#(pre-relationship)

[lisatries1]

a sterek thought:

derek running himself almost feral searching for a stiles that doesn't have control over his new shifter abilities yet, only to find him peacfully napping in some random patch of forest.

cue lots of growling and furious lecturing a la this:

[paceprompting]

cool rider

written for ‘first' | wc: 336 | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-relationship, eddie has a big ol' crush on steve, feat. corroded coffin

@steddiemicrofic

The sound of a motorcycle engine at a bar was not uncommon. So, excuse Eddie if he didn’t pay attention to every single one while enjoying a pre-set cigarette.

Until, of course, one of his lovely bandmates decided to knock shoulders with him. Repeatedly.

“Your boytoy’s here.”

“Shut up, Gareth. He’s not my anything,” Eddie bit out. Inhaled a deep toke, gaze firmly at his feet.

Maybe the natural sound of a bar weren’t the only reason Eddie refused to look. So what, if he’d invited Steve to one of their gigs—well, him and Robin—and just Steve said yes.

So what, if he didn’t want to give away his horrible, obvious crush by whipping around at any sign of that maroon Beemer.

Gareth scoffed, shoving Eddie again until he rolled his eyes and turned.

Only to find some dude on a bright red Honda CB750, pushing down the kickstand with his heel, bike rocking into place between the tense muscles of his jean-clad thighs.

A bike from Wayne’s era, not Steve’s.

Steve also didn’t wear leather. Much less a black leather jacket with two white stripes around the arms.

“That’s not…”

Eddie couldn’t breathe as the ride removed his helmet, running a hand through mussed hair, which apparently even sweat couldn’t force into common ugliness.

Steve Harrington rode a motorcycle.

Fuck.

“Eddie?”

Jeff nudged at him. But Eddie would not have moved for God himself and miss Steve unzipping his leather jacket, revealing skin flushed pink from his cheeks, down his throat into a white t-shirt.

“Well, that’s a first. Harrington broke him.”

Shut up, Gareth, Eddie wanted to snap. But his mouth, his eyes, his feet, wouldn’t move when Steve sighted them and strode over like his very existence wasn’t making Eddie implode.

“Hey, Eds.”

Eddie had nothing else in his head, not with Steve looking like that.

All he could say was, “Nice bike.”

Smooth, Munson.

Steve fixed him with this look, this smirk, like he knew something all along.

“Figured you’d like it.”

[heldbybarnes]

I would love to read about the reader just adoring Bucky and everything about him and Bucky noticing. Before they’re even together he notices all of the admiration and love she has for him and he basically watches her fall in love with him and sees how genuine and honest it is. I love smug Bucky but I want him to be absolutely taken back by being the centre of someone’s world and he realises he starts seeing himself the way reader sees him. He’s just constantly being praised by her and put first by her and looked at with all the love he deserves. Basically she loves him so much he can’t help but love himself again too ❤️ xx

He notices it immediately.

Most people look at him with caution. Curiosity. Sometimes fear. The Winter Soldier’s shadow still lingers in the way strangers track the metal of his arm before they meet his eyes. Even on the compound, even with the team, there’s a carefulness around him. A respect edged in something fragile.

You don’t have that.

You look at him like he hung the damn moon.

It happens in the kitchen, early morning light slanting across the counters. He’s leaning against the island with a mug of black coffee, hair still mussed from sleep, Henley stretched across his chest. You’re across from him, rambling about something Sam said the night before, but your eyes keep drifting. Not to the arm. Not to the scars.

To him.

To his mouth when it quirks. To the way his brows knit when he concentrates. To the soft, barely-there dimple in his left cheek when he smiles for real.

He catches you staring.

You don’t even look embarrassed.

You just smile at him like you’re proud to have been caught.

It unsettles him.

---

He starts paying attention after that.

You hover without hovering. Sit beside him in meetings. Pass him things before he asks. Remember how he takes his coffee. You laugh at his dry jokes before anyone else even processes them. You listen—really listen—when he talks, like every word he offers is a gift.

And God, the way you talk about him.

“He fixed the whole engine in under an hour.”

“Bucky’s the best shot on the team.”

“You should’ve seen him on that mission, he was incredible.”

It’s never exaggerated. Never showy. Just honest.

Genuine.

You say his name like it means something.

Like he means something.

At first, he thinks it’s a crush. A harmless little infatuation that’ll fade once you see the cracks in him. The nightmares. The temper. The way he goes quiet for days when memories get loud.

But you don’t fade.

If anything, you deepen.

He sees it happen in real time. Watches the shift from soft admiration to something steadier. Something rooted. The way your gaze lingers a second longer. The way your voice gentles when you ask if he slept okay. The way you light up—actually light up—when he walks into a room.

It scares him.

Because he’s not used to being someone’s center.

He’s used to being a weapon. A burden. A project. A ghost.

You look at him like he’s a miracle.

---

There’s a mission debrief where it finally hits him.

You’re sitting beside him, shoulder brushing his. Fury’s going over footage on the screen. Bucky’s jaw is tight—he’d missed a shot, barely, but enough to cost them time.

He feels the old shame creeping in. The cold voice in the back of his head whispering failure.

Then your hand finds his knee under the table.

Just a squeeze.

When he glances at you, you’re already looking at him. Not worried. Not disappointed.

Proud.

You mouth, “You did amazing.”

And you mean it.

He sees it. Clear as day. No pity. No delusion. Just truth.

Something in his chest shifts.

Because he doesn’t see what you see.

He never has.

But you look at him like he’s brave. Like he’s strong in ways that have nothing to do with violence. Like he’s good.

And for the first time, he wonders if maybe you’re right.

---

He catches himself watching you the way you watch him.

Noticing the small things.

The way you beam when he laughs. The way you subtly move closer to him in crowded rooms. The way you defend him without hesitation if someone makes a careless comment.

He overhears you once, talking to Wanda in the hallway.

“He deserves to be happy,” you say quietly. “More than anyone I know.”

His steps falter.

You’re not trying to impress anyone. You’re not performing.

You just… believe it.

Believe in him.

---

It’s on the roof one night when he finally understands the depth of it.

The city hums below, stars scattered above. You’re sitting beside him, knees tucked to your chest, talking about nothing and everything. He’s half-listening, more focused on the way your voice carries in the cool air.

You stop mid-sentence.

“What?” he asks.

You shrug, smiling softly. “I just like looking at you.”

He huffs a laugh. “Doll, I’m literally just sitting here.”

“I know.” You tilt your head. “You look peaceful.”

Peaceful.

No one has ever used that word for him.

“You make it sound like I’m something special,” he mutters.

You blink at him, confused. “You are.”

There’s no hesitation. No dramatic pause.

Just certainty.

“You’re kind,” you continue, like it’s obvious. “You’re patient. You always make sure everyone else is okay before yourself. You try so hard, Buck. Even when it’s hard. That’s… that’s everything.”

He swallows.

You’re looking at him like he’s your whole world.

And it hits him then—this isn’t a passing crush. This is you falling. Slowly. Intentionally. Openly.

For him.

He’s watched it happen.

Watched the admiration bloom into love.

And instead of smugness, instead of ego, he feels… stunned.

Because no one has ever loved him like this.

Not since before the war. Maybe not even then.

---

The change in him is subtle at first.

He stands a little straighter. Lets himself smile more. Starts correcting the cruel voice in his head with yours.

You’re kind.

You try so hard.

You deserve to be happy.

He catches his reflection one day and doesn’t immediately look away.

He hears you praising him to Sam and doesn’t brush it off. Doesn’t deflect. He just listens.

And maybe—just maybe—he starts believing it.

Seeing himself the way you see him.

Not as a weapon.

Not as broken.

But as a man worthy of love.

---

The night he finally kisses you, it’s almost inevitable.

You’re in the common room, curled up beside him on the couch. Your head rests on his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of his metal arm like it’s something precious instead of something monstrous.

He looks down at you.

And there it is again.

That look.

All warmth. All devotion. All soft, unwavering love.

“Why me?” he asks quietly.

You glance up. “What?”

“Out of everyone,” he murmurs. “Why me?”

You smile like it’s the easiest question in the world.

“Because you’re you.”

He leans in before he can second-guess himself, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that’s not desperate or frantic, but sure. Certain. Like he’s stepping into something he’s been watching grow for months.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek.

“You look at me like I’m worth something,” he says softly. “And I’m starting to think maybe I am.”

Your eyes shine.

“You are,” you whisper. “You always were.”

He rests his forehead against yours, heart full in a way that feels unfamiliar and beautiful and terrifying all at once.

You loved him so openly, so fiercely, that he couldn’t help but start loving himself again too.

And for the first time in a long, long time, James Buchanan Barnes feels like the man you see when you look at him.

[mugloversonly]

Like so Whatever

This is for @steddiesongfics prompt "songs sang and written by women" I picked Girlfriend by Avril Levine | wc: 1233 | cw: Tommy’s really mean but they break up | rating: G Summary: Eddie's eating dinner with his friends when he overhears a conversation. AO3

Eddie took a bite of his pasta with a grim smile. The rest of the guys don't seem to notice, but the couple next to them have been fighting since they got here. If it could even be called fighting. The guy with freckles has found fault with everything his companion has done. Every word made Eddie's protective instincts wrinkle until his knuckles were white around his fork.

“Seriously, Steve? I know you're not very bright, but there is no way you think filet Mignon and fries is an okay combination. That’s not even mentioning the white wine.” Freckles sneered.

“I like white wine.” The brunette, Steve apparently, shrugged. Eddie felt a pang of sympathy as he watched the guy curl into himself.

“Then order fish.” Freckles said.

“Can we not do this right now? We're celebrating our anniversary.” Steve whispered harshly.

“You're lucky we even have an anniversary.” Freckles snapped.

Eddie wanted to interfere, but when he moved, Jeff shook his head quickly in warning.

“Eddie it's not your business.” He whispered.

“Yeah but that guy's being so mean.” Eddie replied. Jeff laid an arm along the back of Eddie's chair and squeezed his shoulder.

“I know, but going over there might make it worse not better.” Jeff said imploringly. He was right of course, but it still made Eddie’s conscience twitch.

It was then that the couple’s waiter arrived. “I’ll have the rib-eye with a baked potato.” Freckles began. Steve made a sound like he wanted to speak, but freckles talked right over him. “He'll have the salmon with asparagus.” The waiter jotted down the order as quickly as possible and power walked away.

“Tommy, I'm allergic to salmon.” Steve said angrily. “And I hate asparagus.”

The silverware in Eddie's hand bent when he heard that. He looked at Jeff, a fire in his eyes, begging to be let off the leash.

“Go with God.” The man sighed and removed his hand, shaking his head all the while. Eddie nodded in thanks then jumped to his feet. As he approached the couple, he appraised this Tommy fellow and decided if it came down to it, he could take him in a fight. The two men quieted down as Eddie got closer before falling silent as he stopped right next to them.

“Can we help you?” Tommy sneered as he sized Eddie up. Pointedly ignoring him, Eddie slid into the booth next to Steve, throwing his arm over the back of the shared seat.

“Name’s Eddie and you are?” Eddie asked, he overheard it but he didn't want to freak the guy out.

“Steve.” The other man replied confusedly.

“Stevie, can I call you Stevie? Do you like the way this guy talks to you?” He asked.

“Um…what?” Steve replied, tilting his head adorably.

“Hey, mind your own business dick.” Tommy said; Eddie ignored him.

“Because I gotta say sweetheart, unless this is some weird form of foreplay, your boyfriend here is a grade A douche bag. If you were my boyfriend I would never talk to you like that.” Eddie continued, throwing in a flirty smirk for good measure.

“He doesn't mind the way I talk to him. He's too stupid to understand when someone's condescending to him.” Freckles snorted as he looked at Steve. “Isn't that right, baby. There's nothing upstairs.” The tone Tommy used was obviously supposed to make it seem like a joke, but Steve's face fell at the cutting words. “Besides, I'm the only one who can put up with his neediness.” Tommy went on. Steve turned away from them and Eddie saw red.

“He’s not wrong.” Steve mumbled. “I'm an idiot, barely graduated high school, and I only have a job because I work for my dad. I'm clingy and every time I tried to date someone else they didn't stay. Tommy's the only one that stayed.” He said it so quietly but with so much conviction, like he really believed it.

“That settles it.” Eddie stood from the booth, the two men stared at him with different expressions; Steve resigned while Tommy was triumphant. “You need a new boyfriend, this one is useless. Come on.” He stood to the side, waiting. Steve's eyes darted between the two men, hesitantly. “You won't regret it, sweetheart I promise.”

“How do you know?” Steve whispered. With a soft smile, Eddie took Steve's hand, pulling him from the booth.

“I’ll remember you're allergic to salmon and you hate asparagus. I never understood the point of pairing your drink to your food if you don't want to, steak and potatoes is steak and potatoes regardless of the shape of either. And while you're beautiful even when you cry, you're way to gorgeous to be crying over this dickhead.” Eddie said. “I can tell that you deserve so much more, let me give it to you.”

“Okay.” Slowly, a radiant smile spread across Steve's face as he interlocked their fingers. Bringing them up to his lips, Eddie kissed the back of Steve's hand reverently.

“Yeah?” Eddie replied shyly.

“Yeah.” Steve whispered. The two walked hand in hand to the table with Eddie's friends; a nearby waiter brought them an extra chair.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted across the restaurant. “You cannot just walk away! You’ll be nothing without me!” With a shaky breath, Steve sat at Eddie's table, turning his back on his now-ex. Eddie introduced them to his friends and asked the waiter to bring Steve his filet Mignon and fries.

“Let's start dating tomorrow, Stevie. I already don't like that I had to share you with that ass hat, I don't want to share an anniversary with him.” Eddie said as they watched Tommy get escorted out of the restaurant.

“Deal. It wouldn't be the same day anyway, our anniversary was two weeks ago.” Steve replied with a sigh. “He forgot until this morning.”

“Wow dodged a bullet didn't you.” Jeff chimed in.

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

A year and a day later, they returned to the restaurant where they met. Steve ordered white wine with filet Mignon and fries, Eddie ordered pasta with a beer. They traded bites, laughs, and kisses.

When it was time for dessert, they decided to share a piece of cheesecake. As the dish arrived, the chef wrote something in chocolate sauce on the plate. Eddie's eyes widened when he saw the words and he gasped in shock.

“Steve…what the hell?” He whispered. Steve slid from his chair onto one knee and pulled out a velvet box.

“A year and a day ago, I was stuck in a relationship with a guy who made me feel like shit every day and I thought it was the best I would ever get.” Steve began, choking up a little as he spoke. “Then, in one conversation you changed me life so much for the better. You make me feel like I'm worth everything and I'm actually starting to believe it. You're everything to me and I never want to let you go. Will you marry me?” Steve asked. The sounds of the restaurant faded as Steve spoke. With watery eyes and a bright smile, Eddie nodded holding his hand out so Steve could slip the ring on his finger.

“Of course I will, Stevie.” Eddie said, pulling his fiance into a sweet kiss. “Interrupting your date was the best thing I've ever done.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Steve sighed against his lips.

permanent tag list(open):

@katyawriteswhump

[alby-rei]

Tweel Chefs on Duty (Tweels x Reader)

Characters You, Floyd, Jade Word Count ~1.4K

Warnings fluff & humor, first meet, pre-relationship, food talk, post-Book 4, reader is not yuu, reader works at NRC Synopsis After surviving your first semester at Night Raven College, confined to the library, the potionology lab, and your office, you decide to branch out and try out this Mostro Lounge everyone's been raving about.

You’ve heard so many nice things about Octavinelle’s aesthetics, and upon arriving through the portal-mirror, you can see why.

The cool blues and pastel purples of the wallpaper and decor, paired with coral and kelp ornaments and plush furniture gave the impression of a free-flowing sea. It was a miracle for such a large dorm to be built underwater.

As you traversed the tunnel towards the restaurant, schools of fish swam across in colorful droves beyond the aquarium walls. You could watch them go about their day all night, waiting to catch some special interaction, maybe even a scuffle.

Do fish play-fight like mammals do? You’ll have to ask one of the merfolk students when you get the chance. Apparently, Octavinelle is full of them. You’ll want to take notes on the limits of transformation magic for your research.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, you made it to your destination, and just in time, as your stomach growled impatiently.

The Mostro Lounge.

Dimly-lit with the pulsing glow of jellyfish lanterns, smooth jazz and quiet murmurs, the restaurant was laid out with generous room between booths, giving you the freedom to roam between seating options—square tables huddled in the center, rectangular couch-booths lined the walls, and larger circular booths occupied the the corners.

While all of your options were available—business was light at this hour, when most students would be in class—you opted for a circular booth, in the corner furthest from the bar, angled uniquely to let you peek into the kitchen window.

You spotted one of the student chefs at work. He seemed to enjoy himself, swaying with the music, tossing fried rice on a high-flame wok. Something about him mesmerized you, or maybe he was just the most interesting thing in your line of vision. Suddenly, you’re craving shrimp-fried rice.

“What shall I get for our special guest?” said your waiter, a splitting image of the chef you’ve been watching.

“Hm…? Oh!” Your head darted between him and the kitchen window. The chef disappeared. “How did you get here so fast?”

Your waiter raised a polite hand to his chest, chuckling. “I aim to perform my duties to the highest standards.”

Apparently, they take their work very seriously here. Must be paying well.

You asked for the menu and scanned through it quickly, feeling the pressure of your waiter’s curious, heterochromatic gaze—one eye glowed yellow while the other dimmed olive green.

As you weighed your options, he added, “We have a special offer on freshly-picked mushrooms if you’re feeling adventurous.”

“Maybe some other time. I’ll have shrimp fried rice.”

“Unfortunately, our shrimp staff is not available. Would eel-fried rice suffice?”

“Only if I get to sample the eel-chef.”

“…” He blinked.

“…” You blinked.

Then you both burst out laughing.

Your waiter wiped a tear and said, “I’ll put in a request to the chef, then.”

“What, do you become a different person back there?”

“…You are an amusing one. I hope you enjoy your time enough to return. Ah, where are my manners? Jade Leech, at your service.” He took a bow of respect, the kind you’d seen in historical dramas. An old-fashioned chap, how quaint.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself as new staff at NRC. “I’ll let the food decide if I come back.”

“Our chef does love a challenge.”

“Does he also love talking about himself in third person?”

“Heh heh. On occasion.”

It was only after you finished your plate and sent your compliments to the chef through Jade, that a bullet train of a man shot towards your table, a mirror image of your waiter.

“Ya liked it? Ya really liked it? Thanks, it’s a new recipe I came up with. Who knew sweet and sour worked so well together.”

Whatever he put in that recipe must’ve been psychedelic because suddenly you were seeing doubles.

Wait…

Wait.

“THERE’S TWO OF YOU?!”

.

.

.

One thing led to another, and the Mostro Lounge quickly became your favorite spot on campus. Just as you became the Tweels’ favorite customer. So much so that your absence would cause quite a stir.

On a weekend night when you felt a little more relaxed than usual—deadlines met and passed, yay!—you return to your corner booth that overlooked the kitchen window, with one goal in mind. Sure, you’re hungry and the Mostro Lounge offered the best bang for your buck, but you had another, stronger reason to call this place your new home away from home.

You wave at Floyd as soon as he glances out the window, and he brightens up like fairy lights.

In a flash, he’s by your side, draping an arm over your shoulders like that’s where it belongs.

“Heeeey, Shrimpy~ What can I getcha?”

“Just a cup’a tea, please.”

He leaned into you with a hum. “Got a sweet tooth today?”

“What do you suggest?”

He rattled off a bunch of options, way too many to decide from.

“Surprise me,” you said.

His smile stretched ear to ear, his eyes shone with great delight. “Bet.”

He tucks the server tray under his arm and makes a beeline to the kitchen.

While you busied yourself with your new phone—with no idea how to boot up your old one—another figure approached. A Leech-shaped figure.

“Lilypad, so nice to see you. No work today?” said Jade, noting the missing laptop you so often brought with you.

He’s grown fond of that nickname. Ever since he caught you and Floyd in Octavinelle’s indoor pool after closing hours. By the time he arrived, you were floating on the surface as he’d seen lilypads do in the pond on his nature walks.

“Not tonight,” you replied. “I’m a free birdie. I felt bad about coming here only when I’m busy or stressed.”

“You needn’t feel that way. We’re happy to assist you in whatever way we can. Good company heals the soul, or so I hear.”

“That it does. And thanks.” You recline in your seat.

“What can I get for you tonight?” He asked, pulling up his pen and notebook.

“Oh, Floyd already took my order. I’m not that hungry.”

“That’s a shame… I just brought in a new batch of edible mushrooms. Can I interest you in my latest creation?”

You tapped your chin. “Ah, well. I can’t say no to your wonderful cooking. Sure, I’ll have some. But please, get me the smallest portion.”

Jade had a habit of making meals that can feed a small village. You felt bad taking so much home, and on a discount. They didn’t call it the dorm of benevolence for nothing, you supposed.

He bowed cordially with a mirthful glint in his eyes. “As you wish.”

In no time, he returned with a small soup bowl. “I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, I—“

Apparently, he took your request so seriously that the bowl contained exactly one spoonful of mushroom risotto.

Clearly amused by your stunned expression, Jade picks up the spoonful to your mouth. “Allow me.”

You made to grab the spoon but he wouldn’t budge, surprisingly firm and a nimble dodger. Left with no option, you obliged.

“Mm! That’s really good,” you said between bites. “Maybe a little more wouldn’t hurt.”

“More, you say?” His eyes lit up. “Another smallest portion, Lilypad?”

“Alright, alright. A regular portion will do.”

So you ate more mushroom risotto. Jade really knew how to make every dish feel special, no two dishes ever tasted the same.

Sometime while you ate, Floyd arrived with large tray of desserts and tea, wide enough that his elbows stuck out to the sides.

"When I said surprise me, I didn't mean give me a heart attack!" That was way too much sugar for one sitting.

He explained that he kept changing his mind halfway through each recipe. "It would’ve been a waste to throw them out, so I made 'em all! Gobble up."

“I don’t know if I even have space for that after the risotto,” you said, glancing pointedly at Jade, who simply chuckled.

“Of course you do, you haven’t eaten all day!” Floyd said.

While he wasn't wrong, you didn't think sugar was the answer either. More often than not, you’d arrive at the Mostro Lounge with a big appetite, only to feel full after two or three bites. Naturally, your trusty tweel chefs hounded you with questions, feigning offense that you didn’t enjoy the food. As they persisted though, you realized they were more concerned for your health, like they've had this exact conversation before. You reassured them you’re fine.

Still, they took advantage of your curious appetite to serve all sorts of experimental dishes. You couldn’t exactly decline if you’re starving.

As it became habit, the twins kept you company while you ate, and you chatted long past their shift allowed.

Unofficially, their shift ended when you arrived, but Azul didn’t need to know that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back to Masterlist

[crispy-art-on-fire]

Blitzwing gains a crush, start of season 1 vs the end of season 1.

[eternal-sunflowers]

Far Too Long (Totally Hopeless)

AO3 | @steddiemicrofic april prompt: long | @steddiebingo round 2 prompts: popcorn, trapped | rating: g | wc: 692 | cw: none | tags: pre-relationship; flirting; hand-holding; eddie protecting steve from the scary movie; robin being fed up; fluff | masterlist

The moment itself isn’t anything grandiose. There’s no fireworks or explosions or white edges speckling his vision. The noise around them continues, loud and rumbly through the old speakers adorning the rafters. Couples and friends and families whisper and cling to each other. 

The world doesn’t stop turning.

But, the world does finally…make sense.

Like the last piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place. Firm and secure, smoothing out the patchwork image of his life. 

Because one second, Steve’s flinching, pressing back away from the screen, eyes glued shut, and the next, he’s here, staring down at where his hand was, moments ago, clenched tightly around the cracked armrest, but is now covered by another. 

One rough and warm.

One he’s spent far too many nights thinking about, how it’d feel to hold, how it’d feel to be held by it.

And now that he’s living it–

Leather creaks softly beside him until their shoulders are touching, until Eddie somehow, for some reason Steve will continue to question long after they part ways tonight, raises his free hand to tilt up Steve’s chin.

“Hey, you okay?”

Soft, brown eyes trap Steve in place, make him powerless to look away, let alone respond, as his body feels more likely by the second to slide down onto the floor and melt into the icky slush residue of spilled Icees and crushed Skittles. He somehow finds the strength to shake his head a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t worry.” The timbre of Eddie’s voice burrows deep in Steve’s chest, nearly distracting him from how his hand is slowly encased in calloused warmth. “I’ll protect you, sweetheart.” 

An all-consuming calm washes over Steve. “Oh.” 

Steve blinks, half-convinced that with each closing of his eyes, he’ll open them back to see the scene completely different, something like he’s trapped in a dream. Thinking he’ll blink open to see the spaghetti-spackled ceiling above his bed, feel the weight of the world crushing his lungs again. 

Yet, inexplicably, he remains here, in the dark, dingy theater, the sound of someone on screen screaming as a chainsaw rips them apart, the warmth of Eddie’s strong hands tethering him safely to this sole moment in time.

Steve leans deeper into Eddie’s touch, whether by purpose or instinct, he’s not fully sure. 

“You know,” Eddie smiles, brushes a rough thumb against the blush coloring Steve’s cheeks. “If you wanted me to hold your hand, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.” 

A breathless laugh slips through Steve’s lips.  “You’re not really the type to give people what they want.”

“Hm.” Eddie licks his lips, what the fuck– Then, he leans in, presses his forehead against Steve’s. “Wanna know a secret?”

The music in the film swells, characters screaming, chainsaw rippling. All of it muffled by the intoxication of having Eddie this close – of feeling Eddie’s breath hot on his lips, of feeling their fingers twisted together, of feeling Eddie, Eddie, Eddie in every fiber of his being.

Eddie’s voice slips quietly in the space between them, though he might as well have yelled into a microphone for how Steve’s head fills with static. 

“I’d give you anything you asked for, sweetheart.” 

“Wh–” Steve swallows, throat tight. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Sparks thread through Steve’s veins, aching desire bubbling deep in his chest. Eddie’s earnest gaze pierces straight to his heart, makes him feel brave enough to maybe actually ask for what he’s wanted for far too long. 

“Well, in that case–”

“Oh my–” Robin leans full-bodied across Steve and Eddie, steals their forgotten popcorn bucket. “I’m never coming to the movies with you two ever again.” 

Steve groans.

Eddie chuckles.

Robin pelts them both with popcorn.

“Sorry, Robs.” Eddie whispers, humor tinting his voice.

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hugs Steve tight to his chest, warm fingers stroking his hair. “So, how long ‘til you think they figure out the killer is the old camp counselor?"

Robin snorts. “They won’t. They’re totally hopeless.”

Steve buries his smile against Eddie’s throat, lets the warmth of Eddie’s laugh seep deep into his bones, the lilt of Robin’s voice slip tight around his heart.

Because, yeah. 

He’s totally hopeless, too. 

taglist (open): @sunshine-daydreams0809@saramelaniemoon@probablyin-bed @bookworm0690 @watermelonmite @sanctumdemunson @5-fievel @nicememerino

divider credit:@saradika-graphics

thank you for reading :)

a/n: i love making these dorks so awkward and sweet in their flirting -- and completely oblivious to how the other feels, much to robin's (and everyone else's) dismay.

don't worry, they'll figure it out by the time the movie ends. robin has to bodily drag them out of the theater and threaten them to keep their hands to themselves until they drop her off.

[elletromil]

and the Sun did not compare - Part 1 of ?

so my post yesterday seems to have resonate with A LOT of you, but let's be honest, i was always gonna end up writing something about it no matter what

and the Sun did not compare - Part 1

When Simon wakes up in complete darkness and comes to the cold realisation that he is lying on the hard floor of the SM-13, still irremediably trapped even in death, he reacts the only possible way that he could.

He screams.

He screams and screams and screams. Wordlessly, mindlessly, hopelessly.

Until his throat is raw, until his eyes fill with tears, until he makes himself sick with his desperation.

He screams until he can't breathe anymore and unconsciousness claims him again.

*

Simon next wakes up to loud banging on the hull of the SM-13.

Even if he could, he wouldn't start screaming again because what would be the point really?

That giant eel is going to kill him no matter what. There's nothing he can do about it anymore. There never was anything he could have done.

The last dreg of his pride is the only reason he drags himself listlessly on the floor until he can sit up propped against the wall. He might have given up on changing his fate, but he'll be damned if he awaits death cowering on the floor. Or well, more damned than he already is anyway, if such thing is possible.

*

The banging eventually stopped, replaced by a different sound Simon cannot identify.

He wishes the fucking eel would stop toying with him and hurry up already. But that's just adding to the list of things he wishes could have happened differently.

He hasn't lost consciousness, but he must fall into some kind of meditative trance as he waits for the end because the next thing he knows, his blood pressure is spiking up at the sound of a voice.

"Yes, Rocky you don't need to remind me, I'll be careful. I know, I know, but you told me whoever is inside should be human. Trust me, it's probably best if they see me first instead of you. Now, I did not say that, don't put words into my mouth-"

Simon is distracted from the rest that's being said because part of the hull in front of him suddenly seems to crumble and he's blinking against the harshness of artificial light flooding in.

He must make a pained sound or something, because suddenly there is a stranger next to him shushing him gently.

"Hey, it's alright, you're ok. Well, no that's probably a lie, but we've got you, we'll take care of you, don't worry."

The stranger smiles at him and for a moment, Simon is blinded by the kindness that seems to radiate from it.

Then, Simon passes out.