NICKelodeon

tis nick. i’m officially crawling back to this little hellhole of a site so you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me and i figured i should have a pinned post for new folks.

here is my ao3

here is my twitter

here is my carrd.

"He knew this feeling too well. It started young, a loneliness that he could never seem to quell, and it only grew worse with age.

The first time he loved someone was a revelation, and he knew, despite any desperate attempts to convince himself otherwise, that he had to hold onto it. No matter the cost.

It scared people away. When people found out just how fiercely he could love, it sent them running every time.

""Is that all it is? A savior complex?"

Another chance. Another line.

"A place like that didn't deserve a creature so delectable. A small, musty corner of academia's most neglected office was the farthest thing from paradise, and it would have made Steve that much more resentful of it, but not anymore. Not when it had so graciously dropped an angel into his lap.

""Then, why'd you come to visit me?"

There were so many things that Steve wanted to say.

He wanted to spill his guts about Creel, how he knew, without a doubt, that he was the key to Eddie's freedom, and how much he itched to get in an interrogation room with him.

He wanted to admit that he saw Wayne, how they spoke for hours, and how he invited Steve to spend the night in Eddie's bedroom — an offer he took, despite the wrongness of it all.

He wanted to tell Eddie that, right as he was about to black out, with Creel's fingers squeezing the air from his throat, all he could do was think of his face, and how that was the reason he found enough of the fight he had left in himself to use.

""They call you the Freak, right?"

have an extra sentence just because :)

"His angel was tall and lean with a storm-like chaos. His hair was a curly muck of harp strings, falling past the eyes of a spring-born doe, and his skin was lightly dusted with freckles. The myriad of tattoos and the clothes he wore gave him a sharper edge, but Steve still saw the softness underneath. A rose with its thorns. A welcome sign draped in caution tape.

""I heard you caught him." Eddie's voice was muffled against the fabric of Steve's shirt, his breath was wet and warm. "Heard he almost killed you."

"He tried. Got close."

"I'm glad you're safe."

Steve didn't need to look at his face to know that he meant it. He could hear it in his voice, felt it in the way he trembled now, and he made himself let go — ripped it off like a bandage — because he knew that he would hold on forever if he didn't.

""Christ," Eddie said. He hesitated as he got closer. "Can I—I mean, is it okay if—"

"You can hug me."

"He sat close to Steve, so much that their knees brushed against each other, and it sent a spark through his veins each time it happened. A part of him wanted more, while another part made him feel a little sick. He wasn't used to touch anymore. He grew to shy away from it at every turn — to fear it — but this wasn't so bad. Actually, he liked it, and that part of him drowned out the instincts that told him to run.

TW: implied/referenced self-harm, scars

"His eyes combed over Eddie's body, as if to take in every detail, and they lingered upon reaching his right wrist. The scar was practically on display with his flannel's sleeves rolled up — thick and jagged, the skin raised up and discolored even years later.

Eddie got ready to apologize, to accept that he ruined their date before it really got started, but Steve didn't react beyond a softened expression. He just jerked his head toward the bench a few feet from the restaurant.

"You wanna sit while we wait?" he asked.