#wrote it all today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochiwrites · 2 months

Text

late night visitor.

in which grian gets a visit from the city’s popular hero, hotguy.

reblogs > likes

————————

There’s a tapping sound at Grian’s window. He straightens up from where he’s hunched over at his desk, papers from the library waiting to be sorted and marked. The pen he has in his hand is set down as he turns around in his chair, angling himself toward the window. Soft brown eyes flick toward the glass, and his lips curl in a slight cringe.

Standing behind Grian’s window, right on his balcony, is none other than the city’s top hero, Hotguy. Irritation and confusion sparks within him as he sees the orange and teal clad man, arrowhead insignia proudly displayed on his chest. His sleeves are short, leaving the muscles of his biceps exposed. Fingerless gloves sit on his hands, bow and quiver on his back. An orange and teal mask covers his face, letting Grian see no more than his green eyes. His brown hair is dark in the cover of night, a small ponytail at the base of his head. A pleased smirk sits on his face, a signature look.

Grian feels his eyebrow twitch.

He pushes himself up from his chair, taking a few measured steps over to the hero. Hotguy’s smirk widens as Grian moves closer, until he’s right in front of the window. The glass slides up, and Grian lifts a brow, “Don’t you have more important things to do than haggling civilians, Hotguy?”

“Gaggling? I’d never do such a thing!” Hotguy retorts, a playful lilt to his words as he smiles down at Grian. “I’ve only come by to see my favorite civilian!”

“Pretty sure you still have better things to do. Like patrolling?” Grian offers, stepping back. His words don’t seem to bother Hotguy as he climbs into Grian’s apartment through the window.

The breeze from the wind follows him in, adding a slight chill to the room. Hotguy straightens as both feet land on the floor, taking a look around the place as if he hasn’t seen it before. “Not to worry, Grian. I’ve already finished patrolling for the night!” he says proudly, moving to set his bow down on the table nearby. “Besides, whatever I don’t catch, I’m sure Cuteguy will.”

It’s a statement Grian would put faith in, if he wasn’t the aforementioned hero. Maybe he can find a bit of appreciation in how much Hotguy seems to trust him, even now. There’s a small smile that seems to pull at his lips as he shakes his head.

He’s honestly not sure how he’s ended in this position, with his hero partner dropping by his apartment on occasion. Hotguy only found out where he lived because of a villain attack once. It had been way too risky to try anything that may give his Cuteguy identity away, so he had let Hotguy rescue him and get him safely home (the guy may irritate Grian sometimes, but he still owes him a lot).

From there Hotguy would come by once in a while, performing ‘check ups’ as he liked to call them. Grian thinks they’re just excuses to slack off. Hotguy vehemently denies it of course.

It’s something he’s gotten used to after a few months of this happening, even if it makes him nervous. He doesn’t want Hotguy finding out his identity, nor does he want to know Hotguy’s.

Because he’s a liability. Who knows what could happen if he ever found out and it was used against him. Or…

He still owes Hotguy so much.

So far it’s seemed okay. It isn’t like there’s much connecting Grian to Cuteguy in his apartment. Hotguy certainly hasn’t put anything together, which he can breathe a sigh of relief at.

“Ooooo, what’s all this?” Hotguy’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, causing Grian to angle his head toward him from where he had been staring off. The hero has migrated over to his desk, peering down at the papers. He picks one up, “Up late organizing papers again, huh?”

Grian shrugs in response, “Sacrifices have to be made now and then.” He then frowns as he watches the hero turn a page toward him, reading it. “Hey, put that down will you?”

“Ooooo, town history! How fun,” Hotguy hums as he sets the paper back down on the desk. He turns back to look at Grian with a charming smile. “Though there’s definitely better ways to spend your evening, G.”

“Good thing you’re not me then,” Grian snorts, shaking his head. “I happen to quite enjoy staying indoors and organizing papers. I much prefer it over dealing with pesky heroes,” he deadpans. He doesn’t, but Hotguy doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh, Grian, you wound me!” Hotguy cries playfully, setting a hand on his chest. “I bet I could make your evening ten times more amayzin’!”

The image that conjures is one that causes Grian to shudder. He can totally see Hotguy sitting with him in his apartment, talking his ear off about how cool of a hero he is He grimaces, “Somehow I doubt you’d make improve my evening. Actually, I think you—”

Grian takes a step toward him, only for the bow sitting on his table to catch his eye. He stills, words turning to dust on his tongue as he stares at the weapon. He’s seen it plenty of times in battle before, watched Hotguy shoot three glowing arrows at once with terrifying precision without even flinching. But he’s never seen it up close.

Walking over to the table, Grian sets a hand over it, humming quietly as the previous conversation is forgotten. “Weird to see you without this thing,” he idly comments. He traces over the edge of the bow with a finger, feeling the hard material under his touch.

“Ah, Grian, you really shouldn’t—” Hotguy tries to say, but Grian is already grabbing it. He turns and points the end right at the hero with a mischievous smile.

“What, afraid I’m gonna poke my own eye out or something?” he teases, shaking his head. Like he’d be careless enough to do something like that.

Hotguy walks over to him, frowning slightly. “Careful where you point that thing! That’s a weapon you’re holding.”

“I know what a bow is, Hotguy,” Grian huffs lightly in return. “I’m just looking at it. I’ve never seen it up close before.” His gaze returns to the bow, a curious hum reverberating in his chest.

“Well of course you haven’t,” Hotguy chuckles quietly. The frown lifts from his face, lips going lax as he stands in front of Grian. “I usually don’t let anyone other than my technician handle it. But I guess I can make an exception for my favorite civilian. As long as you’re not shootin’ any real arrows.”

“How kind of you.” Grian’s eyes trace the details of the bow, a bit of awe in his expression. It’s not light by any means, Grian has to hold it with both hands. How the hell does Hotguy shoot with it? He knew the guy was strong, but this is something else. The bowstring is black and hard to pull back, Grian finds, as he experimentally tugs on it. The bow itself matches Hotguy’s aesthetic well, with the top half being teal and the bottom orange. On its own it’s nothing special, just some heavy bow. But its user makes all the difference.

He glances over at Hotguy with a hint of curiosity, “How do you handle this thing, anyway?” It might be helpful to know for the future, should anything happen and Cuteguy needs to make a quick shot. He’s no Hotguy when it comes to precision, but he can certainly try.

Hotguy doesn’t answer immediately, instead gazing at Grian through his mask. His eyes are soft, contemplative as he thinks over his response. Grian waits, gaze drawn to the bow in his hands instead of the hero in front of him.

“Well,” Hotguy begins after a moment, moving in, “firstly, your position is all off.” He slides up behind Grian, causing the shorter to stiffen. A hand falls over his, the one holding the bow, and it’s raised. “Angle your feet ninety degrees, and keep them shoulder length apart.” He gently nudges Grian’s right foot with his boot, encouraging him to fix his position. “Good, just like that.”

Hearing Hotguy so close to his ear sends chills down Grian’s spine, little pinpricks that tingle right down to his lower back. He can feel the hero’s breath against his neck, and Grian finds his face feeling warm. Why is he suddenly so embarrassed?

With gentle fingers, Hotguy lifts Grian’s arm, pointing the bow at nothing. “You’ll want to keep your arm straight. I’d normally load an arrow at this point, but I think it’s in our best interest to keep those away from you,” he chuckles, and the sound is smooth like velvet, low and deep. Grian shudders. Hotguy speaks quietly, like being any louder would send Grian scampering away as if he were a startled rabbit.

Hotguy keeps his grip on Grian’s raised arm with one hand, the other sliding around to his front. Gentle but sturdy fingers settle over Grian’s stomach, setting a light pressure against his abdomen. His hands are warm against Grian, he can feel his heart stuttering in his chest. It’s hard for him to concentrate with the hero so close.

“Don’t trust me with an arrow?” Grian can’t help but ask, his voice surprisingly just as quiet as Hotguy’s.

He feels the way Hotguy’s chest rumbles from his laughter with how Grian’s practically pressing against him.

His cheeks feel really warm.

Movement from the corner of his eye has him shifting his gaze to lock eyes with the hero. He sees a soft gleam in them, something that seems to go past the kind of look a hero may direct at a civilian. It’s softness is reflected in the depth of Hotguy’s eyes, all forest-like green and bright with color. The green seems lighter like this, smoother.

Grian wonders what his face would like if the mask wasn’t there. Would the softness sit on his expression? Would it still be so open, like Hotguy’s heart on his sleeve, if there were no make to shield it? Would he let Grian see it? If Grian asked would—

He quickly shakes himself out of those thoughts, horrified. Where did they come from?!

“I want to be careful with you,” Hotguy finally murmurs to him, and god that is not helping with Grian’s embarrassing thoughts! “Giving you high tech hero equipment you don’t know how to use kind of goes against that, Gri.”

Gri.

Gri?!

What the hell is happening right now?!

Some sort of noise punches its way out of Grian as he stares at Hotguy, struggling for some sort of response. Normally he’d reply with snark, some kind of sarcastic remark. But right now he’s coming up empty, unable to move away from the fact that Hotguy is holding him and he doesn’t want him to let go. God what’s wrong with him all of the sudden?

Hotguy’s eyes seem to widen at the noise Grian makes, and just like that the warmth is gone. “Oh gosh! I was totally just all up in your grill there!” he exclaims, stepping back. He seamlessly takes the bow from Grian’s hands as he moves away, leaving Grian’s back rather chilly. His face is red, if not more red than Grian’s is. The two of them are trapped in some sort of staring contest with each other, individual thoughts racing.

Neither speak.

“W-Well uh, that’s how you use the Hotguy bow! P-Pretty neat huh?” Hotguy says after a moment, chuckling nervously. Something on his wrist beeps, and he glances down at it.

Grian breaks out of his stupor then, watching Hotguy move. “Something wrong?” he asks, finally finding his words.

“Nothing to worry about. Just duty calling.” Hotguy looks back up at him, cheeks still warm with a nervous smile. “I’ll have to cut this one short! We’ll save the archery lesson for another time!” He gives Grian a salute before heading back out the way he came.

Alone in his apartment, Grian stands. His heart is still pounding, staring at where the city’s hero stood not even a few seconds ago. Wordlessly, he falls back in a chair, still staring off.

Maybe he should’ve been called Whirlwind instead.

#mochi writes #feathered redemption au #scarian #hermitshipping #hotguy hermitcraft #this is soooo rough #and the ending is super rushed #but this scene has been plaguing me all day I had to throw it down #this is somehow 2k????#wrote this all today whoops #I’m still trying to take it easy with the burnout #but here’s Something

339 notes · View notes

grimesgirll · 17 days

Note

can you do rickyl x reader where she gets jealous and gives them attitude🙏

ninety-eight hours it’s been since rick and daryl left for what was supposed to be a “dry” supply run.

another hour and you think you’re going to simply die from the wanton ache in your cunt and the paranoia creeping with every passing minute.

you hate when they go away. it’s the worst. but it’s what your lovers have to do if your community wants amoxicillin and food that‘s not canned peas or tuna. the only bigger drag than you losing out on a few nights of getting the stress fucked out of you and mornings with tender wake up calls; that cool new girl went with them.

just a few weeks ago, daryl and aaron had discovered a former phd student wandering the outskirts of shenandoah national park. the twenty-eight year old had been walking from her biology program in new jersey in an attempt to reach her family’s house in norfolk, virginia.

back to alexandria, she brought a backpack, some stories, and a green haze to your vision.

within a week, you’re wishing daryl and aaron hadn’t brought her back. the worst part is that you really can’t speak on it with anyone because you’ll sound like a jealous bitch, which you kinda are. it’s not your fault that you don’t know shit about how to age a deer or microorganisms or macroinvertebrates or interesting biology major jargon that gets rick and daryl’s attention.

you didn’t finish your degree. the apocalypse had made sure of that. yeah, this girl’s thesis defense had been cancelled but she already had two degrees and a fucking certificate.

yeah, daryl doesn’t have a degree. but this girl’s family grew up hunting - proud turkey hunters, she’d specified after daryl asked her about her turkey shotgun. they hit it off so well that she’d even gone on a few hunts with him. you refused to eat the pheasant she shot. when she came into your kitchen proudly touting a half butchered boar, you simply narrowed your eyes, turned to rick next to you, and asked if you should take chances eating wild boar meat after the prison.

let’s just say you can’t stand her.

it’s not rational and it’s surely not healthy but you can’t bring yourself to address it in any meaningful way. all you can do is smolder. and that’s exactly what you do when rick and daryl come through the gates, fully engaged in a conversation with her.

“find what you need?”

you’re walking up to the three as soon as they pass you. rosita had been chatting you up and you assumed that your boys would come over and greet you with at least a kiss but no! they’re walking past you with her. the perfect, perpetually prepared girlscout that makes you want to tear your hair out.

two twin pairs of blue eyes find yours and daryl’s eyes are overflowing with longing, but before they can even say hello, she’s in your face, greeting you and handing off some seed packets she’d found

what a bitch.

almost turning your nose at her, you instead decide to accept the packets without a thank you. you make a beeline straight for rick, leaning up on your tippy toes to capture his tongue, wrapping an arm around his neck to lower him into your embrace. every ounce of waiting and wanting is spilled onto rick’s lips. you kiss him a bit too fervently for a welcome back kiss at your community’s gates. it’s an abuse of power on your part.

it’s dramatic. it’s theatrical.

it’s just as bad when you do the same thing to daryl, attaching yourself to his side as the newest addition to alexandria clears her throat and continues on about the supplies they managed to secure on their “dry” run. specifically, some supplies for her to try to solo it again - but this time - finally land in norfolk. you know that rick and daryl were out there - away from you - for more than just some glorified grad student’s get home bag but every second that she drones on has you yearning for her to pack her bags tonight.

“so, once my wrist is fully healed. i’ll be out of here.”

“thank god!”

rick’s eyebrow raises and if daryl could go quieter, he would.

the walk back to your house alone in alexandria is awkward.

the scene you’d caused had rick giving you a look that told you if you didn’t quit digging now, you’d end up in a trench of conflict. not just being at odds with the newcomer, but rick’s lack of patience for this kind of behavior from you. that doesn’t stop you from starting again as soon as they enter the bedroom.

“neither of you came over to say hi to me when you got in the gates.”

it’s the first thing out of your mouth once the door has shut. your arms are folded over your chest and you’re glaring at them like you didn’t just put on a grand display and snub the girl staying down the street. eyes focused on them, you’d be hard pressed to tell that you even could even name the other girl.

“so you’re gonna skim past talkin’ to her like that?” rick’s giving you that same you can’t be serious look he sends your way when you’re brattin’ out like this.

“i said my thoughts out loud. sorry.”

“ain’t you got no filter?”

“no, daryl,” you reply, looking up at them from the soft bed. your hands dig into the mattress. “that overnight “dry” run turned into the entire weekend and the first thing you guys do is stroll in with her and not say hi.”

“why do you care so much? she’s leavin’ soon.” daryl reminds you, fighting a yawn.

you frown. “you guys relate to her more.”

rick guffaws and daryl’s eyes are rolling.

“what? you think she’s flirtin’ knowin’ how to catch herself a fuckin’ meal.”

“but she’s older than me.”

“not by much, honey,” rick dismisses your concern.

the downtrodden look on your face is unmistakable. you’re quiet, considering how to justify your jealousy when you feel a tear coming on. daryl notices when you try to blink it away and is the first to drop the bone the two were picking with you. he’s next to you, a hand on your waist and your thigh, and that’s when you exhale in frustrated, exasperation, “you were gone for four days and you couldn’t even say hi to me.” you’re shaking your head, knowing it’s dumb. “its not nice but it just got me so angry.” you almost omit this last part but the borderline law enforcement stare you’re receiving from rick has you candid. “i just needed you guys to come up and kiss me - or something after not knowing if you were alive or not. the run went too long. got me worked up.”

“and you think you deserve to get fucked first thing after pullin’ that shit?”

you bite your lip. rick can read you too well. really, there’s nothing to discuss.

did you really think they would lose interest in you that easily? or is this just a ploy to work them up too? to cash in on the good, hard fucking you know they’d subject you to if you turned up your brat factor for their return. it’s downright devious but who are they to deny the smoldering opportunity falling in their laps?

“can you be a good girl?”

you nod, not breaking eye contact as he slips his thumb into your mouth while undoing his pants with the other hand. “maybe we can get this to do somethin’ useful, huh?”

daryl stays quiet but the smirk as he watches you lick rick clean tells you that he has an idea. he’s full of ideas, most of which involve stuffing you full in some capacity but just from bud reaction to the scene that unfolded, you know he’s in a teasing mood. too feverous and on the same page as rick about your jealousy to give you the fucking you want straight away.

there’s probably a bit more of explaining that you need to do but when rick says, “hands and knees,” you’re forgetting all about the better educated woman and getting into place on the plush bed. the brief scowl on your face can’t be missed but it doesn’t matter because you automatically open your mouth wider once you’re faced with rick’s too-big-for-your-mouth cock.

you’re so focused on rick that the stripe being licked down your slit from behind has you choking on rick in surprise. the constable groans at your tight throat clenching around him.

“missed this pussy,” daryl’s gruff voice against your cunt brings you back to reality. the reality where he’s flicking his tongue over your already aching, swollen bud.

so that’s what that tear was, you deduce, suddenly aware of your missing panties.

“you’re overthinkin’,” rick says says with a hand in your hair. “you belong to us. we belong to you.”

“yeah, no new girl’s gonna come between us.” daryl assures you, breathing lust into your cunt. “gotta get out of yer’ fuckin’ head.” daryl chimes, not even giving his tongue a break when it wasn’t on your clit. “i finally get someone with a brain to go huntin’ with and your first thought is that i wanna fuck ‘em.”

rick smirks down at you, mouth too stuffed full of cock to deny any of it. he runs a hand through your hair and eases up on your throat, growing impossibly harder at the sight of his thick dick against your glossy, shining lips. a hand finds your chin and his cock falls from your mouth. “you better not forget that you’re made for us. don’t want no one else but you.” his cock jumps at the way your pupils grow from his lust induced speech. “you’re ours. that pussy’s in the shape of our cocks. beautiful brain’s all wrapped up in us, like we’re wrapped up in you.”

you could cream at his words. any minute you’re going to on daryl’s tongue. back as forth, the younger man is sliding his tongue all over your clit. he even dips the appendage inside of you to tongue around and spur rick into thrusting his cock back into your mouth so he can enjoy your needy whimpers around him.

“so fuckin’ good for us, baby. like she never could be.” rick huffs, chocolate curls falling back with his head.

all you can do is moan around him in response. daryl doesn’t let you process rick’s words because you’re too busy processing the overload of pleasure he’s inducing in you. you writhe back against him, canting your hips into his mouth just as rick twitches in yours.

your hips are bucking and you almost fall forward on rick when daryl triggers your toe curling release, savoring in the ooze as he laps your weeping cunt. tears well at your waterlines with rick’s cock bulging in the cheeks of your mouth. those tears spill with the rush of energy in your cunt. spasming and clenching, leaking onto the devoted tongue seeing you through.

“hope this holds you over,” rick remarks, pulling his still aching cock out of your mouth while glancing over at daryl happily cleaning up your release with his tactful tongue. “‘cause you’re gonna’ be sore after tonight, darlin’. whatever you need to get it in that pretty little head of yours that you’re ours, and don’t need to worry about anything or anyone else.”

as your first orgasm of the night fades and the shaking in your legs pauses, there’s a post-climax clarity that hits you like a truck. you’d be face down on the bed trying to pretend you didn’t exist if not for the hands eliciting the most vibrant whinnies from you, twisting your pleasure receptors like play-doh. you’re not far from coming again and that’s the only thing saving you from the shame of how you treated the newcomer. it wasn’t kind. wasn’t rational. treating her so poorly because of how well she worked with your men. greek gods killed insolent hosts who disrespected their guests, what would rick and daryl do to you for snubbing one of the last polite people on this rotting rock?

being well rounded isn’t a crime, you remind yourself.

and your men don’t need to remind you again with words how much you mean to them. that your jealousy is unfounded but they want to kiss you better anyway. it doesn’t matter if it takes all night, they’ll be reminding you exactly where and who they want to be with.

with you being made for them, how could they want anyone else?

241 notes · View notes

fishsticksart · 9 months

Text

Francesca - Hozier

If someone asked me at the end, I'll tell them put me back in it

[Francesca, Hozier // The Ghosts of Paolo and Francesca Appear to Dante and Virgil, Ary Scheffer // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Francesca (Official Video), Hozier // Francesca, Hozier // Ship on Stormy Seas, Ivan Aivazovsky // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Paolo and Francesca, Mosè Bianchi // Francesca, Hozier // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Gustave Doré // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca, Frank Dicksee // Francesca i Paolo, Ludwik Wiesiołowski // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Dante Gabriel Rossetti // Francesca, Hozier // Francesca (Later with Jools Holland), Hozier on BBC Music // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // tumblr user @handgf // The Kiss, Auguste Rodin // Paolo e Francesca, or Morte di Paolo e Francesca, Gaetano Previati // Hozier // Hozier // Hozier]

#web weaving #web weave #web weavings #webweaving #hozier webweaving #hozier #hozier lyrics #francesca #francesca hozier #francesca da rimini #dantes inferno #paolo and francesca #you have no idea how insane this song makes me #first of all MY NAME IS LITERALLY FRANCESCA #LIKE HOZIER WROTE A SONG WITH MY NAME AND NOW I GET TO HEAR MY NAME IN INTERVIEWS???#AND MY NAME WRITTEN IN HIS HANDWRITING?? HELLO INSANE #and then my second thought was when i realized since it was dantes inferno themed album it was probably in reference to ->#-> francesca da rimini and ding ding ding i was right #and i knew this cause im a complete nerd who reads Smithsonian articles for fun and there was one article about francesca and paolo #and thats actually where some of the art in this came from cause i went back to that article today #and i forgot that part about Tchaikovsky but it's actually really touching and fitting i felt like #its so cool how much art has been inspired by francesca and paolo for so long #and i just had to make this and i loved it cause its such an aching touching song that descends beauty #and the quotes from the inferno itself with francesca speaking were so beautiful #wow im such a nerd but i love it #shoutout to hozier once again for giving francesca and all francescas out there the recognition they deserve #OH AND ALSO I HAD TO PUT IN A CLASSIC Ivan Aivazovsky PAINTING #CAUSE THATS THE ONE THAT PEOPLE MISTAKE FOR GATHERING STORM BUT ITS DIFFERNT!!!!!!!!!!!!#CAUSE THIS ONE IS MORE ANGRY AND TURBULENT AND OMINOUS #WHICH DEFINETLY FITS THE STORM AND HURRICANE LYRIC I FEEL LIKE IDK I LOVE COMBINING MY NERDY ARTSY INTERESTS

646 notes · View notes

cerise-on-top · 3 months

Text

Hugging, Kissing and Cuddling HCs for König

I'm trying to see him in another light again after everything I've seen about him, so I decided I'd write something fluffy and nice for him. And then came the realization I never wrote some HCs like these for him in my original posts, so I decided I'd change that! He's Austrian, so naturally I have to love him!

When it comes to hugging someone, König is a bit hesitant. Considering he’s not the most physically affectionate person out there, it’s almost an honor to be receiving an unprompted hug from him. Whether his hugs are long or short depends on the occasion: If he’s proud of you for accomplishing something, then the hug will be rather short lived. Though, he might pick you up and spin you around until you’re dizzy. If you’re sad and need some comfort then his hugs could last a while. He’s not the best with words, he prefers to listen to other people, but if he knows a hug is what usually helps you then he’s willing to do so. Despite being a big and strong lad his hugs are surprisingly gentle, he’s worried about crushing you. He could put his all into them, but then you’d likely end up with a few broken ribs and he doesn’t want that to happen. König is also surprisingly warm, so receiving a hug from him is a rare, but nice experience. Although he does go rigid at the beginning, not knowing what to do, but relaxes into the hug eventually.

Again, he’s not a very physically affectionate person, but isn’t opposed to the occasional peck on the cheek or on your lips either. There is some anxiety whether you’d actually want a kiss from him or not, so he doesn’t kiss you very often, even if you do reassure him that it’s quite alright. He’s a bit tense at first when he presses a kiss to your lips, but calms down eventually. It’s especially bad during the beginning of your relationship, but he’s since gotten better at being calm about it. Since there’s a good chance he’s taller than you he loves giving you a kiss on the forehead. It’s a small but sweet gesture. He doesn’t need to bend down entirely to reach you but he still gets to be affectionate with you. However, if you’re on the taller side, or just as tall as he is, then he’d love to receive kisses to his temple from you. It makes him smile every time you do it. If he’s in the mood for receiving a kiss then he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and nudge you a bit. Or try to get his head in your closer vicinity. Kind of like that one bunny video where the bunny stretches to receive some kisses.

Cuddles with him are a bit more common than hugs actually. However, he refuses to lay down on top of you. If you’re shorter and weaker than him then there’s no chance he’ll put his weight on you, he’s just that afraid of hurting you. If you’re taller or just more muscular, then he might, but he’s still a rather heavy lad. Most he’ll do is put his head on your shoulder while you’re cuddling in bed and are both lying down. Although it’d be a lie to say he doesn’t want to be held. König is alright with being the one to hold you, but sometimes he would prefer to be the little spoon as well. That urge gets especially bad if you’re roughly the same size as him. Sometimes just nuzzling into your chest does the trick for him as well, though. Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair as he does so. Another thing he adores is you sleeping on his chest as he holds you. He gets to hold you close, he gets to protect you and he gets to doze off a bit himself, it’s bliss to him. Sometimes he leans down to press a kiss to your head and accidentally wakes you up like that. He feels bad about it and apologizes profusely, but does chuckle a bit when he sees your disheveled hair and your tired expression that shows you just woke up.

#cod #cod x reader #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #he actually kind of scares me these days even if I don't want that to happen in the slightest so I'm trying to desensitize myself again #I know people always joke about fanon könig vs canon könig but I think I will write him a bit softer with his s/o again #just to combat all those awful things I've seen about him that I don't want to be true and that I also want to forget about #könig is a big lad so I knew from the beginning I wanted him to be good at hugging because this is self indulgent #I feel like if it weren't for his anxiety he'd be much much cuddlier #because that's the case with me even if I have other things going on as well #and what is a funny character you write about if not another piece of yourself?#I've put so much of myself into some of these characters and yet people keep requesting them so I must be doing something right #it's more fun that way as well when you put your characters through something you've gone through. more relatable too #but I think that's something pretty much every writer does. that's why some requests are so difficult to write #I got one about marrying Laswell and Nikolai and that was a difficult request for me because the last wedding I went to #was my parents' and that was almost 18 years ago. man time flies I was 4 years old back then #so naturally I don't remember much either. But I tried and that's what's important!#either way please enjoy this piece of fluff I wrote today!

170 notes · View notes

crybaby-bkg · 2 years

Text

I love jealous Bakugou who starts peacocking after a while to get all of your attention.

going to a party and Kiri carelessly picks you up to spin you during a dance, drunken laughter shared between you two. Bakugou watches on the couch the whole time, eyes slitted as he nurses the same beer he’s had all night. he listens to you giggle over the music about how strong Kiri is and—fuck it, he’ll show you strength. he takes the opportunity to scoop you off of your feet next time you guys are out and there’s a puddle in the middle of the road, puffs his chest out a little as he cradles you against him, when you let out that lighthearted giggle but for him this time.

Bakugou catches you chatting deku up, squeezing at his biceps when you tease him about how big he’s been getting. you only do it bc you know it flusters the green haired man, and you think it’s cute how he looks like a strawberry whenever you coo at him. But Bakugou only sees that as the push to go to the gym more, focusing even more on his arms, wearing all of his tanks around you. puffs his chest out again when he puts his arms behind his head and you pat at the bulging muscle and find yourself tracing the veins on his arms.

He sees you dancing with Sero at another squad gathering, something fast and sensual, your arms around his neck while he holds your waist. his face is buried into your neck and it makes you giggle whenever he whispers where to move your feet next. and does Bakugou take that as an active threat against his crush on you? of course he does. finds himself holding you against him at a party, swaying with you, way out of his comfort zone but he wants to show you that he can dance too, damnit.

Denki makes some offhanded comment about holding your bags when you go out to an amusement park, something else about going with you when you need the bathroom too. Bakugou is most definitely shoving him out of the way, manhandling all of your bags from you as he pushes you in the direction of the bathrooms instead. finds his chest practically spilling out of his shirt when you hug him by the end of the night, thanking him for being so kind, telling him that he’s the best friend you could ask for.

and does his heart drop to his ass when he hears the word friend? maybe. just a little.

#a hint of angst in the end lol a little unrequited love if you will #I wrote this last night while sleeping meds were in my system #so I hope this makes sense #I was thinking about jealous peacocking bkg tho all day yesterday #bc I wore this cute ass maxi dress and was like #he’d be so pressed to say that he was my bf lol #I want him obsessed just a liddol 🤏🏾#oh and I loveeeee the thought of dancing with Sero so so so much #like hip to hip #faces close as you breathe in the same breath #and he’s smiling down at you all cheeky bc he sees how flustered you are just from dancing #I’m slowly becoming a Sero simp omg o vant #I CANT #what the hel is o vant #anyway #I wanna either do my makeup today or keep writing my original story #not enough hours in the day :(#have a great one guys!!!#—another tasty treat! 🍬#mha sweets! 🍬#bakugou treats! 🍬

3K notes · View notes

literalite · 1 year

Photo

i am undertaking near unfathomable levels of procrastination have some hastily edited eyes of my fave ocs

#caleb sticking out like a sore thumb he truly is my token white boy #i will never stop referring to caleb as my oc he's literally mine idk #ts4 #ts4 edit #sims 4 edit #the sims 4 #edit #my edit #sunny #caleb #vinny #nayef #a*#p #i wrote out all the story dialogue today ok i'll edit and hopefully it'll post on saturday/sunday

498 notes · View notes

fortes-fortuna-iogurtum · 1 year

Text

I've been reading Exodus lately and I've just gotten to the portions where God gives the first commands to the people via Moses (twice), and then goes on to give detailed instructions about the tabernacle and how it should be built, and I'm just... we think art is unimportant?? we think things only mean as much as their functionality?? we so easily fall into the trap of believing that beauty means nothing, that it's cheap and only worth whatever mindless distraction it brings, that it's barely more than a cheap sensual thrill, that buildings should just be practical and plain and cheap, that everything should be functional but ultimately disposable, that paintings and dresses and mugs and curtains and carpets are just pretty but have no real value, that beauty is fleeting and vain and therefore shouldn't be thought about too much, if even looked for at all... we fall into these traps so easily, and we forget that there are chapters upon chapters of painstakingly detailed plans to build one portable worship tent, and those plans have been handed down through thousands of years of human history, because beauty and art and skill in craft is important

#I have to go get ready for work now but I will come back to this #and don't even get me started on the parts about God calling specific craftsmen *by name*#he called them!! by name!!! he said 'this man is good at his job. he creates beautiful work. he will build my temple and make it beautiful'#and even more--God inspired him!!!! it was a calling of GOD for him to create beautiful carvings and tapestries and candlesticks!!!#look even if you're not jewish or christian or religious at all you have GOT to see what it means that all these incredibly detailed plans #for building this tent-temple are extremely important #because even if you don't believe in God and don't think that this is all significant bc he personally gave the instructions #and then helped preserve this record of them so we could still read them today #you do have to see how important they were to the people of that time who first wrote them down #and the extreme care that was taken to record all of those detail #AND the fact that it's been preserved for so long and we can still read all the care that was put into creating this incredible piece #of artwork and worship they made #gurt says stuff #I just. gahhfhhfj. I'm feeling emotional about chapters of the Bible that I can't even fully force myself to pay attention to #bc there's so MUCH and I'm bad at visualizing this stuff and I tend to zone out while listening to it #but the fact that it IS that much!!! that there SO MUCH DETAIL and it goes on for SO LONG that I even struggle to pay attention!!!#that this was THAT IMPORTANT to the people who wrote it and to God!!! as an artist and someone who has always cared about art #this means so much to me ok #christianity #bible verse #bible thoughts #exodus #art #theology

616 notes · View notes

kkpwnall · 1 year

Text

just a little rain

((edit: now on ao3))

“Alright you little gremlins, pick up is 3:30 sharp. If you’re late, you’re walking home in the rain.” Steve holds his umbrella over the kids’ heads as they pile out of the beamer and under the awning at the entrance to the school.

“Wheeler! Don’t forget your lunch!” He holds the paper bag out, and Mike trudges back, grumbling a ‘thank you’ under his breath that sounds more like ‘fuck you’.

One hand on his hip, he watches until they’re all safe inside, pushing and shoving and cackling way too much for first thing on a Thursday morning.

He turns back to the beamer, looking to kill time until the store opens at ten. Across the parking lot, Steve spies Eddie still in his van, struggling with his leather jacket like he’s trying to hold it over his head and open the car door at the same time. Steve jogs over with his umbrella held high and taps on the window. Eddie jumps about a mile in the air, but relaxes when he sees Steve grinning at him.

“Can I walk you to class?” Steve teases when he opens the door.

“Ooo only if you’ll carry my books, Stevie,” Eddie snarks back. But Steve just takes the book bag from his hand and slings it over his shoulder. Eddie stares at him, a pretty pink flush brightening his cheeks.

“Can’t let the rain flatten these gorgeous curls.” He wraps one around his finger and tilts his head so he’s smiling at Eddie through his lashes, holding the umbrella over both of them.

Eddie’s frozen, just for a moment, his eyes wide. Then he frees himself from the tangle of his jacket to lean into Steve’s space with a wicked grin. “Better watch out, the girlies are gonna get jealous if they see Steve Harrington trying to make me blush.”

“Good,” Steve leans closer, his voice low and deep in his throat as he gives Eddie his most charming troublemaker smile.

Under the guise of needing to stand close to keep them both covered by the umbrella, Steve puts a hand on the small of Eddie’s back as they walk towards the school. But instead of heading directly for the shelter of the awning, he gently steers them to one of the cramped little alleyways back between buildings. Once they’re out of sight and under cover, he tilts the umbrella to hide them just a little more, and kisses Eddie against the bricks.

He’s unhurried, thorough, as if they have all the time in the world. He’s always wanted to kiss and be kissed in the rain, there’s something so quintessentially romantic about it, hidden away from all the elements of the outside world in their own little bubble. With Eddie. Eddie, who he never wants to stop kissing, who he wants to kiss in every timeless and cliched and sensual way known to man. And then invent a few of their own.

It’s a tricky bit of maneuvering, trying to keep the umbrella up and the rain off and get his hands on as much of Eddie as he can reach. But Eddie’s anything but passive. He pulls Steve in by his ‘stupid polo’, one hand sliding up to the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head just so. His other hand tugs at the zipper of Steve’s windbreaker, slipping inside to pull him closer by his waist. A gentle swipe of Steve’s tongue is all it takes for Eddie to whimper into his mouth, a small nothing of a sound that Steve devours.

Now that Steve’s had a taste of early morning Munson, he doesn’t want to stop. The heady mixture of a fresh spritz of old spice filling his nose, the taste of cigarettes and coffee and strawberry pop tarts on his tongue. Steve settles his free hand in the small of Eddie’s back, spread flat against the warm, soft skin under his shirt.

A group of girls rushes past the alley they’re hidden in, talking loudly and giggling. Eddie freezes as they walk past, and Steve takes the opportunity to kiss along his jaw, down his neck. The girls are gone as soon as they appeared, eager to get out of the rain, but Steve doesn’t stop his thorough exploration of every part of Eddie’s neck that makes his breath hitch where Steve’s lips touch. Eddie’s hands grip hard at his shoulders, fingers flexing like he can’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

“Don’t you - ah - have better things to do than - hmm - robbing the cradle?”

Steve laughs into his neck. “You’re older than me, asshole. And the store doesn’t open for another 3 hours, I’ve got nothing but time.”

Eddie’s fingers tangle in Steve’s hair, holding his head to Eddie’s neck as Steve grazes his teeth along the strong, trembling tendon.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re dating a high schooler, sweetheart,” Eddie pants.

“Mmm,” Steve hums, sucking gently at Eddie’s pulse point. He pulls back just enough to look at Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes a little dazed. “You’re right, we should fix that. What do you say, my place, six o’clock? We can…” his eyes travel back down to Eddie’s swollen lips, “study.”

Eddie laughs against Steve’s lips as he swoops in for another kiss. Bright and carefree and safe under the privacy of the downpour and the umbrella. Steve deepens the kiss, pulling out all the stops to make Eddie swoon. Little nips and licks and sucks on his lips, gently laving and massaging and soothing with his tongue. Pushing Eddie against the wall with his hips. Rocking slowly against him.

The warning bell rings and Steve finally steps away, grinning. “Don’t want to be late for class, Eds.”

“God you’re the worst,” Eddie says breathlessly, but he pulls Steve toward him again by his jacket.

One of Eddie’s hands falls to his belt, pulling him closer. Steve slips his free hand into Eddie’s back pocket as Eddie bites at his lower lip. He captures Steve’s gasp in his open mouth, swiping his tongue against Steve’s with a gentle firm pressure.

It’s over all too soon when Steve nearly overbalances and stumbles from the sudden lightness on his shoulder. Eddie grins at him, shouldering his heavy book bag, and looking far too pleased with himself.

Steve pulls him in for one last kiss, still holding the umbrella to shield them from the rain and prying eyes. It’s a soft, almost chaste kiss. ‘Good morning’ and ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you’ in the tender press of his lips. He cups Eddie’s cheek with his free hand, relishing the way Eddie relaxes against him, tilting his cheek into Steve’s palm with a sigh.

“Have a good day at class, love,” Steve says with a wink.

Eddie reaches out to straighten Steve’s windbreaker, zipping it back up and pressing both hands to his chest. He ducks his chin and looks up at Steve. His wide, innocent eyes immediately betrayed by the mischief in his sly grin. “Pick me up at six?”

*title from ‘the rain song’ by led zeppelin

1K notes · View notes

thejacketscloset · 5 months

Text

Soap gives out small touches like it's Christmas everyday, he's always bumping into to ghost somehow. He never pushes it too far, mindful of ghost's comfort level, but he gives his pats of affection often. From what he can tell, ghost enjoys it too.

Soap loves physical touch as affection, especially casual affection. Unfortunately, ghost doesn't return physical contact very often, though soap never holds that against him. It just means the moments that he does return affection, soap holds it that much closer to his heart.

One of the most common ways Ghost will return the casual touch is as a light hand on Soap's back, lightly pushing him in the direction they need to go. Soap wishes he could sear that feeling into his skin forever, sometimes he hesitates moving just to feel it for a bit longer. He thinks about the warmth and the pressure of that hand on his back, knowing he would trust ghost to lead him if he had lost all his senses but touch.

So yeah, Soap is content to take what he can get, and give out all that he can give. When it comes to Ghost, Soap would do anything.

#i was thinking a lot abt just. an encouraging hand on my back today #and i wrote like 3 things about it #the yearning so strong i WRITE POETRY AND PROJECT ONTO 2 CHARACTERS.#also i just think soap would specifically like the feeling of touches on his back #casual intamcy and trust n all that stuff #ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod #mw2 #ghoap

126 notes · View notes

anna-scribbles · 27 days

Note

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

#in some ways it IS the move to go to grad school right out of undergrad #because your body can still sort of operate like a college kid #i’m on about 3ish hours of sleep rn and this morning it felt SO over but now i’ve eaten something and we’re so back #i also don’t really do caffeine. except sometimes i’ll go get one of those panera death lemonades #i might be able to snag a short nap before work #but anyway about seventeen year old emilie. i was thinking abt how she was in that movie solitude and adrien said she was seventeen #WAIT. NO. HE SAID SHE WAS SEVENTEEN IN THAT PHOTO ON HIS DESKTOP NOT IN THE MOVIE #well. okay whatever i’m gonna tell you what i was thinking about anyway #OKAY i’m back i just checked the wikipedia page and then i watched the end of gorizilla. to make sure i’m not lying. because i’m normal.#anyway i was thinking about the solitude film and how it’s super rare and old and obscure and whatever. and how apparently #emilie wrote it herself and andre produced it #and i’m thinking about how gabe was discovered by audrey and that’s how he got his start in the fashion industry #so now i’m like?? did gabe and emilie first meet on the set of solitude? because gabe was designing costumes or whatever?#and that’s how audrey found him? have people already thought about this??#also i just checked and it doesn’t say emilie’s last name in the credits and also it’s ‘graham films’ with the twin rings logo m #so i’m assuming she’s still emilie graham de vanily at that point #anyway it comes back to seventeen year old emilie because i started imagining seventeen year old runaway emilie having her new life in pari #after escaping her british nobility life #and the first thing she does is write and star in an original movie. of course.#and she meets this repressed bisexual punk upstart costume designer who is so the opposite of everyone she’s ever known #and he’s immediately so unhealthily obsessed with her. which she appreciates.#and then they proceed to have the most toxic doomed evil relationship of all time #also she gets cheated because once gabe gets money he represses himself SO hard that he is now exactly like all the people emilie grew up w #but at least he’s still obsessed with her #this is what i was thinking about during class today. i don’t know how i get anything done either.#ml #anna rambles #asks

111 notes · View notes

total-drama-brainrot · 1 month

Text

Alenoah Week 2024: Day 3 - "TDWT Ending Rewrite"

The trek to the top of the volcano was, in layman's terms, agonizing.

Searing heat, somehow simultaneously swelteringly humid and suffocatingly dry, blistered at every inch of Noah's exposed skin and burned through his lungs like hot coals with every laboured breath. The sweat that would've been dripping from his exhausted body like a faulty faucet didn't even have the opportunity to form into pearl-shaped droplets before it evaporated against the overwhelming force of just how fucking hot it was.

And yet he'd made it.

He'd gotten there first, too.

Noah had somehow managed to out-slither the slippery fiend whilst the two were stumbling across the skipping stones of a lava lake, despite the weight of his pineapple dummy causing him to falter after almost every step.

The maw of the volcano bubbled and spat embers at his feet, just a few measly inches from the cynic himself. It was time to end it; the competition, the show, his… rivalry with Alejandro.

As if the mere thought of the Spaniard had somehow summoned him, Noah heard the tell-tale clicking of heeled boots against rock behind him quickly followed by harsh, laboured panting (not nearly as desperate as his own wheezing, but a far cry from the womanizer's usual composure). Alejandro's ponytailed hair rose from the plateaued peak of the volcano, followed by a pair of thick eyebrows furrowed against sweat-sheened skin, then a pair of furious sage green eyes- and sage was the most appropriate description Noah could think of, since they burned with a competitive fire comparable to the all-encompassing heat around them.

"It's over, Alejandro. I have the high ground."

Noah's voice was a hoarse, painful rasp, though whether it was from its unbearable dryness or the tenseness of the situation, he wasn't sure. He stood firmly at the edge of the volcano, searing light illuminating the edges of his form like a foreboding halo as he held Pinealejandro almost covetingly in a bridal carry, hovering the dummy over the scorching cavern of its imminent demise.

Alejandro- the human one, not the pineapple one- continued his unwavering ascent to the volcano's peak until he was but a few insignificant feet away from Noah. His shoulders visibly rose and fell with each huff of magma-scorched breath, and the barbaric snarl he bared towards the bookworm twisted his handsome features into something wild, alight with a passion that burned at white-hot as the lava below.

Then he roared.

"You underestimate my power!"

And lunged towards Noah, carelessly discarding his own pineapple dummy (comparatively twiggier and more feeble looking than Noah's own) as he cleared the space between them in the blink of a cinder-dusted eye.

"I will not lose to someone as infuriating as you!"

Before he could process what was even happening, Noah found himself scooped away from the edge of the volcano and lifted a few extra meters off of the ground, held victoriously above the latino in an overhead lift like he was some sort or glorified barbell. The shock of which inadvertently caused him to drop his own dummy, sending the construct tumbling into the bubbling, gaping chasm below until it plunged into the awaiting magma with a barely audible 'plop'.

For a brief tension-paused moment the two remained eerily still, almost frozen in place with disbelief (an impressive feat, considering it was far too fucking hot for anything to freeze atop the volcano).

Well.

That was that, then.

…It was sort of anticlimactic, really. Noah was almost disappointed.

"Um," The bookworm began, quickly schooling his surprise at being lifted and brandished like a javelin into his usual apathetic countenance, "Are you going to put me down, or…?"

Noah's enquiry was met a bark of high pitched laughter, a sound so entrenched in sardonic humour it was practically swimming in animosity.

"Ah, but Noah," Alejandro preened indulgently, as if he were speaking to a small child, and his snarl curled into a manic grimace. The archvillain's eyes were widened to their extreme, dying wisps of ember light flickering across his gaze which trailed from the waifish nerd held above his head to the boiling magma below.

"I still have a dummy to discard of."

In other words,

THROW THAT TWIG

INTO THE VOLCANO!!!

#enemies to lovers was yesterday today it's enemies AND lovers (and attempted murder)#what's more romantic than a competition fuelled hate-crush ultimately leading up to a final standoff atop a volcano?#listen i swear this is romantic. just in like a kismesis kind of way. (ew homestuck reference)#not gonna lie i kind of popped off with the writing on this one #considering i wrote it all in one sitting at 5am this morning #the art's cool too i guess #total drama #td noah #td alejandro #alenoah #alenoahweek2024 #high effort shitposting #this is nothing it's literally nothing

101 notes · View notes

ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

#welcome to projection central #hand wrote this during a lecture today bc i was bored and realised a lot of ppl write/hc eddie as autistic and w adhd #but usually those are the only kinda neurodivergencies i see in fan content #(pretend thats a word)#but then i thought eddie having tics would make sense for his character and i have Experience to write from so #(disclaimer i was not bullied in school nor was i removed from classes (unless i left on my accord bc i wanted to hide in the bathroom))#(some kids teased me or mimicked me or told me to 'do it again' but i dealt w them)#(and the one kid that was really a dick ended up being rly nice by the time we graduated he's cool)#(and i got lucky w my teachers i think they were all very sweet and considerate)#(but i thought this story would make sense and go along with eddies story in the canon)#anyway give eddie tics #anotther hc that his tics calm down/stop when he's playing guitar and playing d&d #mine arent as bad as they were in high school but back then (and on bad days now) they usually calm down #when im focused on something or doing something i enjoy (ie drawing or painting or st)#steddie #steddie oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #stranger things #stranger things one shot

813 notes · View notes