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artyandink · 2 days

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Five-Star

Summary: You’ve been dating Dean Winchester, which is nothing short of a fever dream. A brilliant fever dream. But when you decide to test him on how much he wants you, you don’t get the answer you expected to have.

A/N - Welcome to the Karak Chaii-verse! I had an idea to write Dean with an Indian POC, since I’m one myself. Creds to @zepskies and her brilliant Midnight Espresso-verse, and you should definitely check that out. This is a small drabble that I thought up.

Your family had moved to the US around a year after you were born. That’s because the monsters in India were far more dangerous than in America due to the origination of them from the depths of Indian mythology, such as a rakshasa or arunasura, but you found that here was far more escalated.

At least, you’d found out when you met the Winchesters.

You came from a long line of crazy good Indian hunters, so you were already a great one yourself. Back in India, your parents would pose as part of the CBI, but you had to resort to finding someone who could make you a believable FBI badge once you turned eighteen and got into hunting solo, which was around 1997. There you met Bobby Singer, who hooked you up with what he called the ‘All-American Hunting Kit’, which consisted of an array of fake IDs and a lore book. You were glad your training, done by your dad, was done by the intensity of monsters in India rather than here, otherwise it’d be harder to get by.

On a hunt for a vampire and wraith hybrid in Grant Pass, Oregon, you came across the Winchesters, the shorter of the two having dubbed the hybrid ‘Jefferson Starships’. That man was Dean, and you were taken by his charming, goofy attitude that switched to an attractive sort of intensity when faced with imminent danger. You just didn’t expect ‘imminent danger’ to be the mother of all monsters.

Once your parents had found out that you were hanging out with the Winchesters, who were at the centre of any and all supernatural trouble in America, they sent you a thousand calls telling you to get your ass out of there before you got killed. You being you, you didn’t listen. Not when you knew that you’d get withdrawal symptoms from not seeing the million dollar smile of Dean Winchester, which quickly won you over (and his lips too, which knew damn well what they were doing).

As for Sam, you quickly saw him as your little brother figure, who also helped you manage your unruly hair by recommending the right hair products that you now had stocked up. You’d both nerd over monsters, you’d tell him about all the ones you’d encountered in India while Sam told you stories about all that he and his brother had gone through.

Which was no less than a lot. And you thought India was a harder place to live, by what your parents told you. Here there’s the friggin’ Apocalypse.

Dean was obviously your favourite Winchester. He’d told you he really liked you about two years and a half after you met amid averting eyes and stammered words as he spewed compliment after compliment, standing there in the Bunker’s kitchen like a nervous melon in his grey robe, black shorts with hot dogs on them and black undershirt with fuzzy hair.

You’d cut his nervous ramblings off by pulling him in by the lapel of his robe, lips puckered in surprise as they met yours as the tangy taste of cherry and sweet, buttery pie crust flooded your taste buds and even more so when Dean quickly took control of the kiss, hands tangling in your hair and grabbing at soft curves like his life depended on it.

One thing Dean loved about you was your cooking. Your mom had taught you a wide array of Indian dishes that you could cook, and the moment the first bite of your rajma and rice graced Dean’s mouth, it was hook, line and sinker. You’d taught him how to eat chole bhature, roti and sabzi and which masala was which so he could know what the hell did you put to make him fall for you over and over again.

You were scrolling on your YouTube shorts one day when you came across a video of a woman asking her husband what his favourite snack was to see if he’d say her or not. You didn’t look like the definition of a snack right now, with your unwashed hair tied up in a bun that your mom taught you to do with no hair tie whatsoever in grey sweatpants, Dean’s undershirt and fuzzy mismatched socks, but you decided to try it out anyway as Dean came into the bunker’s living room, approaching you from behind with a delicate yet possessive cup of your chin and a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted in that low voice of his that was effortlessly seductive even when he wasn’t trying, his hand sliding down to comfortingly rub over your chest and shoulder as he passed by. “Doin’ ok?” He sat down beside you, arm around your shoulder as his fingers began to play with your hair, warm green eyes trained on you.

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “Doing alright, yeah.” Then you decided to try out the question. “Dil, what’s your favourite snack?” You called Dean dil sometimes because it meant heart in Hindi, and he had yours.

The question got a chuckle out of him as he jerked his head to the right in amusement. “Awh, sweet girl, that’s hardly fair. I’d say beef jerky, but that new thing you, uh, introduced me to really raised the bar.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment in contrast to the large grin on his face. “The aloo whatzitsname.”

“Aloo lachha.” You corrected with a giggle, barely holding back the urge to say what the answer was.

“Yeah, that. Or, uh, pie, but that’s a dessert and not a snack. Maybe that rajma stuff, but that’s a meal.” He continued rambling on any and all snacks he’d added to his palette since meeting you, until a bout of laughter from you slowed his roll. “What? What’s so funny, huh?”

“So… your favourite snack isn’t me.” You teased with a smirk, which got the cogs in his head turning. “You failed, sorry, honey.”

The words got a raise of his eyebrow and a slow and subtle roving of his eyes down your body and a bite of his lip. To him, you looked absolutely delicious. Like the best thing at a five star restaurant.

He stood up with a low grunt, facing you before grabbing you by your hips, hoisting you up so fast that you had to wrap your sweatpant-clad legs around his waist with a small shriek. “See, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that bordered on reverence and somehow the intention to devour at the same time, which had you moaning already. His tongue slipped into your mouth, briefly getting a taste and giving you the distinct flavour of the aloo chaat you had made for lunch mixed with beer before he pulled back and nipped your bottom lip, groaning at the feeling of your fingers now tugging at his hair.

“You…” Dean paused for a breath and a low chuckle, staring at you hungrily. “You are the whole damn buffet.”

TAGLIST:

@k-slla @hobby27

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist

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brucewaynehater101 · 3 days

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Okay, this is random as hell but I just thought of a weird au where Tim, after failing to get an adult to help with Batman and his increasingly violent methods of grieving, resorts to trying magic. Cue Tim attempting to revive Jason using necromancy so that Bruce will finally calm down because, he's like this because he lost Jason, so surely bringing Jason back will fix things, right? So yeah, he tries necromancy, maybe tries using one of the artifacts that his parents brought home from a dig cuz it's cursed or smth, but ultimately "fail" for whatever reason.

Tim, now at his wits end and finding no other solution to the problem, becomes Robin just like in canon. Expect, the magic did work, it was just delayed. Cue the whole "Jason digging out of his grave, getting snatched by Talia, and trained in the LoA" thing.

Idk how the rest of the AU would unfold since I thought of this in the middle of doing stretches and I forgot the rest of the concept bcuz I decided to finish stretching before sending an ask, but I do have a very vague mental image of Tim, after being attacked by Jason in the tower, right before he goes unconscious, just muttering a soft "It worked, it actually worked, I brought him back" and Jason hearing this and having a mental breakdown about trying to understand what the heck Tim was taking about and re-evaluating everything he currently knows about Tim.

Yes! I will add onto your specific AU in a minute, but first some fic recs!

"equivalent exchange" by scribblemetimbers I can not recommend enough. It's about Tim making a deal with a demon (similar setup to Supernatural's demons) where they bring back Jason Todd in exchange for Tim's soul. This is set at the beginning of Tim's Robin run. He believes that, because Dick and Bruce appear to not want him, that Tim won't be like other pact holders who try to escape their end of the bargain (which leads to Constantine needing to get involved to clean up the collateral). Lots of angst and the ending is so fucking good. I can't wait for the sequel.

I can't remember the name, but there's a fic where Tim sets up cloning pods and magic in his house to try to "revive" Jason.

There's also one where Tim makes a deal with a creature, but ends up not having to pay his end when Jason crawls out of his grave before the creature manages to revive him.

However, I like your AU for how it makes Jason instantly realize the sacrifices Tim enacted to bring Jason back (and let that man have complicated feelings about that). The real angsty part is Jason finding out about what Tim has done after Jason has already hurt the kid :(

Jason fucked up, lmao.

Anyways, this cues Jason feeling conflicted when it comes to Tim. The older one feels that he came back *wrong* and kind of wants to blame Tim for that. Yet, he is just a kid. Yet, him being a kid wasn't enough of an excuse to stop Jason from beating him up.

Then, did Tim bring Jason back as a dedication of love towards Jason or for Bruce? Does Tim even care that it's Jason that's returned, or does it matter more that the role of Bruce's dead son came back to life?

Poor Jason is going to have the mental breakdown of the century :)

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #jason todd #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au

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marunalu · 21 hours

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I saw many people people now who claim that DFO disproved because AFO doesn't show any affection to his son.

Also they claimed that Dekus dad could be a hero in America and he was sent to Japan now so we will see him.

What do you think about that?

Dfo is debunked as soon as the manga ends and we have the 100% confirmation that there isnt any connection between hisashi and afo. Not sooner not later. What a lot of people dont seem to grasp is that dfo is in the first place not about afo loving izuku. Dfo is about the theory that afo is izukus biological father. He can be his father without loving him. There are millions of parents out there in the real world who sadly give a wet fuck about their children. Afo loving his family is just one of multible interpretations and hopes people have for the theory. There are a lot of dfo fans out there who never believed afo cared for izuku. Dfo is about afo being izukus father and not if he loves him or not. Fans have just different headcanons how it could turn out.

I said it already in the past. I dont believe that izukus father is a hero working in america. America is the country with the most heroes worldwide, so WHY should a japanese hero work for a different hero government then his own and most importantly not even come home ONCE or mentioned ONCE by his hero obsessed son in the whole story? Not even when he was about to get killed by muscular? Why should hisashi not come home for christmas, new year, izukus and inkos birthday etc. If he is just a hero working outside of japan (which makes no sense anyway). And WHY should hori refuse to talk about hisashi if he is just a hero working in an other country who has no importance to either the plot nor to izukus character? If hisashi is a hero working in america and NOW comes back after the war is already won by the japanese heroes this would be the biggest asspull hori could come up with. The only way I could see hisashi as a hero is if he is also connected to afo. We know that afos presence is huge WORLDWIDE! It was stated he has his hands in almost EVERY country! And we saw that he is quite "popular" in america.

I have seen a few people talk about how hori will use some deux ex machine to bring tomura back to life and that he is just scaring people with the most horrible and dissapointing outcome he could come up with. I dont trust hori enough to pull something like that off, but on the other side he is the man who brought bakugou back from the dead in the most ridiculus and stupid way possible so who knows what he is ready to come up with.

But to come back to the main point: dfo is only then debunked when we got the last chapter of the manga and its to 100% confirmed hisashi isnt afo. Because we are talking about a man who can change his appearance, change his dna, can have any quirk he wants, is known for planning ahead should the 10 different plans of the other 25 different plans he planned for 15 different scenarios fail and who spends time with a mad doctor who was not only in posession of a clone quirk, but also is able to make copys of every quirk he gets his fingers on.

The only advice I can give dfo fans is to wait and not to read any anti dfo posts and get worried for maybe no reason. Just wait till the manga is done and THEN you can complain as much as you want!

#bnha #bnha spoiler #bnha all for one #bnha dad for one

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do-it-for-the-fandom · 2 days

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Cloudy With a Chance of Murder.

Part I: leaving the crime scene.

Part II: the phone call.

Part III: a visit to the morgue.

Part IV: the lunch break.

Part V: lunch part II.

Part VI: the perfect cover.

Part VII: the storage closet.

Part VIII: case closed.

Part IX: finding their way.

Must you always be so... so stubborn, Katie?

Apparently, the answer to the question her parent's had frustratedly asked her on many occasions was a big, fat yes.

It's not that she hadn't tried to be a little softer, a little less headstrong. She had decided - the moment she arrived home, alone... again - that she could forgive and forget this whole mess. Because, like Lanie had said (and like she already knew) Castle had only done what he thought was the right thing.

He had explained how they had ended up in his Loft rather than the fancy restaurant he had made reservations at. He had explained the alarming phone call, the shattering glass. And he had explained that no matter what he said or did, Kristina had been on a mission to get exactly what she wanted.

If anything, he was the victim in all of this. Maybe, just maybe, it was her who owed him an apology.

Then, as if timed by fate itself, there was a knock at her door.

He came bearing a heartfelt apology, the intent to start and finish a true conversation about them (one they probably should have had before returning to work, but better late than never) and a promise. A promise that he understands, that is scared too, but that he truly believes they can find their way.

And just like that, she was ready to forgive.

She leant in, smile still bright on her face, and Castle dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. However, it seemed forgiving was going to be much easier than forgetting. The images she had spent the better half of the night fighting off flooded back to the forefront of her mind and she pulled back from the impending we're good now kiss.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said as she shook her head slightly, hoping to erase the images like an etch-a-sketch. "It's too soon. I just keep seeing her boobs in your face."

She walked away, just a few steps to gain a little bit of distance, a little bit of perspective. She just wanted her mind to stop taunting her like this. She wanted the memories to be gone, for good.

And then came the softly spoken, heartbroken words that managed to do exactly that.

"Do y- do you want me to leave?"

She turned to face him, took in the pained look of regret that was etched so deep in the tired lines of his face and shook her head.

"No," she said definitively, closing the space between them. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

And confused, and angry, and a little hurt; but mostly just tired.

She reached up and delicately traced her thumb over his cheek.

"Stay with me?" she whispered the request. "Please."

He nodded, followed as she led him toward her bedroom. He removed his clothing, down to his boxers, as she pulled back the covers and climbed onto the bed. Kneeling, she moved over to his side and placed her hands on his hips. He joined her on the mattress, kneeling before her, and brushed the hair of her ponytail over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispered and she nodded.

"Me too."

She leaned in, kissed him slowly. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting - the taste of betrayal, perhaps - but his lips, his tongue; it just tasted like him. Sweet, loyal, hopelessly in love Castle. And her reservations melted away.

Castle pressed his forehead to hers but cupped her face to keep her close; he didn't want to lose this connection, but he also didn't want her to feel rushed.

"We don't have to," he assured her.

But she shook her head. "I want to."

Still, he hesitated. She knew that was her fault: she had let her emotions lead her actions too much over these past few days. These past few weeks, actually. And now he was being overly cautious, taking on the role that she would usually fill. Because that was how they worked: serious and unserious, head in the clouds and feet firmly on the ground, a hopeless romantic and a logical thinker. They levelled each other other, brought one another to this ideal middle ground that just seemed to work so perfectly for them.

But this? This role reversal they had slipped into, it wasn't them It wasn't right.

"I'm okay, Castle." She assured him with a kiss. "We're okay."

And she was determined for her words to become truth.

She kissed him again, with more urgency than before, and he gave into his desires.

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer, relished in the feel of her body pressed flush against his.

"I want you," he panted as he moved his attention to peppering kisses along her jawline and down her neck. His hands wandered down her body to her thighs, then glided back up the bared skin and underneath her sleep shirt. "Only you."

"Show me," she whispered. They broke apart, looked into one another's eyes for just a few short seconds before she smiled and repeated her request. "Show me how much you want me."

He did exactly that. He poured all the love he had for her into a long, slow, reverent kiss as he lay her back on her bed. He touched her with gentle hands, like she were a priceless artifact to be handled with the utmost care. Kissed her in a way that soothed the hurt and confusion they had both felt in this tumultuous transition into life outside of their little love bubble. Their love-making was a promise that tomorrow was a new day - undoubtedly with new challenges to face - but no matter what may have come their way, they could figure this out together... they could find their way.

And, in a way that only they could, they righted all their wrongs.

#my drabbles #kate beckett #richard castle #caskett #castle #kate beckett x richard castle #castle fanfiction #castle fanfic

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teddyniffler · 14 hours

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Do you think the Gaunt family could ever rejoin modern-day Wizarding Society after everything with Voldermort?

Just some background first for those who haven't read the books or have Hogwarts Legacy: The Gaunts were a super ancient wizarding family - Likely older than the Blacks, The Malfoys - and they were once directly related to the Potters through the Peverell bloodline, but their side of the Peverell bloodline married first the Gaunts, then Slytherin's family married into them.

This is the very family that guarded the Chamber of Secrets for generations, they were the wizarding family Voldermort came from. To the public, the connection between the Gaunts and Voldermort wasnt wildly known, only Dumbledore and later Harry knew it, however the Gaunts themselves were infamous long before that.

Hogwarts Legacy: Ominis is one of the Gaunts. You can often hear people in the game talking about Gormlaith Gaunt, she lived hundreds of years before Ominis was born and was one of the darkest Witches of all time. She burned alive her own sister, Rionach Gaunt just because her and her husband showed kindness to Muggles.

That's why the people in Hogwarts Legacy say she would skin alive her own mother.

Cursed child: Somebody, -- likely Hermione, with Harry's information, -- wrote a book on Voldermort called 'Marvolo: The truth' which revealed Voldermort's connection to the Gaunt family for the whole world to know. The book was aimed to mock Voldermort, to show just who he really was, not some immortal higher being, but the offspring of a Gaunt. The book was in Hermione's office at the MoM. It's roughtly implied the world now knows more about Tom Riddle and the Gaunts. Harry himself in book 6/7 saw the Gaunts, and he didn't think too highly of them. He called Marvolo a disgusting pig. Marvolo is likely Ominis' older brother.

So with all that, imagine the Gaunts are still out there, say Ominis' descendents have finally came out of hiding and a parents wants a normal childhood for their very normal child, so they send them to Hogwarts. Some teachers currently at Hogwarts like Slughorn, Flitwick and McGonagall fought Voldermort, some like Neville were students during the battle. Hagrid was at Hogwarts with Tom and knew him back then.

Now a Gaunt- A known relation of Voldermort- arrives at Hogwarts, snake in toe and they are openly speaking Parceltounge for all to see. They are technically the heir of Slytherin.

In the offical HP game Magic Awakened, it mentions studies have been done on the chamber now its open and they know where it is. I believe its also confirmed on the old Pottermore pages that experts have explored the chamber, so its very likely the world knows a certain Corvinus Gaunt was the one who protected the chamber of secrets and moved it into the girls bathroom. This lead to the death of Myrtle a hundred years later

(Imagine being a female Gaunt and coming face to face with Myrtle in the bathroom, who now knows it was your family that caused her death...she's not going to let any Gaunt forget that in a hurry)

This Gaunt student will be tought by Slughorn who will likely be on high alert, as he remembers Tom Riddle all too well. Professor McGonagall will likely be watching very closely, as would Flitwick. Hagrid likely won't really be too warm towards a Gaunt, although I think Hagrid may understand and warm up faster.

Then you have people like Hannah Abbot (Nurse at the hospital wing and married to Neville) who directly suffered at Voldermort's hands, he killed her entire family and now she's treating a Gaunt for the common cold and wondering just how this child in front of her is related to that monster.

All of this is going to cause an atmosphere at the school. Slytherin House trying to redeem their general image and rep now find themselves with a walking/talking reminder of what their house used to stand for. A Gaunt sleeping under their roof, the embodiment and daily reminder of Voldermort...

I imagine there would be alot of mutterings. From all the gossip Harry had to endure during the books, I can see this Gaunt may not get a quite moment at school, have no friends or feel welcome. I actually headcanon that during the Sorting, they won't be any clapping, just horrified and mistrusted looks.

I once read that Harry Potter himself comes to Hogwarts from time to time to teach DATDAs for a class here and there when he has time off, so imagine Harry coming and... there's a Gaunt in his new class.

Ouch!

Please remember Harry has just written a book outting them, not only as the wizarding family who protected the Chamber, but also the reason the world had Voldermort.

- for none book readers: The ring Harry had, the one he dropped on purpose in the forrest at the end, that belonged to the Gaunts. It was their personal Hallow, just like how Harry has the cloak. The Gaunts likely want it back.

Marvolo, Morfin and Merope (the Gaunts in book 6) didn't know about the ring being a Hallow, but maybe Ominis did and so does his line. Maybe they know Harry Potter had it last, and now this child is casually trying to catch which rings Harry is wearing on his hand.

That would be an awkward class, not to mention everybody may give this Gaunt a hard time, they would think it funny that Harry Potter is here while there's a Gaunt in the class. After all, most of their parents likely watched Harry killing a certain Gaunt offspring all those years ago.

I imagine being at Hogwarts would not be a pleasant experience for this Gaunt. They could be really nice, a good student, but likely because of their name nobody will want to come near them.

I think the Ministry would be interested in this child. Where/how have they been hiding all this time. What does the family want now? Do they pose a threat to the wizarding world?

If Hogwarts does anything to mark the 2nd of May (Battle of Hogwarts anniversary) I can see there being quite an atmosphere in the Great Hall if there's a Gaunt siting among them. There's children at Hogwarts who were raised by grandparents as their parents were killed by Death Eaters/Voldermort. There's less children still at Hogwarts than they should be because quite a few students died before they could grow into adults. Entire families died and many more became orphans... and there's a Gaunt, a relation to the monster who did all of this among them as they try to remember their uncle who died at 17 to stop Voldermort.

As you may tell, I love thinking about this family, from everything we do know about the Gaunts. I think they've both the victims and the cause of their own suffering. Yes they were considered dark wizards, but not all of them wanted to follow the ways they had been born into, some of them, like Ominis, Noctua, Rionach and then her daughter Isolt all had tried to run from their family. They had tried to escape the House of Gaunt, but some Gaunts, like Corvinus and Marvolo, clearly loved the Dark Arts. They protected the chamber and ensured it stayed hidden, knowing it would lead to death. Marvolo tortured Ominis and enjoyed it.

At the end of the day, one of Voldermort's first victims were the Gaunts. He attacked Morfin Gaunt and used powerful magic to alter his mind, then framed him for murder, leading to Morfin dying. Even Dumbledore himself tried to save Morfin but couldnt in time, as Dumbledore knew he was innocent. No matter how much I love Harry, I do think Harry would have left that out in the book 'Marvolo: The truth' as it likely wasn't the image he wanted for the book. He wanted to humiliate Riddle in death, to show everybody this man was just a man, born from a family that did horrible things.

Anyways, what do you think? Feel free to write down your ideas, do you think a Gaunt could ever be welcome at Hogwarts again or do you think the second the name 'Gaunt' is read out during the Sorting all that is felt is hostility and mistrust towards this student and the invisible family that is hiding somewhere in plain sight among wizarding kind.

#Harry Potter #Hogwarts Legacy #House of Gaunt #The Gaunt family #The House of Gaunt #Marvolo Gaunt #Ominis Gaunt #Corvinus Gaunt #Noctua Gaunt #Rionach Gaunt #Gormlaith Gaunt #albus dumbledore #hermione granger #professor mcgonagall #rubeus hagrid #Professor Slughorn #professor flitwick

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kayentokk · 1 day

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Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent.

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that?

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary.

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal.

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms.

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.”

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is?

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in.

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa.

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them.

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf.

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly.

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood.

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.”

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room.

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said.

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

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bitchinbarzal · 1 day

Note

"I wouldn't have been a good parent. I know that. I want to change that."

I know it’s not hidden pregnancy but this one is just so mama hischier after having Iris and in her postpartum depression era😫

He suggested it, counselling.

He wanted her to get better, for iris. He wanted her to get better for herself and for them, so they could be together.

That reality was far away for now as she currently had a boyfriend.

He listened to her speak to the therapist about her fears, about iris and her behaviours. Then she dropped a bomb.

She wanted to have another baby. With her boyfriend.

Nico’s heart shattered.

“And why do you want to have another baby? Do you believe it’ll be the same with your current boyfriend as it was with Nico?”

She shakes her head “I knew I wouldn’t have been a good parent. I know that. I want to change that. I want a positive experience”

The therapist turned to Nico who looked visibly uncomfortable “and Nico how do you feel about this?”

Nico bit the side of his cheek and snapped “What can I say doc? I gave her everything and it’s not enough”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I proposed, I bought her a house, I gave her a baby! All of everything I ever had I wanted to give her but she wants to give everything to some guy”

Nico stood up from his seat and mama called out

“Nico sit!”

“No, no… I’m done with these sessions please doctor take me off your schedule I’m gonna use this time to spend with my daughter seeing as she’s being replaced in her own home”

#life of iris

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steviewashere · 23 hours

Text

Take Care of Me (Sodomy) 🔞Minors DNI🔞

Rating: ExplicitCW: Under-Negotiated Kinks, Slight Dub-Con (Unsure But to Be Safe), Physical Fight, Blood, InjuryTags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies is too Harsh (But they ain't friends), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Making Up, Steve Harrington is a Mess, Eddie Munson Just Wants to Help, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Mean Eddie Munson, Mean Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Dom/Sub Undertones, Angry Sex, Rough Sex, Pain Kink, Painplay?, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Emotional Sex, Tender Sex, Crying During Sex, Aftercare, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together

Listened to "Violent Pornography" by System of a Down. Then, I thought about those bats that deepen their bond by swapping blood like spit. And then I thought about Steddie having sex after a physical fight. So...this is me trying the thought I had, lol.

Can be read on AO3

🤜—————🤛 Steve’s been independent most of his life.

It was a tactic to survive. If he wanted to see his friends the next day, then he needed to shape up and take care of his mess. Needed to show strength, cleverness, and a level of stealth. Not a great level of stealth, but he needed to be able to brave his surroundings—mask worn, lips tight, body rigid. And he believes he’s done a pretty good.

When he’s tired at work and Robin places a concerned hand on his back, he shrugs her off. Claiming to her that he was up late watching TV, getting too involved in the plot of rerun episodes. She’ll roll her eyes and give him a monotonous task to do, and it’s lying, but he’s saved. Or when he’s tense and a little mean towards Dustin, he goes with the excuse of him getting a call from his dad—not that he’s got a raging migraine and can’t deal with the sun in his eyes through the windshield, and that every sharp corner makes him want to hurl. But he gets away with it all.

At least he thinks he does.

Until Eddie Munson enters his life.

The guy hardly knows him. Gets in his space anyway. Offers to do things. Take the overflowing food off of his plate—that kind of deal. Steve still uses his excuses, though after some time, he notices they waver. That he has to keep insisting for Eddie to believe him, can’t just say it once and get the dude out of his space. He thought he was good at playing hooky when it comes to himself, but it seems that Eddie knows lying—his big cow eyes seem to just stare right through the cracks of Steve’s mask, able to notice every hard crease between his eyebrows and the slight frowning turn of his lips, the heavy circles under his eyes.

He hates it. Hates the way Eddie can see him. Hates the way Eddie seems to know him. Is beginning to hate Eddie a bit in general, even if something lurches in his stomach like the heavy flap of wings. Even if, sometimes, Steve thinks about giving in and giving up and letting Eddie have the reigns. He plays into his excuses more, puts a bigger stretch of space between them, and begins to snap when Eddie asks even the semblance of: “Are you okay?”

——— The next time he sees Eddie, it’s at his own house. He’s been holed away, tired and nightmare-riddled, sweating through his clothes and agitated by the shadows. Has been alone and afraid and aching for somebody there with him, but too cagey to actually ask. And just as he thinks about draining a coffee pot empty to keep himself upright, there’s a knock at his front door.

He didn’t order anything. His parents certainly didn’t order anything, they most likely would’ve left a voicemail on the answering machine. And he didn’t invite anybody over, but of course, when he finally pulls the door open—Eddie’s there.

“What are you—“

“You look like shit,” Eddie bluntly states.

“Gee, thanks,” Steve says dryly. “You can leave now. I’m busy.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Busy doing what, exactly? Having a zombie costume party? Maybe setting a new record for how long a human can stay up? Smells like you’re brewing a pot, so it must be the latter.” Steve bristles. Nostrils flaring at Eddie’s sour attitude. “Which is kinda crazy, considering the last time I saw you, I told you to call me if you were having trouble sleeping, didn’t I?”

And, sure, Steve remembers that. The quiet conversation in his kitchen during a movie night. Making popcorn on the stovetop and trying not to pass out, face first, into the hot pan. Eddie’s warm and soothing hand between his shoulder blades, voice soft and careful. “Call me, Stevie,” he had said, “I’ve got all kinds of magic up my sleeves. You’ll be sleeping like a lazy house cat in no time.”

But he keeps the front door wide open. Furrows his eyebrows. Spits, “I don’t need your help. Go away.” Before he can slam it in Eddie’s face, a firm and rather strong hand stops him. Shoving the door wider.

“Afraid I can’t do that, Steve,” Eddie states lowly. “People have been tryin’ to call you. Radio you, too. And we haven’t heard a fucking word from you. So, if you don’t mind—“ And he just walks right in. Shuts the door behind him. Keeps himself pressed against the wood so that Steve can’t open it and shove him out. “—I’m staying. I really don’t like seeing you so…out of it, man. You look thirty seconds away from becoming a heap on the floor.”

Steve scoffs. Steps forward and places a hand on the doorknob, but is immediately thrown off of it by Eddie’s hand on his wrist. “Dude, I don’t need you. Just leave. I’ve got my shit figured out.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. His voice is breathy by Steve’s ear. He raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Tell me, then, Mr. I’ve Got It All Under Control, when’s the last time you’ve slept? And I mean a whole night. Eight hours with your head on the pillow, eyes closed, limp to your bed, and drooling.”

“Like two days ago,” Steve grumbles. “Is that all you wanted? Because you can go now.”

Eddie hums. Surveying and observing. His eyes are like God’s words, scrutinizing, demanding, and genuine. He reaches out, suddenly, and grabs Steve’s face. Hand cupping his chin, fingers digging into his soft cheeks, twisting him this way and that. Drops the hold. Clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I have a joint in my pocket. And a good massage trick if you—“

“God damn it, Eddie!” Steve finally snaps, yelling, “What part of I don’t need you, do you not understand?! Can’t you just fuck off, for once in your life?!”

At those words, Eddie’s gaze goes from sincere to angry. Good, Steve thinks, even as his stomach churns at his own words. He has been positively waiting for the other shoe to drop with this guy. If it has to be now, then so be it. He squares his shoulders just as Eddie clenches his jaw, takes a step back as if inviting him in more, and crosses his arms over his chest. The gesture feels a little small, but he’s made his bed. May as well lay in it.

“I would,” Eddie states slowly, voice nothing but a rasp with how deep it goes. A chill trickles down Steve’s spine. “I’d go and leave you alone. But that’s not what you want, Stevie. You’re lonely. You’re miserable. And I’ve got a quick fix, if only you’d—for once in your life, to throw your words back at you—let somebody help.”

Steve startles. Drops his arms at his sides. And clenches his fists so hard, the beginnings of crescent scars deepen in his palms. “You don’t know what I want,” he mutters. Albeit weakly. Cracking. Petulant.

In front of him, Eddie takes a step forward. It’s a dangerous movement. His footfall heavy against the hardwood under it. The vest on his back making his shoulders broader than Steve remembers. His eyes darken, hardening. Nostrils flaring a bit. He’s not somebody people get intimidated by, but Steve feels as though that’s a fallacy.

He’s ready to turn tail and run. And this is his house.

Except, something zings through him. Part of him is…enjoying this.

“Oh, I don’t, do I?” Eddie asks him. And he grows a bit more unsure as Eddie moves forward. “Think I don’t notice when you relax into people’s touch? When you get that stupid smile of yours as you fall asleep during a movie? How you enjoy it when somebody tells you what to do?”

Each question hits Steve in his core. Each one a solid blow. His palms sweat and his heart rabbits and his face grows hot—with anger or arousal, Steve can’t discern.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” he manages to grind out. Fists clenching and unclenching. Flakes of blood tickling his fingertips. He meets Eddie where he’s at. Toe to toe, nose to nose, eyes on his. In one solid movement, he pushes the other backwards towards the door. Watches him stumble. Is sickly satisfied with the ache to his bicep as Eddie’s eyes land back on him, as he grows taller, leaner in the little foyer. As he looms.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes dangerously, “I don’t think I will.” He steps forward again, his dark eyes like voids when Steve tries to talk a half-step back. “I’ve got you figured out, Stevie. You wouldn’t be puttin’ up a fight like this if it wasn’t true.”

There’s little space between them. An undercurrent of heat radiating around them. A thrum. This sick and twisted hot satisfaction running through Steve. He kind of wants to see what Eddie will do next. So he’s back up to the plate, right fist tight, left arm protecting at his lower belly, and grinning with his eyes. “Fuck,” Steve sighs. “You,” he growls. Fist at his shoulder, twisting in front of his very face, and landing squarely on Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie grunts. A literal punched out, heavy noise. His lip ends up split. He reaches up with a light hand, gingerly tapping at the blood seeping down his chin, and stares down his nose at the red tip of his middle finger. He laughs something unbelievable, delirious. Stares up at Steve. “Fuck me?” He questions hysterically. “Fuck you, Harrington!” Then, he lunges right back. A solid fist to Steve’s own lips. Something that pulsates throughout his entire head, knocking him loose and falling back, making him falter. The metallic taste of his own blood something tangible and erratic and lusting on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Steve teases, breathless, “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

That spurs Eddie on. He speeds back into Steve’s space, grabs him roughly—a little jarringly—by the elbow, and swings them towards the stairs. Steve lets it happen. Lets them stumble their way up the stairs, grabbing at each other like they could knead the tension out of their bodies; lets Eddie shove him into his own room, door slammed behind them, standing a few feet from one another. Eddie’s eyes drop down from Steve’s bloodied face to his crotch.

“I can’t believe this is turning you on,” Eddie teases. Licks his bloody lips. His spit noticeably red when he speaks again. “Being a bitch turns you on.”

“M’not a bitch,” Steve meekly argues, covering up his crotch. Why now does he feel small? That’s immensely embarrassing.

Eddie grunts, assessing again. “You want this? Want me to actually fuck you senseless? Want me to put you in your place, you little fucking brat?”

Instinctively, Steve flexes his hand over his crotch. Squeezing at himself. He whimpers because this already isn’t embarrassing enough. Nods loosely. Eddie’s voice is scratchy and raw, deep and vibrating through the floor. It makes Steve a little fuzzy, the blood from his head and sluggish lip going to his intense hard-on. Though, part of what Eddie says still stings, but he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet, at least. “Yeah,” he breathes softly, all that intense anger seeping from him, even as he still sizzles. “Fuck me, Eddie.”

“Strip,” Eddie demands lowly.

And all Steve can do is oblige. Peeling himself from his clothes. Timid and quick, shaking in the air when he’s naked and goosepimpled. He eyes Eddie coming closer, his cheeks pink in the dim light of his bedroom. Watches him undress, slower than Steve had. Raking over his lithe body; the suggestion of muscles, his endearingly flat ass, and beautifully pale skin. His puckered scars that have healed neatly, how they dance with the few tattoos he has. Eddie’s reaching out to firmly grip Steve’s left bicep, and the other cupping under his chin again. Fingers digging at his cheeks once more. Then, he’s pushing forward, meeting their lips in a mess. There’s blood on Eddie’s tongue as he plunges between Steve’s lips—metallic as his own, thick and slimy. The swipe of his tongue makes Steve’s split lip sting and burn as if it’s alcohol on a fresh wound. He suckles the blood from inside each of their mouths, swapping it back and forth quite literally. Pulling away with the thinnest string of saliva Steve’s ever seen, though it’s a deep cherry red—something he’s thought of in his wildest dreams.

Eddie shuffles them towards the mattress. Topples Steve down on top, shuffles him supine and parallel. And then climbs on top, resting his full weight between Steve’s open, wanting legs. His hands on the thickest part of Steve’s thighs, thumbs brushing over the sparse hair towards the inside of his knees, eyeballing the red and leaking tip of his needy cock. He digs the sharp edge of his fingernails into the supple flesh underneath them. Scooting forward enough to tease the head of his own cock against Steve’s puckering hole.

Without warning, one of Eddie’s hands slaps over Steve’s already sensitive dick. He cries out at the hot flash of pain working its way through him. Thick and quick like the rush of blood to his heart. He squirms, but ultimately is stopped with Eddie’s weight being pressed into his legs. Including the sudden rush of Eddie’s dick bullying its way through Steve’s hole.

All Steve can do is scream, though it ends on a keening mewl, something only Eddie needs to bear witness to. The beading pearl of pre-come enough confirmation that he enjoys it. The stretch of his asshole, a blue lick of fire shooting through him, an ache already sore. Something he’ll soothe later, whether Eddie helps him or not.

For once, though, he likes the idea of Eddie being there to help him. Of his giant hands and the dull roughness of his callouses like balms over his skin. He wriggles again, trying to get all that Eddie’s offering inside him. He’d never thought about Eddie’s cock before, not really, but if he had to guess it—he’d never expect it to be so big, let alone thick.

“Look at you,” Eddie coos, although a bit mean. “Taking it all so well. My bitch can take it all, can’t he?”

Steve sniffs. Overcome with some odd mix of emotion, instantly quelling the nauseous anger he was holding onto. There are tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he murmurs, “No, Eds, no—M’not a bitch. Not a—“ Steve hiccups. “Not a bitch, Eds.”

Immediately Eddie’s crowding over him. His hips are stilled and he’s wrapping Steve’s legs around his waist. Both of his arms encase Steve’s head, crouched down on his elbows. “No?” He asks softly, checking in. Genuinely gentle, no more of the macho mean guy he’d been playing up to. “No, of course not, Stevie,” he whispers. Leans in a little more to peck under Steve’s left eye, trailing lips down to the already bruised skin around his mouth. He pulls back. Eyeing Steve’s half-closed eyes. Tracing a thumb over the tear track that’s made itself known. “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, “Just a baby boy, huh? Just need help being sweet right now.”

“I can be sweet,” Steve mumbles. His voice a little distant, soft, and quiet. “Can be good, Eds,” he whispers.

Eddie’s got a hand cupping the back of Steve’s head. The other working its way to Steve’s chest, over his heart. Petting at the gradually sweating skin. He presses a warm kiss between Steve’s eyebrows. Murmurs against the skin, “You gonna let me help you? I’ll be gentle now, I promise, baby.”

“Gentle,” Steve echoes. “Please,” he whispers, “please be gentle.” He fully opens his eyes to stare into Eddie’s own. There’s a softness to them that wasn’t there before.

The hand in his hair pets over the crest of his skull. Digging fingers into his scalp to scratch at it. “Okay, baby,” Eddie whispers, “I’m sorry for being rough. For being mean. I’ve gotcha now, okay? Let me make you feel good. Let me help you.”

Steve hums. Melting into the hold Eddie has on him. Lets his arms go completely limp at his sides. Eyes closed, creases and wrinkles receding. “Don’t pull out,” he mumbles.

“You sure, sweetheart? I can get some lube—“

“No,” Steve squeaks. Pushes further into the hand on his head. “Feels good,” he slurs, “s’good. The pain.” He reaches up blearily, a featherlight touch to Eddie’s bare arm. Fingers grazing the taut pull of his muscles. Over his chest, naked of hair. On the hanging ball chain of Eddie’s necklace. Teases the pick between his thumb and index finger. Smiles softly to himself. “Want it hard,” he confesses breathily.

Eddie keeps his hold, his line of sight completely focused on Steve’s face. The tenderness of his stare makes Steve want to weep. Makes him watch this attention all the time. He tracks his own hand down to Eddie’s waist, squeezes him gently. Mewling at the snap of Eddie’s hips. He welcomes the keening noises that fall from his lips.

It’s a mix of touch. Eddie’s hands are soft. His hips are fast and intense. He pulls out to just his tip, but quickly resituates himself to press firmly against Steve’s prostate. Kisses the tip of Steve’s nose, kitten licks over the steady stream of tears, dully scratches at his scalp with the slow stretch of his fingers.

All of it’s enough to completely soothe Steve. To melt him. To make him come undone.

Sobbing, he murmurs, “M’sorry. So sorry, Eds.”

Eddie kisses him softly on the mouth, careful to avoid the split on his lip. “Why, baby?” He whispers, “it’s alright. I was mean, too. It’s alright.”

“Forgive me,” Steve cries out with the snap of Eddie’s hips. Chants with each movement, “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.” His voice goes reedy. Exhausted and unlike him. Something sweeter. New. “Forgive me, Eds. M’sorry. Forgive me, forgive me.”

There’s a tight ball in his belly. Glowing warm and bright with his impending orgasm. Teetering with each word, Eddie’s hips, the stretch of his hole.

Against the side of his face, Eddie nestles himself. Cheek to cheek. And into Steve’s ear, he soothes, “Shh, baby. Shhh. I forgive you. We’ll be okay. I’ve gotcha right now.”

“Got me forever?” Steve asks wetly.

“Yeah, baby boy,” Eddie murmurs, “Forever and ever. I promise.”

With that, Steve lets go. Against his mattress, he squirms, convulses with the intensity of his orgasm. He bites down on his swollen, bleeding lip as he cries out. Hands tense on Eddie’s waist, squeezing him with all the force in his grip. Spurts of come into both their happy trails. Eddie isn’t too far behind, the hot and calming fill of his come completing Steve in a way he hadn’t been anticipating. With the weight of Eddie’s own orgasm, his sweaty body atop, and the come painting him inside—Steve is whole.

He’s exhausted when he comes down from the headspace he occupied. His face buried deep into his pillow, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, eyes half-closed and blurry to his surroundings. His cock is sensitive as Eddie pulls himself up. Hole sore and aching. Legs tight from digging into the small of Eddie’s back. But something in him panics as Eddie moves off him, getting back and away.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving, Stevie baby,” Eddie assures. “Just grabbing toilet paper from your bathroom, alright? Need to clean us up. I’ll grab a cold washcloth, too.”

“You’ll come back?” For a moment, Steve is lightly embarrassed by the tone of his voice. Like he’s a little kid, watching his parents leave for a business trip for the first time. Though, it honestly feels like that. Because back then, they didn’t come home when they promised.

“I promise, Steve. I wouldn’t leave you like this. Never ever.”

“M’kay,” Steve sighs. “M’sorry.”

He hears Eddie enter the restroom, shushing the entire time. His movements almost clumsy with how he bangs the cupboards. The sink turns on and something wrings out. And then Eddie’s back in Steve’s space, just as he promised.

There’s a damp washcloth on his lips. Pressing lightly over the split. A slow wipe with toilet paper on his legs, belly, and ass. Eddie is careful. Something tender and raw. And he lays down beside Steve, still holding the washcloth up.

He hisses quietly. “God, Steve,” he whispers, “I got you good. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have…Jesus Christ. Why’d I hit you?” The washcloth leaves for a moment, replaced by the tip of Eddie’s thumb. Pulling down gently on his lip, eyes assessing the wound.

“’T’s alright,” Steve mumbles, “hit you, too. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie quickly answers. “It bled for a little bit, but ultimately stopped. Think I got you with one of my rings, though. So yours is messier.” Rag goes back to his sluggishly bleeding lip. “Shouldn’t have pushed you. What was I thinking?” He mutters.

His words are muffled by the cloth, but he still speaks. “Forgive you, Eds. We both fucked up, we’re alright.” He places his hand back on Eddie’s waist, pulls himself into the little bit of space that’s left. His forehead lands softly on Eddie’s chest. “Sleepy,” he murmurs, “wanna go to bed.”

“You can sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie matches his volume, “I’ll be right here.”

“Wake me up later? Help me get ice?”

The gentle press of lips to his hairline. “Of course, Steve. I’ll help however you want it.”

“Help me by cuddling?”

Eddie snorts. “Okay,” he whispers. Wraps his arms around Steve’s sweaty back. Pulls him in firmly. Pets down his back. So Steve closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and goes boneless in the hold. “I’ve got you, honey. I’m sorry, but I have you now.”

🤜—————🤛 Haha, I've been trying to write this for the last six hours.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nsft #smut #read the tags #read the content warnings

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definesanity · 2 days

Text

Dear God: Why Are Women So Attractive?

Marian Greco is a holy woman.

Her parents taught her ever since she was a child, along with her sisters.

The exception, naturally being Ye--... Schneider.

And after the events of 1929, the two had... somehow, braved The Storm.

And Marian cursed.

But that was a tale for another day. What matters now is the problem.

Namely, because of the women of the Suitcase.

The first she met, ironically enough, was Lilya. The Russian was from a different time, and is an ace pilot.

Above all, she was pretty. And also everything against to her way of childhood.

She was loud, at times obnoxious, prideful boarding, and sometimes exceeding, arrogance, and not to mention the excess drinking...

Normally, Marian could excuse the final. In her own opinion, she believes that drinking itself is not exactly a sin, but drinking in excess, was.

Still, she could not just go up to the Russian and ask her; Marian was now Arcanist, but her powers were still yet to be fully developed...

Which made it all the more stranger when, whenever Marian is around, Lilya slows down on her drinking.

Lilya looked at Marian out of the corner of her eye. "Somethin' wrong?"

"A-Ah, no, nothing." Marian replied instinctively, before shaking her head. "...Mind, there... is."

"The drinking, right?" Lilya replied instantly, waving her flask in her hand. "I heard from Vertin you're a holy woman, so I thought I'd best not go around insulting your Lord."

"Mm. I... thank you, for that. I am still getting used to... all this."

Lilya looked at Marian fully, her eyes not filled with warmth, but not ice, either. "I'm not the one to go to for advice... but, if I had to offer some, it's this: Don't stress over every single thing, or you're gonna start stressing over stress itself.

"And before you say anything, yes, I know: It ain't easy as said as it is done. But what's the point, if you won't be able to do if you're busy worrying about saying stuff?" Lilya shrugged. "My own take, feel free to leave it."

Marian blinked in surprise, and was stunned silent for a moment. Eventually, she found her words: "You would make for a good public speaker."

Lilya snorted. "Ha! Didn't expect that! Must mean I did something right, then!"

Lilya was... interesting, to say the least.

But Marian briefly wondered why it was that she looked oddly cute, like a fluffy bear...

---------------------------------------

Marian was beginning to doubt.

It was something that gnawed at the back of her mind for ages, even before The Storm of 1929.

If God was there, why did He always give Marian and her family the hardest of trials?

She decided to sit down, and ask the worst person possible. But hey, any advice is better than none, right?

"...I'mma be honest with ya." An-An Lee said. "I ain't religious. Never have been. Ya still want my advice or...?"

Marian nodded. "Please. I... would like an outsider's perspective on it."

An-An Lee kicked back a bit, sitting on her chair with her feet on the table. "Well, let's start from that; God is granting you His most difficult challenges, right?"

A nod.

"So, let's say you were a kid, still, who would have heard numerous stories of God at this point. What would you say the reason is?"

"Because He has a plan, not just for me, but for everyone." Marian replied without hesitation. The Ghost Hunter hummed.

"And how about now?"

Marian paused to think. What would she say, now?

Her faith had been shattered the moment that she was saved and rescued, but it was her transformation into an Arcanist that really made her realise it.

God... what was His plan, in turning her into something hated by humanity, his own creations?

"...I'm not sure." came the eventual reply.

Even still, An-An Lee remained calm, and gave her a reassuring smile in response. "I'm no religious girl, but I can say that... you've got a plan yourself. And it's a good one. So, hey, don't let anyone try an' lead ya astray, la?"

Marian looked at the grinning face, and found herself smiling back.

Curses, what has she gotten herself into...?

#ryuusei's works #reverse 1999 #r1999 #Marian Greco #schneider #reverse 1999 schneider #r1999 schneider #reverse 1999 lilya #r1999 lilya #an an lee

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homestuck-without-words · 10 months

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TT WHAT THE FUCK

THERE ARE NO RAILINGS OR ANYTHING

Is she going towards the observatory? Wait, was it always attached to the house? Gotta say, the size and shape and angle of that stretch of walkway she's on really reminds me of SBURB powers, especially with that lack of any safety features. If TT truly is a child, this would be parenting so wildly irresponsible as to strain the very limits of credulity. Ockham's Pointy Sharp says this is a recently added addition to the architecture.

#homestuck #liveblogging homestuck #parenting: i do not believe this is how it is done #TT risks falling to her death

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andthebeanstalk · 1 year

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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

#hlep #original #mental health #my sympathies and empathies to anyone who has to rely on this kind of hlep to get what they need.#the people in my life who most need to see this post are my family but even if they did I sincerely doubt they would internalize it #i've tried to break thru to them so many times it makes my head hurt. so i am focusing on boundaries and on finding other forms of support #and this thing i learned today helps me validate those boundaries. the example with the milk was from my therapist.#the example with the towing company was a real thing that happened with my parents a few months ago while I was age 28. 28!#a full adult age! it is so infantilizing as a disabled adult to seek assistance and support from ableist parents.#they were real mad i was mad tho. and the spoons i spent trying to explain it were only the latest in a long line of #huge family-related spoon expenditures. distance and the ability to enforce boundaries helps. haven't talked to sisters for literally the #longest period of my whole life. people really believe that if they love you and try to help you they can do no wrong.#and those people are NOT great allies to the chronically sick folks in their lives.#you can adore someone and still fuck up and hurt them so bad. will your pride refuse to accept what you've done and lash out instead?#or will you have courage and be kind? will you learn and grow? all of us have prejudices and practices we are not yet aware of.#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.#i hope with every year i age i get better and better at making people feel the opposite of how my family's ableism has made me feel #i will see them seen and hear them heard and smile at their smiles. make them feel smart and held and strong.#just like i do now but even better! i am always learning better ways to be kind so i don't see why i would stop

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