background as they watched paramedics treat the victims and take them towards the nearest hospitals, Phantom had turned towards him and thanked him.

Or rather, he thanked the Signal and offered him a bracelet with a rounded orb of ice, glowing faintly in the dark. If you ever need me, he had said, Hold this, and call me name.

Phantom vanished once the last of the victims were transported to a safer location, and Duke hadn’t seen him since.

He’s kept up with news about Phantom as best he can, but from what he could tell, Phantom is based primarily in Amity Park, Illinois, and the town is fiercely protective of their hero. News rarely leaks out of there, and with them running on their own servers and independent internet, it was nearly impossible to get in from the outside.

Phantom remained a curious and distant figure in Duke’s life. He holds onto the bracelet still, guarding it carefully and sometimes running his fingers over the ice that never melts.

But he doesn’t call in that favor. He’s never to.

At least, not until now.

Sucking in a breath, Duke prepares himself and holds the orb of ice in the palm of his hand. He’s in civies, unable to hide his identity for this, and closes his eyes. “Phantom,” he says.

For a moment, nothing happens. Duke blinks his eyes open and frowns, mind already forming new plans to contact Phantom. Then the ice goes bitingly cold, almost painful, and the temperature in the room drops dramatically. The ice lifts up from his hand, floating in the air, then cracks open.

White-blue light spills out of it, growing brighter as it seems to swallow up the room entirely. Duke hurries to back up, an arm thrown up to protect his eyes. His breath mists out before him and he shivers as the sound of ice cracking fills the room.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the light disappears and the cold fades away like a bad dream.

Slowly, Duke lowers his arm and looks up at Phantom, floating in the middle of his living room with a crown made of ice, engulfed in blue fire, hovers above his head. He looks older, more regal, holding his head high.

He regards Duke carefully for a minute, then tilts his head and says, “Signal?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Man, I’m so glad you came.”

“You… need help with something? You’re calling in your favor now, right?”

Duke nods. He understands Phantom’s confusion; being in the hero business means that favors like these tend to be used only during the most hopeless of times, when the world is close to ending, when the chances of getting out of a situation alive is close to impossible. It’s exactly the kind of thing Duke was expecting to call Phantom in for.

Not the kid sleeping on his couch.

“You’re a ghost, yeah?”

Phantom blinks at him. “Ghost king, now. Why?”

“Well…” Duke rubs the back of his neck, nervously. “I didn’t really know who else to call, and I can’t do this on my own since I’m not a ghost. But this kid got attached to me and won’t leave, so now I’m taking care of her and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know why you think I have any experience with kids but—”

“She’s a ghost.”

Phantom stops short. “Ah. I see.” He floats down until his feet touch the floor, and then he’s standing like any other person. “Where…?”

Duke looks past Phantom’s shoulder, and Phantom turns to follow his gaze. Chelsea, the ghost girl, looks to be around nine years old and is fast asleep on the couch, curled up under Duke’s softest blanket.

“Signal,” Phantom says quietly, “What, exactly, is the favor you need from me?”

“You can say no,” Duke starts. “I get that this is a lot. But I need help raising her. And since you’re a ghost, I figured you could help me learn about the ghostly side of things. You don’t have to raise her with me or anything! Just… I would appreciate any help you’re willing to give me.”

Phantom doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at Chelsea, an unreadable expression on his face.

On the couch. Chelsea shifts in her sleep, brows furrowing as she makes a choked noise in the back of her throat.

Moving on autopilot after so many nights of this routine, Duke kneels next to the couch, fishing one of her hands from beneath the blanket. He gives it a few reassuring squeezes, keeping it a slow rhythm to pull her gently from her nightmare. She settles down in just a minute, brow smoothing out as she continues to sleep.

The silence grows and Duke is all too aware that his heart is the only one beating.

He doesn’t hear Phantom move. Doesn’t realize he’s right next to him until he sees Phantom’s hand reach out towards Chelsea. When Duke looks, Phantom is sitting on the floor next to Duke, looking at Chelsea with something soft and devastated in his eyes. His hand hovers about her head for a long moment, then slowly lowers to rest on her head.

The touch looks gently, barely putting any pressure on her head, but it’s enough to make Chelsea’s eyes snap open, suddenly wide awake. She stares at Phantom with wide eyes, then sits up and looks between him and Duke.

“Who are you?” she asks in a small voice that makes Duke want to stand against the world to keep her safe.

Phantom smiles. It’s casual and charming and makes him look like anyone else, as if he’s not a powerful king from a realm unreachable to humans. “Hi there,” he says, “I’m Danny. I’m a ghost like you. Signal called me and asked me to meet you.”

The Ghost King is good with kids. Who would have thought?

Chelsea looks at him for confirmation and only relaxes when he nods. “I’m Chelsea. What do you mean ghost? I’m not dead.”

Both he and Phantom tense, carefully keeping their expressions neutral. She hasn’t told him much at all, just that her parents were gone and forgot her and she got hurt, so she wanted to stay with ‘Mr. Signal’ because he’s a hero and heroes keep people safe and he was the only one who was Black like her. Duke hadn’t had the heart to say no, and began searching for her family, only to find that her parents had fled the state, and likely the country, after killing their only child through neglect and a dangerous environment.

It was then that he realized that her powers were not because she was a meta, but because she was ghost.

It still hurts to realize how young she is, how much of her life had been stolen from her in an instant. Duke hadn’t been brave enough to broach the topic with her, instead choosing to let her grow comfortable in his presence, get them both settled into a routine now that he was her primary guardian.

“I know it sounds scary,” Phantom says, “And you may not want to believe me, but it’s true. I’m sorry that you died so young, but that just means you get to hang out with me and other ghosts from now on!”

Chelsea crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “I am not dead,” she says.

“Cici, I’m sorry to say this, but you are,” Duke cuts in. “That’s why I called… Danny. You have new powers as a ghost, and he can help you get used to them.”

“I’m not dead!” she says again.

“Kid,” Phantom begins, but Chelsea shakes her head hard and hops off the couch.

“I’m not lying! Watch, I’ll prove it to you!” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her nose, concentrating. Her hands curl into tight fists by her sides, and the glow around her grows dim. Two faint, stuttering rings of light appear around her waist. They flicker and wobble in the air, as if weak and uncertain of their own existence, then split apart, one moving up towards her head while the other falls to her feet.

Beside him, Phantom sucks in a sharp breath, but Duke can’t turn to see what’s wrong when he’s trying to take in the sight of Chelsea suddenly full of vibrant color, looking more solid that he’s ever seen her, very much alive.

“See?” she says proudly, lifting her arms and doing a spin to show off her right she was. “I told you I’m not dead!”

“No, you’re not,” Phantom agrees, sounding shell-shocked. When Duke is finally able to look away from Chelsea to check on him, he looks awed. There’s the smallest smile on his face, just the slightest upturn of his lips, but it makes him look softer.

Duke turns his attention back to Chelsea before he can be caught staring. “Cici, can you come here for a second?”

She goes before he’s finished speaking, crossing the space between them in a single jump, then grins up at him. Her hair is a bit of a mess, the two buns he managed to get her hair into falling askew. He makes a note to visit the old aunties in the Narrows later to ask them to teach him how to do hair. For now, he holds out a hand and Chelsea drops an arm into it.

It seems to good to be true, having her be alive, but her pulse is steady and strong when he presses his thumb against the inside of her wrist.

“Well,” he says, leaning back and letting go of her arm. “You certainly proved us wrong.”

Chelsea doesn’t have much time to look smug before PHantom quietly says, “You’re like me.”

“What?”

“You’re like me,” he tells Chelsea. “A halfa.”

She tilts her head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Someone who is half human and half ghost. Both dead and alive.”

Duke blinks, taking in the words, then turns to face Phantom so quickly he’s worried he might give himself whiplash. Halfa, he said. Like me, he said.

And sure enough, two rings of light, bright and strong, appear around Phantom’s waist before splitting in half, moving over his entire body.

Gone is the Ghost King, all powerful and adorned in dark clothing with a crown of ice above his head. In his place is a guy who looks to be Duke’s age, eyes a deep blue and his black hair messy, feet set solidly on the floor. He looks completely normal, completely human, and no longer an impossibility.

“You still up for learning how to use all your new powers?” Phantom asks.

Chelsea grins. “Yeah!” And then, with a quick flick of her eyes going from Phantom to Duke that he almost misses, very innocently asks, “Are you going to stay with us then?”

“I… don’t know?” Phantom looks to Duke for an answer.

Already, Duke can see this going two ways. The correct way forward, the normal one, has Phantom popping in every so often, taking Chelsea out for a few hours to work on training her and her powers. It’s easy and routine and they can keep their boundaries uncrossed and be professional.

The other path is what Duke wants most that he shouldn’t impose onto the literal Ghost King. He could have Phantom living with them while he’s on Earth and out of Amity Park, having a place at the table, a section in the closet for his own clothes, a quietly domestic night together while Chelsea sleeps where they can get to know each other more, get to know each other outside of news reports and texts on a screen.

“You can stay with us if you want,” Duke offers, casually, “It might keep my apartment safe from her powers acting up on their own again.”

“Are you sure? I could always just fly in on the weekends or something.”

“I’d appreciate having you around. So you can help Cici.”

“If you don’t mind,” Phantom says, looking away. Like this, fully alive with a beating heart, it’s easy to see the blush steal away across his cheeks.

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either!” Chelsea pops in, looking far too gleeful by their awkward conversation.

Duke can’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than he had in ages. The relief of knowing that Chelsea is alive, for the most part at least, eases the guilt of thinking he had been too late to save her, that there was no chance she could have made it out and had a future, makes him feel weak. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks hits him all at once and he wants nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

“Alright, squirt,” he says, reaching out to pat her head. “It’s late. We can talk more in the morning, so go to bed. In your actual bed this time, not on the couch.”

Chelsea stands up taller, ready to argue, but Duke gives her a Look™ and she quickly shuts her mouth, nods, and drags her feet back to her room (the former guestroom he can never give any of the other Waynes ever again, once they find out about her).

Sighing, Duke collapses onto the couch once he hears the door shut behind her. Phantom joins him after a few seconds, sitting tentatively on the edge of the couch. The cushion moves beneath his weight, another reminder of how solid and alive he is right not.

Duke wants to touch him, to reach out and feel for himself his pulse, the warmth of his body, his chest lifting with each breath.

He doesn’t move. He stays where he is, hands carefully still, and tries to think past the dizzying thoughts of she’s still alive, I’m not too late, he’s still here, he’s alive.

“Rough week?” Phantom asks, voice purposefully light.

“Something like that.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can. Not after everything. My mind’s too loud right now.”

Phantom shifts closer to him, hesitant in a way that Duke has never seen before in him, and asks, “Want me to stay with you until you mind quiets down some?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Thanks, Phantom.”

“You know, if I’m going to be around so often as Chelsea’s halfa mentor, then you might as well call me Danny.”

Truth be told, Duke didn’t think that was his real name. He’s glad to know it’s not.

“Then call me Duke.”

“...Are you sure? You could still hide your identity from me.”

“Nah, I trust you. A name for a name, yeah?”

Danny smiles. “Duke,” he says, testing out the name, and it’s never sounded better than when it falls from Danny’s mouth.

“Danny,” Duke returns. He belatedly realizes that they’ve leaned towards each other, drawn together like gravity, stuck in each other’s orbit. It feels natural. It feels like this is where they’re meant to be.

Maybe he should be more cautious. They’ve only meant once before, after all. But he’s read all he could on Phantom and has seen how Amity Park loves him. He’s stressed and exhausted and trying to figure out how to look after a half-ghost child that’s already been dealt a bad hand in life. He should be keeping Phantom at a distance, watching over him carefully to ensure he isn’t a threat to Chelsea.

But Duke saw how he acted with Chelsea, so gentle and understanding and kind. That’s all he needed to see.

He may not know much about Danny, but he knows this: he is trustworthy.

Enough to entrust his identity to him.

Enough to entrust Chelsea to him.

It’s more than a favor; it’s a promise to walk this road together.

There’s no one he’d rather do this with.

“Thanks,” he says again, “For all of this. I know it’s a lot.”

Danny shrugs. “I don’t mind. Really. It’s nice to know there’s another halfa out there, no matter how she came to be one. Makes things feel less lonely.”

“Will you tell me more about halfas?”

“Later. Once you get some proper rest. We’ve got time, haven’t we?”

“We do,” Duke agrees, affection settling warm in his chest. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Learning how to control her new powers won’t be easy for Chelsea. Learning how to take care of her won’t be easy. Learning how to do things together, as Duke and Danny rather than the Signal and Phantom, won’t be easy. But Duke knows with a certainty he feels in his bones that they’re going to be fine.

So long as they’ve got each other, they’ll be fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #thought a lot abt what the favor could be but i could not resist the idea of surprise co-parents once i thought of it #here's a kid who clings to someone she knows is safe bc she is scared and alone!!#heres a stressed out hero trying to take care of a kid with no knowledge of how to do that!! and the kid is a ghost!!#heres a ghost king expecting to be used as a weapon and called in for a big battle suddenly finding another halfa!!!#so much going on here. so much to think abt with this!!!!!#i do love found family like this where they all kinda stumble into it and do their best to make it good #also could not resist making yet another oc. chelsea has my whole heart i love her <3 shes my daughter first #the bats dont know abt chelsea yet!! bc she can go invisble. its all been instinct every time they pop over to visit duke #soon she'll be able to control it and meet them properly #by properly i mean dukes gonna go over for sunday brunch and a little girl is gonna pop out from behind him like 'hi! im new!'#they will all love her of course. they will be shocked but happy!!#and a little less happy abt the GHOST KING duke has been hiding in his apartment that hes co-parenting with #sorry for the long tags im obsessed w this idea i want to Expand on it #maybe one day... with my other wips out of the way...

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ickadori · 4 months

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I read the borrowed time piece you did and WAS OBSESSED! I am dying to know the fallout of that whole thing. How on earth does Yuji react when he realizes Sukuna just borrowed his body to eat you out? Where do they even go from there? Would you consider writing a follow up piece or even just share your thoughts on what you think would happen next? THANK YOU

-A thirsty follower

i don’t plan on making a part two on that, but if i did, it would more than likely feature both sukuna and yuji, once again.

it would probably start off with yuji apologizing and trying to explain that sukuna had taken over somehow, despite yuji claiming to always have control over him, only for sukuna to interject somewhere in between to correct the story. probably smth like this ~

“I don’t know how he took control, but he did—I tried to stop him, I really did, and I did stop him...just at the wrong time.” The blush on Yuji’s face is concerning, but you can’t think about his wellbeing too much when you’re no better. Your skin feels hot all over, sweat beading at the back of your neck and heart hammering in your chest, and your hands nervously pull and stretch at the end of your sweater.

I should really change, you think. No, you should just kick Yuji out completely and just transfer to the Kyoto school and never show your face around here again. Yeah, you could do that, that’d work.

“Your persistence in painting me as the only fucked up one is really pissing me off, brat.” You nearly squawk at Sukuna’s voice, a red eye focused on you, or more specifically, the glossy sheen that still coats the insides of your thighs. You press them tightly together and glare at him -them-, and a deep, gravelly snicker sounds as a result.

Yuji slaps a hand over his cheek in an attempt to quiet him, an attempt that has failed time and time again in the past, and fails again as he simply makes the hand materialize on the back of Yuji’s palm. “Tell her exactly how I was able to take over - tell her what you were doing.”

“Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything!” There’s a panicked look in his eyes, and you tense when Yuji turns to you, scooting closer to where you’re sat on the couch and leaning into your space. His lips move a mile a minute, and your stomach clenches as you take in the wetness that’s still spread across the bottom half of his face. Oh, God. “—really don’t know how he was—”

“He came to the thought of fucking that tight, sweet cunt so hard that he passed out, and we both know what happened next.” Sukuna grins, Yuji pales, and you blink, trying and failing to ignore the way your panties become even stickier. “Surprised it didn’t happen sooner. The pervert can barely go two seconds without creaming his pants when he’s around you.” You want to call him a hypocrite, a damned nasty one, but you find that your words are stuck in your throat, eyes unconsciously trailing down to marvel at the bulge in Yuji’s pants. It’s big...how is it so big? “Let’s also not forget that you didn’t take control, I gave it to you to shut you up.”

Sukuna gives you an unsettling once over.

“He wouldn’t shut up about wanting to taste you himself - he nearly cried when I got you to come on our tongue. I let him clean up the mess afterwards.” Your mind goes back to the softer, near desperate licks and sucks that had transpired after you came, and your cheeks burn at the reveal that it had been Yuji happily lapping between your thighs and not just Sukuna. “And judging by the way you keep rubbing your thighs together... he’s gonna be cleaning up another pretty soon.”

#++ asks #++ yuji #i dont feel like writing a full fic of them fucking kadfasdk but it would go down something like that!!#sorry to everyone who wants a part 2 #-cries-

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