#tHEY ARE SO SOFT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hitlikehammers · 2 months

Text

feels like home

rating: t ♥️ cw: coming out, softness, recovering from the upside down ♥️ tags: pre-relationship, post-s4, fluff, hurt/comfort, Eddie is having many feelings, the main one being that Steve feels like home, platonic stobbin, supportive platonic soulmates coming out so Eddie feels safe to do the same, injury recovery, still-so-soft

for @steddielovemonth day seventeen: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost (@yournowheregirl)

this definitely takes place chronologically after this one so: have some of these codependent lovebirds as they start to figure their big feelings out ♥️

It’s weird, and probably unhealthy, that his hospital room—like this—feels kinda like home.

But he thinks it’s okay, to be fair, because it’s not like he thinks this place is home; the smell of antiseptic is still pretty sharp in the air even as he’s gotten disconnected from one machine, drip, or monitor every day until he’s largely free to toddle to the bathroom on his own as long as there’s someone to watch and make sure he doesn’t fall. Wayne’s there for that when he can be, which explains the home associations, but: the rest of the time, in fact—kinda more often than it isn’t?

It’s Steve.

And Eddie struck a deal with himself—no digging in to the fluttery-gooey-warm-chest-squeezy feelings while he’s laid up in a bed—but when he walks around even under supervision, it’s…feeling like he’s cheating.

Plus the feelings are getting kinda…kinda loud.

Because Steve is always there, sometimes he ever stays when Wayne comes, at least for a while. He leaves to keep an eye on the Party, leaves to check up on Max, hits the community hub: but it’s…it’s such a blip of time, honestly, in comparison to being here, with Eddie.

And when he’s gone, it doesn’t…it doesn’t feel at all like home, it feels kinda fucking horrible, so.

Eddie doesn’t even actually have to dig in to that train of thought. It’s pretty fucking clear as-is.

He’s surfacing from kind of, like, a light doze, not even a full on nap, and he’s gentle with the coming-to of it because he can kinda, like, feel Steve’s presence at his side and he’s talking really low anyway, even if he couldn’t, so Eddie definitely knows it’s him, and he could have guessed the other visitor pretty easy even if it wasn’t her voice that was the first to bleed through with actual words:

“She’s,” Robin makes a little stifled whine; “you’ve seen her.”

“Not my type but,” Steve’s saying from next to Eddie; “ I see your point, yeah.”

“She’s like a,” Robin’s voice goes kinda hazy, a little dreamy; “like a fairy creature, or! Or like a prairie woman with those, those hats—“

“A prairie woman who likes boobi—“

“Stop!” Robin hisses low, and Eddie can feel her knock his mattress a little, she must lean over like she wants to enforce her will somehow: “stop stop stop—“

“If you can’t say it you probably shouldn’t be touchin—“ Steve’s saying and god, his voice is so bitching, and Eddie think he kinda fucking lov—

Oh. Oh, well. Shit.

“I’m not touching!” Robin moans, but kinda frantic with it; “the problem is I am not touching!”

And Eddie, too, is not touching the thought he just had about those four fucking letters that are, that, that are—

“Also it’s a gross, immature word,” Robin’s going on and…oh.

Oh.

Okay, so like: even if he’s just kinda in that liminal space of awareness, they have to know he’s more awake than not; his two remaining monitors are different even when he’s calm and just resting, but as the words themselves sink in, now? His heartbeat’s betraying the hell out of him for the staccato it’s pinging on the screen as he processes it: Robin’s showing her cards, though Eddie’d always figured she might be a bird of his feather, but, like—

“Is it though?” Steve’s murmuring low and so, so judgmental; “seems more immature to not say it at all,” and he, he fucking tsks at her, then, and, and—

And then—

Then Steve’s saying words that make no sense at all, like: sure they’re words. In English. Eddie’s very sure of it. So that means he should definitely comprehend them. But…

“You should listen to me, Robs, seriously. I do still like boobies, too. I have insights.”

And Eddie—Eddie’s eyes fly open, he thinks out of shock? That makes the most sense, like he’s startled into full-wakefulness, that tracks as he blinks up at the water-stainer ceiling with his heart in his throat as he tries to find sense in those words, fails, tries again, fucking fails, all as the Corsican Twins cackle over word choice, good god, and then—

“Hey.”

Steve’s grabbing his hand at the wrist and covering it so gently, fucking…cradles it and stories his thumb over the insistent tap of his pulse and meets his eyes, so wide and honest and earnest and if Eddie’s heart wasn’t already primed toward racing it sure as shit would have started just with those eyes on him, and that touch on him, and:

“You okay, man?” and it’s so simple, and Eddie doesn’t fucking know what’s happening on his face, what kind of of shock or terror or something deeper still is seeping from his expression but Steve’s studying him, watching for long seconds that stretch for-fucking-everbefore his jaw squares and his head tiles, something resolute shining through in him and he moves so slowly, lifts Eddie’s hand in his so slowly and Eddie doesn’t even wholly clock what’s happening, let alone that it’s real, as Steve fucking pauses their hands by his lips, so Eddie can feel his breath so warm and he watches, then, waits, and Eddie doesn’t think through what it means when he nods, like it’s not actually a legitimate thought, exactly, he just knows that, that—

Whatever’s happening, and however terrified he thinks he is: he can trust Steve.

Because somehow: Steve’s home.

It’s still fucking earth-shattering when Steve does lean, when his lips brush against the heel of Eddie’s palm, still scrape-covered, and then he reaches just as slow again for Eddie’s cheek to cup, to fucking cradle that, too, and Jesus H. Goddamn Christ—

“You’re safe, Eddie,” is all he says and maybe, maybe Eddie’s reading into it way beyond what he should, but like, it doesn’t feel like Steve’s telling him he’s safe maybe from the lingering threads of a nightmare, or that he’s safe from the government, from the cops, or from the Upside Down coming for them because they all know it’s still fucking coming but Eddie has felt scared of it once, yet, not like this, not here, with—

But Steve’s tone doesn’t just hold that: it’s bigger. He means…

They had to know he wasn’t really asleep, and so, Eddie, Eddie thinks Steve means…

Yeah.

Fuck.

“You’re outta water,” Steve’s saying and Eddie didn’t even notice he’d been reading to pour Eddie a glass from the ever-present pitcher at his bedside then he’s standing, his hand leaving and fuck all if Eddie doesn’t lean into it before he can think twice but Steve just smiles, soft, as he walks out the door.

“We talked about it.”

He turns to Robin almost violently, head kinda snapping her direction with the speed and force he moves with.

“We weren’t gonna hide it from you, but like,” she mashes her lips together, Eddie can see she’s trying to find a way forward with the least possible rambling, but the clearest possible throughway so she can get what she needs to say out, before Steve comes back.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to,” she hums a little; “be that, you know, open? With us, if you don’t want to,” her eyes are so big and sincere, and Eddie’s pulse is steadying if only slowing by a fraction, but she does help put him at ease, even as she trips a little over the rest: “if you had any thing that was, y’know, kinda private or, something,” she nods to herself and plays with the hem of her shirt: “yeah.”

Eddie nods to himself, and…he can’t, he can’t not ask her, not in this window, because she said they’d talked and if this wasn’t part of it she loves Steve fierce and he could be still a little fresh off death’s door, she’ll still tell him to fuck off if she needs to, so at least there’s that, at least he knows, like, he won’t be allowed to step where he’s not welcome, and—

“I’m,” and fuck, his voice is a mess, he does need a fucking drink but in the absence of one at hand, he clears his throat hard and accepts that consequences of it burning like hell; “he, umm,” Eddie bits his lip and gestures toward the empty door, eyes Robin kinda pitifully: “he said—“

Robin, thank fuck: Robin is merciful, has to see where he’s going, here, and she points to the doorway indicative of who isn’t in it, yet:

“Very both,” she says simply, then point to herself: “very…”

“Boobies?” Eddie suggests and Robin, she just groans.

“Not you too,” and…okay, shit, umm, well—

Eddie… maybe Eddie can be brave. Like, in small doses.

“Actually, ah, I,” he stumbled but then he makes himself take a breath, makes himself try:

“No, not me too,” he says in a rush and looks up at her through his lashes, so fucking vulnerable: “like, very specifically not, me too.”

And she smiles at him so warm and…like, almost welcoming, which is weird but feels, nice? And she pats his arm kinda affectionately and, just—

“Did you decide to take me up on my wisdom so we can actually accept she’s almost definitely into you, and move on to planning your wedding?” Steve slides back in and shuts the door behind him, getting to pouring Eddie some water before he even sits the fuck down.

His fingers brush Eddie’s as he passes it off and, it probably shouldn’t make Eddie all tingly, Steve did kinda kiss his hand? Like, a little?

But that don’t mean shit: Eddie’s all pins and needles and, like, sparkles.

“He’s the only help you’ve got here, Buckley,” Eddie screws his courage up one more time because…because Steve needs to know, too; Eddie wouldn’t put Robin in the position of not knowing whether she can tell her platonic soulmate something, make her keep a secret even by implication but so much bigger that that is, are—

All the things he doesn’t want to poke at, or dig up and examine, that he’s dodging on the excuse of convalescence: all those things taken into account: he trusts Steve. He feels…so much for Steve already, and he feels weirdly sure that whatever happens next, those feelings are only gonna find ways to grow, so—

Steve has to know, not just because Eddie thinks he suspects it, but because Eddie tells him—because it’s….’cause it’s Steve.

“Feels like it’d be foolish not to take the man up on the offer when he’s definitely the expert in the room,” Eddie pushes on, awkward but determined; “seeing as I don’t, umm, know about,” and his eyes flicker to Robin for a second, before they land on Steve to finish:

“About boobies.”

And Steve does say anything, doesn’t look any way save how he’d looked before: calm, and mostly-relaxed, and right next to Eddie, and Eddie’s eyes drop from Steve’s face and find the collar of his shirt, the peak of hair from in between and, shit, shit, he’s talking about tits and then there’s Steve’s chest hair and holy fucking wow he is staring:

“Umm, I mean,” and fucking fuck, now he’s talking—

“Like, not that kind, at least,” and then he forces his eyes down to the sheets over his lap and considers if it’s possible to dissolve into cotton if it’s startchy and uncomfortable as shit, and you happen to be mortified enough to sink into the fucking threads.

But then; then there’s Steve.

Because of fucking course there’s Steve.

And Steve?

Steve takes his cup from him when he could easily have leaned to put it down himself, but then Steve replaces the cup in Eddie’s grip with his own warm hand, like a tether, like a lifeline, like a…

Like a promise.

And when the conversation turns toward strategizing Robin’s approach for Vickie, Eddie’s, he, he just…

He’s home, y’know?

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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midnight-moth · 9 months

Note

RainDrop (ofc) - "You'll have to teach me" - Kisses that lead into more then kisses / Soft Kisses becoming heated

Thank you so much for the ask!!! I'm always so happy to write about them.

So I can't write anything short. I knew this, I tried, and I failed. 2321 words of extremely soft Raindrop under the cut.

He sat with his spine curled against the wall, he’d be told he would get back problems doing that. But his head weighed heavy on his neck, he let his posture mimic how he felt. Like he was sinking.

Rain had only been summoned a few short months ago. And now he was on a bus, 3 weeks deep into the tour. And it all felt like whiplash. There was absolutely no rhythm to be found in this way of life, aside from the one he was meant to provide on stage. And the lack of routine had him at the absolute edge of reason.

He tried to create little rituals for himself to cope. Having a steaming mug of tea first thing in the morning, going for a walk around the venue for 10 minutes after sound check, polishing his shoes before he put on his uniform, disappearing into the depths of the venue to self soothe with a song on his lips, quietly echoing in an empty dressing room. One of the first pieces of music he’d heard topside that he’d fallen in love with.

And he kept on singing, in a soft baritone barely above a whisper, heedless of the fire ghoul watching from a sliver of space in the door jam.

Dew was always curious about where he’d disappear to. Not a master in subtlety, he tried asking bluntly. Rain’s only reply was that he just needed a little bit of quiet before the ritual began. The answer being insufficient, he still tried to exercise a modicum of self restraint every time he felt the urge to follow the water ghoul as he slipped away.

He found Rain after all. Not on purpose, he was looking for a washroom as it seemed that the one near the dressing rooms had been locked for a suspiciously long time. Noting the absence of Swiss, Cumulus and Cirrus, he thought maybe he should be offended that he wasn’t invited.

So wandering around in the labyrinth of hallways, he looked for another, but a soft, lilting voice pulled him in another direction.

Just when you think you've caught her

She glides across the water

She calls for you tonight

To share this moonlight

Dew recognized the song, it was from one of several dozen playlists that Swiss had made and forced them all to listen to. This one from what was apparently post punk new wave. Dew marveled at the way humans managed to micro-organize what seemed like to him, much of the same thing.

You'll flow down her river

She'll ask and you'll give her

He knew he was intruding, but he couldn’t look away. Rain’s eyes were closed, he was sitting on the floor with his back flush against the wall, long legs kicked out in front of him, hands folded in his lap. He kept his voice hushed, giving the song a whispered quality that made Dew feel like it was being sung directly into his ear.

Rain’s eyes were closed, and Dew hoped they’d remain so until the end of the song. He watched his lips form the words, catching small glimpses of his tongue as it pushed past his teeth. His lower lip was shiny, catching the dim light. Probably the lip balm he swiped over his mouth obsessively. Being a water ghoul on dry land was tough, Dew remembered.

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

The words sounded like an invitation. To kiss those pretty pink lips that probably tasted like the strawberry chapstick Dew could smell every time it took a pass across his mouth.It couldn’t have been intentional but Dew nonetheless recalled images of sirens luring with their song and their beauty, and he felt that maybe he was ready to meet his death just for a taste.

And then Rain’s eyes snapped open as Dew nudged the door and its entrance widened with a creak.

“Oh, hey, sorry, I - uh - wasn’t spying. I just heard something. And then saw you sitting there, thought maybe - something was wrong.”

“No, I’m -” For some reason, Rain couldn’t bear to lie. Not with the earnest expression on Dew’s face as he waited for an answer.

Dew pushed the door open and decided to be bold, taking a seat across from the water ghoul on the floor. They had never talked, not really. Rain was standoffish and Dew didn’t want to push.

“You’re what?” Dew asked with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I’m just tired. It’s all so overwhelming. And it’s so - lonely.”

“Well, you’re not actually alone. I mean - the way we’re all packed on to that bus, it’s a physical impossibility.”

Rain didn’t have an answer for him. Yes, he was surrounded by ghouls and humans all the time. But he felt like he was separated from all of them by a fogged pane of glass.

Dew could admit that he wasn’t a wordsmith, and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse. Dew turned and slid up against the wall, sitting beside the ghoul, he laughed out loud at how nervous he was. No stranger to casual encounters, why was he blushing so ferociously at the thought of just slipping his hand into Rain’s.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, just myself.” Dew huffed, as he reached out and took Rain’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together.

“Why don’t you finish the song? I cut you off.”

“Oh I - no - I can’t.”

“Sure you can. You were doing just fine before.”

“Yeah, when I was alone.” Rain let his head roll forward, trying to hide in the fabric of his sweater, only in uniform from the waist down.

“I’ll sing with you, come on.” Rain couldn’t know what kind of offer he’d just received. Dew sang in front of no one. He thought his voice was too high, too feminine, not befitting of a Satanic rock band.

“Ok, you win.”

“Good, you can start where you left off.” Dew squeezed Rain’s hand a little, it had the desired effect, encouraging Rain to continue.

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

She knows what she knows

I know what she's thinking

Sugar kisses

Dew made good on his word, albeit even quieter than Rain, his voice could be heard cutting through the low pitch of Rain’s voice. And it sounded pretty, Rain thought. Not what he’d imagined at all. He found himself lowering his voice just to hear Dew better.

“Hey, not fair. You have to keep singing too.” Dew chided.

“Okay, okay, I will. Just keep going.” Rain could see Dew’s lips curl up at the corners in his peripheral vision. This time he sang just a little bit louder.

Just when you think she's yours

She's flown to other shores

To laugh at how you break

And melt into this lake

You'll flow down her river

But you'll never give her

Dew found himself not so discreetly craning his neck to watch Rain’s face. Watching his mouth move with the words, as he did from across the room. But now he could see how the inside of his lower lip was a few shades darker, full. The deep cut of the philtrum made his upper lip jut out in a pronounced curve that Dew found he wanted to trace with his tongue. And when Rain’s own slid out from between his teeth, he wanted to trace that too, along the edges, and down the center, and underneath.

Rain could see Dew watching from the corner of his eye, that he was staring, his eyes sputtering warm light in the dark. He rolled his head to the side, watching Dew’s own pretty mouth form the words. His voice was light and silky.

Dew’s hand slipped from his, but his voice never wavered. Bringing his thumb to Rain’s lips, he drew it across the lower with a gentle swipe, making Rain slur the words. Dew’s didn’t falter despite how distracted he was.

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

Lips like sugar

Sugar kisses

With a secondary swipe, Rain stopped entirely. The room filled with the sound of Dew’s airy voice and his own labored breath. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, an involuntary response to the sensation of something touching them. It grazed against the edge of Dew’s thumb instead.

He stopped mid-verse with a hushed gasp. Dipping his thumb in a little bit further, Rain opened as Dew slid the pad across the inside of his lower lip. Dew could see Rain’s chest heaving. He jumped when Rain’s hand flew to his wrist.

Some of the fog in his mind cleared as those fingers dug into his skin. “I’m sorry - I -” His words died in his mouth as Rain’s mouth closed over the rest of his thumb with a gentle suction. Dew froze, wanting to climb into the water ghoul’s lap, but for once completely unsure of where he stood, he stayed glued to the floor.

Rain continued, the look in his eyes equally unsure. So Dew reassured, “Feels so nice.”

Rain moaned softly as he replaced Dew’s thumb with his middle finger, he let the tip of his tongue drag across the calloused surface.

Dew’s mouth formed a silent “Oh” as Rain looked down at him, the same nerved expression on his face.

“You’re so pretty. Your mouth -” Dew found himself shifting awkwardly in his seat as a trail of drool ran down the top of his hand, and Rain released his finger to drag his tongue across it.

“Rain, please - let me kiss you.” Dew knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was pulling that pillowy bottom lip into his mouth to suck on.

“Yeah - okay - I mean - I just” The more Rain stuttered, the more embarrassed he felt. And he already had felt it a little bit, not really sure what he was doing, if it was normal.

“What’s wrong? We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to - I just - I - don’t. I haven’t. Ever.”

Dew tried to temper the shock in his voice. He knew Rain was young, that he was shy, but that, he did not anticipate. But the shock transformed into something else entirely, knowing he’d be the first one to claim that mouth, and the assumption that there were further conquests to be had.

“It’s okay. Just tell me, this is what you want?”

Rain took another digit into his mouth, whining with a nod. “You’ll have to teach me.”

Dew slipped his finger out, tracing along Rain’s jaw and leaving behind a thin wet streak of saliva. Almost as tantalizing as his lips, he wanted to know what it would feel like to run his tongue along the bone.

“Just close your eyes.” Dew instructed. Working his way onto his knees, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Rain’s, before retreating slightly. Rain made an impatient gasp, leaning forward to find them again. First, Dew licked his lips, he wanted to taste that strawberry chapstick.

He raised his mouth to Rain’s once more, this time not pulling away. Rain pressed back, the line of his mouth softening as Dew dotted closed mouth kisses across it, to the corners and back again.

Rain’s hands found their way inside Dew’s jacket, locking onto his waist, urging him forward. Dew swiped his tongue across Rain’s lower lip, and he let his mouth go slack as Dew licked into his mouth, softly. After a moment of hesitance, Rain pushed his own forward, dipping into the hot space beyond Dew’s teeth.

Moaning with each pass of Dew’s tongue against his own, he couldn’t stop if he tried, the sound flowed from his throat into Dew’s mouth. Dew’s hands threaded through his hair, scratching softly against his scalp, he wanted more and he wanted closer.

He broke away with a little choked sound.

“What is it?” Dew huffed, trying to catch his breath.

“Was it - okay?” The way his eyes glistened in the low light made Dew’s heart ache.

“Oh yes, more than okay. It was perfect. You’re perfect.” Dew knew he was getting carried away but he wasn’t sure if he cared, crushing his lips back against Rain’s, moving as deeply inside his mouth as his jaw could accommodate.

Becoming rushed and messy, until he was dragging his tongue across Rain’s open mouth with a groan. Rain pulling his lower lip into his mouth and sucking on it with slow dregs. Dew doesn’t remember kissing someone like this, maybe ever, not for so long, not with such deliberation. Kissing was always a precursor to something else, but not this time.

Rain pulled back slightly, yanking on Dew’s shirt. “Want you to come closer.”

“Yeah, want to be closer.” Dew murmured. He threw one leg over Rain’s lap, sliding forward until they were sternum to sternum. “You taste so good Rainbow.” The pet name made Rain’s lip quiver.

“Your mouth is so warm. Feels so nice. You’re so soft, want to touch you. Just, want you.”

Dew sighed, thinking about all the ways he wanted him right back. “I’m all yours.”

Dew’s hands wound their way back into his dense waves, Rain’s own drifted back to his waist again, squeezing him tight enough to make him gasp.

“Kiss me, until we have to go.” Rain pleaded.

“I’ll kiss you after too. I’ll kiss you as much as you want. Kiss you all night. When you wake up.”

Rain let out another soft mewl against the side of Dew’s face. “Promise?”

“Yes.” Dew replied. And he meant it.

Dew kissed him until his lips were swollen and bitten and bruised. Rain couldn’t stop pressing his fingers to them for the rest of the night. The ghost of Dew’s lips still on his own, he couldn’t wait to add so much of this to his routine.

#rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #raindrop #raindrop club #nameless ghouls #media nocte asks #ficlet #they are so soft #I don't make the rules they are in love #midnight moth asks #midnight moth writes #cw kissing

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