#(yeah let's throw the ao3 tag there why the fuck no?)

[kaanbaltlak]

¿Eres hispanohablante que lee fanfiction? ¿Y tienes opiniones sobre el vocabulario usado en el smut? ¡Aquí una encuesta sobre eso!

Convoco hoy al (sobreviviente) lado hispano de Tumblr, porque es la única red social con T que uso, para que ayuden a saber sus preferencias (como lectores tanto como escritores) respecto al vocabulario utilizado en el fanfiction smut. En especial, estoy muy intrigado de saber las preferencias porque en los últimos años he notado una alza de gente hispanohablente que toma algunos términos de genitales (o acciones) como "cringe", así que, ¿cuáles son estos términos "cringe"? ¿Y cuáles son "no-cringe"? ¿Por cuáles es que hay una gran preferencia en el mundo de la ficción y la cultura hispana? Esta encuesta podría ayudar a responder estas interrogantes.

Está inspirada por la encuesta del 2022 que realizó @kjscottwrites, aunque con algunas preguntas añadidas.

No se alarmen porque sea en Google Forms, no se recopilan los correos y tampoco se pide otra información personal (como nacionalidad, edad o género), solo las preferencias en vocabulario lascivo.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

At This Hour

Jonathan Levy x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 24: On the counter

Summary: You look after Ava while Jonathan goes out on a date.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and being so lovely! <3

Warnings: neighbour!reader, mentions of the reader liking horror films/Terrifier, reader also has a cat, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2554

Jonathan knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But he just can’t help himself. 

The date had been a bad one, pointless in fact. He should have ducked out after the first ten minutes, no five. 

But he’d stayed and now it was nearly twelve fucking am by the time he got home. He should really go to bed. Get some sleep. 

Instead, he was talking to you, and drinking coffee. Oh, three am him was going to be pissed.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” Jonathan pushes his glasses higher. “Please, you got to let me give you some money.”

You shake your head, raising your hand, “Oh, no, no, no, you letting me pinch your netflix and amazon password for the last four months is more than enough.”

He chuckles, fiddling with his mug, “Yeah, but that’s just being neighbourly.” 

You scoff. “It is not, Jonathan.” 

Your friendship had started about seven months ago, when Jonathan had taken in a grand total of eight parcels from fedex on your, and your roommates, behalf in one day.

After collecting them, you’d apologised profusely, and baked him a banana cake. Panicking when you gave it to him that a, you didn’t actually know if he was allergic to anything, and b, that he actually liked bananas. 

Luckily he did.

Your friendship had grown when his car wouldn’t start one morning, and you’d given him a lift to work on your moped and picked him up after. Plus you’d got your friend’s cousin’s, uncle’s ex-colleague to have a look at his car and sort out the problem. 

He’d bought you lunch and looked after your cat if you had to go out of town. You watched his daughter if he had to work late on the days he had her. 

Originally, this hadn’t been his weekend to have Ava, hence why he had a date. A very, very bad date. 

“Come on,” he smiled at you, that horrible brilliantly blinding smile that leaves you weak at the knees, “usually you’re just with her for what, forty five minutes? An hour, this was nearly four.” 

You giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t just politely leave.”

“I am a man of faults.” 

You laugh harder, “Look, I like Ava, we watched a series of R rated horror films and I made sure she ate her weight in sugar without brushing her teeth.” 

He grins. “I’m sure I would have had a better time with you guys here.”

You shrug, “Well, you can join us next time. We’re going to watch Terrifier.” You tease.

“Ugh,” he shudders, “Don’t tell me you like those kinds of films?” 

You can’t stop from smiling at his dramatic reaction. “What? You don’t?” 

He pulls a face and you giggle.

“They’re fun!”

“They are not.” He takes a sip of his cooling coffee, trying to nurse it as long as he could.

“They are.”

“All blood and guts.” He screws up his face, putting it on a bit for you.

“But the prosthetics! Plus it’s not real.” You say playfully. 

“Freaky.” He shakes his head. “Too much for my old heart.” 

You snort. “Jonathan.”

“What?” He smiles.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” 

“You just want me to tell you how young you are.” You rest your chin on your hand as you look at him.

He pauses and then nods rapidly, “I do actually, and you have to, it’s the social contract.” 

You giggle, “Well, I’m not.” 

“That's unfair.” He says in mock outrage, making you laugh harder. 

“Fine,” you hold up your hands, “You’re very handsome.” 

He pauses, looking at you for a moment. “I said you had to tell me I was young, not beautiful.” He teases, expecting you to throw a comment back at him immediately. 

But instead, you pause. For a moment, it’s almost funny how you freeze. 

“I…” You swallow, your mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“It’s okay,” he quickly covers, “I’m just teasing, it’s fine.” 

You smile weakly, your skin burning. You get up quickly, nearly knocking your mug over in the process. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sorry, I, erm,” you pick up your mug, and then his, “Let me, erm, I’ll put them in the dishwasher.” 

You turn before he even has a chance to say anything, rushing over to the other side of the kitchen, putting the mugs on the counter.

Jonathan stands quickly, calling your name, “Hey, it’s fine, really. Don’t worry,” anxiety cuts into his chest, leaving his ribs bare. He walks behind you, accidentally bumping into you as you turn. 

“Sorry,” he grabs your arm to steady you and himself, his heart thudding so hard in his temples he’s sure he’s going to burst a blood vessel. 

You glance at his eyes nervously, breathing hard. “I…”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He says softly. He should put his hand down, stop touching your arm. “I was just teasing.” 

You nod, “I know, I… I’m sorry.” Your insides squirm a little, trying to find a way out to escape this awkwardness. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, leaning a fraction closer. “It’s always nice when someone beautiful calls you handsome.”

Your brain glitches, static for a moment, rebooting.  

“Beautiful?” You repeat.

“Beautiful.” His mouth says before he has any say in the matter. “And kind, and funny, and wond-”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him deeply. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back against the counter.

It takes him a moment to catch up with his body, to figure out this is actually real, not some well used fantasy he plays out behind his eyes in the shower. 

You pull lightly at his hair, moaning softly when he licks into your mouth and pushes his legs between yours. He rocks against you, his cock quickly hardening in his trousers as he presses against the seam of your jeans. 

Part of him wants to pull back, to not push things, to not rush. But the much louder voice in his head laments at how long he’s been holding back, how long he’s been thinking of you while touching himself with a lubed hand. 

You gasp as he kisses along your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks at your pulse point greedily. God, if he could just get you to make that noise one more time.

“Jonathan,” you moan softly, pressing yourself closer to him and pulling on his shoulders, needing to rid the fraction of space between you.

He growls, nipping at your neck and nearly coming on the spot when he hears how needily you call his name. “Can I take these off?” His words are nearly lost with how he sucks on your skin, barely able to move his mouth back more than a centimetre. He pulls at your top, your trousers and you nod hastily. 

His groan at your confirmation makes you shiver. He practically tears your clothing from you, pushing and pulling the material away as if it personally offended him, before he hikes your right leg up around his waist and urges you up onto the counter. 

He sucks your breasts into his mouth greedily, quickly going from one to another, like a child in a toy store unable to choose his favourite. While he presses his thumb to your clit and strokes his fore and middle fingers through your folds. 

He groans deeply at the wetness he finds, rocking against you as he pushes inside. 

You gasp, biting down on your lip to keep yourself vaguely quiet as you cling onto his shoulders with one hand and the counter with the other. 

He strokes gently, pressing rhythmically against your walls as he toys with your clit and you sob, practically clinging onto him for dear life.

Pleasure builds dizzyingly fast in your belly, threatening to pull you down with every stroke. You moan in his ear, lightheaded, just about gathering yourself together to whimper his name. You weren’t prepared for this utter onslaught, for him to be so determined to pull you apart piece by piece. 

Spikes of sensation buzz along your skin, twisting and building. 

“You’re going to make me come,” you sob, shocked at how quickly your body is ready to fall apart. 

“Fuck yes,” he growls, sinking his teeth into your collar bone before he licks up your neck back to your lips. It’s hot and wet and messy, his tongue in your mouth to quiet your sobs  as you pulse and gasp, coming violently around his fingers. 

You shake in his grip, breaking the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder. He works you through it, stroking and pumping until you feel like liquid in his hands. 

“God,” he groans, kissing your forehead and breathing hard. He takes his fingers out of you slowly and shoves them in his mouth, moaning wantonly at the taste. 

When you manage to pull back a fraction to look at him, you can see his glasses have steamed up. You giggle and he grins around his fingers, taking them out with a pop to kiss you. 

You run your hands through his hair, shivering as he presses close once more. 

“Do you?” He starts at the same moment you speak - “Can I?”

He chuckles, nodding for you to go first. 

“Take these off.” You mutter, pulling at his jumper. He moves back a fraction, letting you pull it over his head and snorting when his glasses get caught in the neckline. He whips them off, placing them on the side, his curls wild. 

Jonathan bites his lip as you unbuckle his jeans, helping you by undoing his fly.

“Can I fuck you?” He groans, kissing your cheek and jaw, each glide of his tongue makes your body sing. 

“Please.” 

He growls, barely pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs before he’s taking his heavy cock in hand and pumping himself a few times. 

You take a cheeky look down and bite your lip. 

He grins, “Like what you see?” 

The line would make you giggle in any other situation, but now your mouth is watering. You nod rapidly. 

“Oh,” he chuckles, spitting in his hand, “So that’s what makes you lost for words, I get it.” He smears his saliva over the head of his cock before he presses closer, guiding the tip to your folds. 

“You’re really-” You whine, gasping as he notches at your entrance and just glides inside. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body bucking unthinkingly as he pushes deeper. 

He groans deeply, sighing like this is his first drink of water after a long hot day. He slides his hands to your inner thighs, spreading you wider as he eases in.

“Jonathan,” you gasp.

“I know, I know, fuck, you’re so tight.” He lightly rocks his hip, sheathing himself in the last few inches. 

You whine, licking into his mouth when he kisses you hungrily. He thrusts experimentally, easing out a fraction before he pushes back in. 

“How do you like it?” He mutters against your lips, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. 

“I don’t mind,” you manage to say, your voice barely there. 

He snorts, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist again as he takes hold of your hips in a firm grip. “Tell me if you want something.” He groans, pulling out and then plunging back in. “Want to make you come again.” 

You nearly shriek, throwing your head back and managing, somehow, to keep your voice muffled as he sets a brutal pace. 

He bucks into you rapidly, shaking the cutlery on the drainer by the sink with every deep thrust. The toaster jumps with every buck of his hips into yours. The sound of your slick echoing as you coat his cock.

“You look so fucking hot when you come,” he groans. “So fucking wet.” He pounds into you, sweat beading in his hairline, the way you grab at him and whine setting his blood ablaze. 

His pubic bone smacks against your clit with every thrust, his cock rolling against your walls and pushing impossibly deeper. 

Something in you wants to break, needs to snap and flood out as he keeps rhythm, your body moving in time with his desperately. 

You bite at his neck, sucking a love bite into his skin and shivering when he tenses and growls. He pulls you back a fraction with one hand on your jaw, his eyes so dark, and licks into your mouth like you hold the secrets of the universe. 

You whimper, so needy for anything he’ll give - and he’ll give you everything. 

Pleasure pulses in your core, makes your pussy flutter and you’re so close you can taste the sweetness on your tongue. 

“Jonathan!”

“You gonna come on my cock? Gonna make a nice creamy mess?” He groans, his balls tightening. “Want to feel you, please.” 

You gasp, sobbing silently as your orgasm is ripped from you. Pleasure explodes along your nerves, wiping out any other thought as he drowns you and revives you in the same instant. 

“Shit.” Jonathan’s hips stutter, his mouth open as your walls squeeze and suck him deeper, milking him for every single drop. He comes with a deep groan, emptying rope after rope of hot, thick cum inside. 

He clings onto you as he finishes, hazy for a moment with the strength of his orgasm. 

You breathe hard, he can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

Lightly he sucks on your neck, licking the salt from your skin. He kisses your temple. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week.” You tease, exhausted, and he chuckles.

“I’ll wait on you hand and foot while you recover.” He smiles when you look up at him, stroking your cheek as he kisses you softly, reverently. 

“Honestly, was that alright?” He mutters, a pang of worry settling under his ribs.

You snort, and kiss him deeply, stroking your fingers through his beard. “Fucking amazing.” 

He grins. “Do you want to do it again sometime? Maybe in a bed after I’ve bought you dinner? I’ll even watch that Terrifier film with you.” 

You giggle and nod. “I’d like that.” 

He tries to help you down, but you end up helping him. His jeans have twisted around his calves and he nearly falls to a heap on the floor. 

“My hero,” he mutters as you pull them off and kiss his thigh. “We’re lucky Ava didn’t wake up when we were… can you imagine me falling over is the thing that actually wakes her? She’ll need therapy for years after seeing her dad naked on the kitchen floor with his jeans around his ankles.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to stop your fit of laughter and he grins as he helps you back to your feet.

“I love hearing you laugh.” He lightly touches your cheek. “Do you want to take a shower?” He gives you a cheeky smile. “With me? You can stay over… if you want, I mean. No pressure.” 

You smile and nod. “I’d like a shower. With you. And sleep over.” 

He grins, wrapping his arms around you. 

Thank you for reading!

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[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 11

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, arguments. Angst. Toxic behavior. Johnny is struggling. Everyone is going through it. Johnny struggles.

"No contact?!" Johnny chokes, and you hesitate on the other end of the line, sharp breath rattling through the speaker phone. 

“My… my therapist thinks it would be good, to try it. For thirty days. Just to see how I feel.” Johnny’s fingers stretch across the front pocket of his pants. 

Thirty days? 

You’ve already been gone five, and it feels like five years.

He balks. No. No, this. This can't be. You have to be home, with them. Where you belong. Where they can fix it. 

“Ye… no, I thought… I thought this was just a break?” He doesn’t recognize his voice. It’s ragged and torn to shreds, and now fear makes it tremble. 

What does this mean? 

“It is, it is. I just… I have to try this.” You sound as sad, as fucked up as he does, and he wants to scream, throw the phone against the wall, say screw it all to hell and go over to your rental, bang on the door until you let them inside. 

“Of course, darling.” Simon soothes, and Johnny stares at him like he's lost his grasp on reality. Of course? Of course?! “We understand, we… we can do that. We’ll do whatever you want.” 

“No.” Johnny cuts in, he can’t stop himself, can’t control his mouth. He can’t agree to this, to not talking to you, or seeing you for thirty days. He can’t do it. “I-“

“ Johnny.” 

“Johnny-“ You both say his name at the same time. Yours is a plea. Simon’s is cautionary, finger seeking the mute button, cutting you out of the conversation for a split second, long enough for him to utter a warning. 

“Do not push her on this. We need to let her decide right now. She’s in control.” 

“Hello?”

“We’re here.” Simon assures you, unmuting the phone. “We understand. No contact, thirty days. Will you reach out, afterwards?” 

“I… I will, I promise.” 

“And you’ll take care of yourself?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, a gulp. Simon’s façade cracks, enough that Johnny can see the fear that lurks there, the worry. 

“Ye-yeah. I am. I will.” 

“Will you come to bed?”

Johnny’s thumbs press together, overlapping where his fingers stay knitted tight, grasping onto one another like he’s holding onto himself for dear life.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and then releases it slowly through his nose. It’s a self-soothing technique, one he’s seen you do a million times. But once he’s done, his response is no less acidic. “I cannae sleep.”

Silence is his answer, until-

“Johnny.” Simon’s forearm wraps across his shoulders, pulling him backwards from the stool and into the cushiony warmth of his chest, heat burning into his back. Simon’s always been a furnace, a giant, weighted, heated blanket, his touch one of safety, security. Care.

But right now, all it feels like is anguish.  

“Si.” He croaks, tears welling up behind his eyes. “I cannae do this any longer. I cannae… I need her back.”

“We need to be patient, and respect-“

“Respect?” Johnny blurts, incredulous. “No, No, I… We should be there, right now. We should be standing outside her door, we should be fightin’ for her, nae sitting ‘ere, waiting. Showin’ her how much she means; how sorry we are.” The warmth pulls away, an exasperated sigh blowing across the back of his neck.

“I’m not having this conversation again.” Simon is curt, growing cold, and it fuels the burning rage building inside Johnny’s stomach.

“Of course, because why would ye? It’s already settled in yer mind, isn’t it? That we just sit here, and wait, and let her slip away because ye coudnae keep yer mouth shut!” He’s said the same thing a thousand different ways over these last three weeks. Dressed Simon up and down six ways to Sunday over it, different verbiage each time.

The conversation always ends the same.

“Can you forgive me?” 

“Of course I can but I’m still mad at ye.” 

The anger foils away, ebbing into sadness, despair, and Johnny’s sight goes black when he buries his face in his hands.

“I miss her.” He whispers to the floor. The warmth returns and wraps him in a snug embrace, soft words hummed against the shell of his ear, each one punctuated with a kiss.

“I know, I know you do. I do too.”

“You nearly got yourself blown up!” Simon roars, and Johnny nearly flinches, steeling himself against his partner’s anger. “You can’t be makin’ stupid decisions like that. You jeopardized-“ 

“I knew what I was doin’. Dinnae question me, ye dinnae know anything about the tech behind those explosives, and ye know it.” He stands a little straighter, indignant, insulted, and Simon’s eyes narrow, before squinting, tension shoving his shoulders down in a slump. 

This isn’t like them. They’re always in lock step. One unit. One person, two hearts.  

The cot creaks beneath Simon’s weight, elbows against his knees. 

“Johnny, what’s going on?” 

“What do ye mean?” Dirty, cheap laminate flooring stares up at him, patterns in the grit swirling together like sand. 

“You’re not yourself. Price mentioned-“ 

“Ye and Price talkin’ ‘bout me?” Unsettled anger rattles him, immediate demand rising through his blood. Simon holds his hand up. 

“No. He was concerned, said you were a little rash the other day, on the recon. Asked if everything was alright.” He blinks. Blinks over and over, tries to quash the surging agony, the upheaval of his stomach. He fights it, tries to breathe through it, tries to stop it in his tracks, but a big grip wraps around his wrist, and tugs. 

He’s settled into Simon’s lap without another word, his nose to his neck, fingers stroking through his mohawk. 

“It’s going to be alright. You’re alright. We’re going to get her back, love.” 

“I cannae do this. Ye dinnae know-“ 

“I know.” He squeezes him, calming him, and Johnny melts a little, sharp blade of the pain turning dull. “I know that the best thing we can do right now is be patient, and respect what she’s asked us to do. When she’s ready, she’ll let us know, and we’ll do everything we can, to try to fix it. To make it better.” 

“I feel like there’s a hole-“ His hand rubs his chest, over and over, until the skin burns. “Like there’s a piece missing. I dinnae think I can do it, without her.” His voice breaks, and Simon’s attempt to calm him comes out like a strangled cry. “It hurts, Si.” 

“We won’t. We just have to be patient, Johnny. We have to. We have to show her we can do it.” Simon murmurs, and then they both slip into a sad silence, Johnny huffing through his tears against Simon’s chest until he’s dragging them both down into the little cot, escaping into the comfort of uneasy sleep. 

The flat is too quiet.

Lately, he’s been putting your favorite movies on in the small hours of the morning. Simon sleeps in now, restless until the sun starts to come up, and then he finally sinks beneath pull of dreams, or nightmares, whichever comes first.

So, Johnny curls up on the couch by himself, with your favorite tea, flip flopping between the rotation of movies that you always had rolling in the background, when you were painting, when you were cooking, or even reading.

But today, he paces. Back and forth from the bedroom, the kitchen, to the art room, the one you left half barren, the one that still holds nearly finished paintings, dried tubes of paint, stiff bristled brushes, long discarded for new ones, but not thrown away.

“I’m going to the gym, want to come?” Simon is hovering just outside the door, brows fixed together. He hasn’t stepped foot in here, Johnny has noticed, not since you left nearly a month ago. In fact, he avoids this room like the plague.

“No, ye go on.”

“You sure?” His head cocks in consideration, and then he nods.

“Yeah. Love ye.”

“Love you too. Be good.”

“Where the bloody hell have ye been?” Johnny seethes, arms crossed. Their half-eaten plates still sit cold on the table, mocking him since Simon left in the middle of the meal an hour ago. 

“Out. For a walk.” The hoodie comes up and over his shoulders, and Johnny catches a whiff of it.

Cigarette smoke.

“A walk, eh? Ye out walkin’, and smoking?”

“Johnny.”

“Dinnae Johnny me, ye’ve been smoking, I can smell it.”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” He snaps, turning his back, heading into the bedroom, the bathroom.

“Ye dinnae want to do what?”

“This. Fight. Argue.” The shower clicks on, steam slowly building from the floor as Simon shucks his joggers, his boxers, Johnny’s eyes struggling to stay fixed on his partner’s face.

“I’m not arguing, I… I dinnae understand how ye can be so casual about this, it’s-“ 

“What am I supposed to do?” Simon turns on him, still angry, still hurt from their conversation earlier. It brews beneath the surface like a finely veiled stormed, just barely held back. “Lose my head? Fall apart?” 

“I dinnae, talk to me?” Simon’s jaw clenches. Every scar on Simon’s back speaks to him, tells him stories, corroborates his witness accounts. Johnny wishes he could take them away; wishes he could kiss them. 

But Simon feels so far away now. He’s felt miles away since you left, since the bed slept three, table slept three, couch held three. 

“I’m right here, Si. I’m here.”

Johnny knows what he’s doing is wrong. He’s fully self-aware, but completely out of control. His legs carry him down the street on autopilot, barrage of requests and demands from his rational self trying to break through the encasement where he’s locked them away.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t. 

He can’t help it. He can’t do this… anymore. It’s killing him. It’s killing Si.

He worries it’s killing you.

He tells himself he’s just going to check on you, make sure you’re okay. He’s not going to bother you, just make you’re alive. He’s not going to stay, he’s just going to say hi, ensure you’re safe, healthy, and then leave.

If you even open the door.

Guilt, anxiety, fear all turns over in his stomach, freezing through his blood as he climbs the stairs to your long term rental. He just needs to see you, needs lay eyes on you, just once, and it will all be okay. He’ll be okay, once he knows you’ll be okay.

Simon is going to be so bloody pissed. He grimaces. He knows there will be hell to pay. That Simon will be enraged, disappointed. That he’ll be upset.

They made a promise. He made a promise. 

And now he’s going to break it, just like that.

He stands outside your door for too long, contemplating. Trying to sift through every decision he’s ever made, that led him to this point. He could still turn around, still go home, even though his finger is itching to ring the bell, a burning desire searing through his mind, urging him forward until his forehead is thunking softly against the wood, eyes closing.

Darling.

He can still see your face, your smile. The ways your eyes light up, the way your voice sounds when you say his name.

“I need ye, we need ye.” He whispers to no one, and then his finger presses the button, breath holding in his chest.

A few seconds pass. He strains to listen, latching onto the sound of footsteps inside, the click of a lock, the creak of the hinges, and then the door opens wide, revealing you on the other side.

“Darling.” You’re haunted, a flicker of a memory, a sharpened shadow sawing into the soft matter of his brain. You blink like you're trying to clear your vision, like you're struggling to see him, and he offers you an uneasy smile, something nervous and unsettled. You shake your head, mouth open in surprise, confusion, eyes wide.

“Johnny.”

[steveseddie]

home run

steddie | rating: m | wc: 3,6k | no warnings | tags: post-season 4, love confessions, first kiss, first time, dry humping, coming in pants, car sex, or technically van sex

for week two of @softsteddieseptember “confessing your feelings” and “road trips” and week two of @steddiesmuttyseptember “backseat” and “clothes on”

read on ao3 here

Steve’s fingers tighten around the grab handle as Eddie’s van skids dangerously on the wet road. “I really think we should stop, Eddie,” Steve says, finally voicing the thought he’s been having since they got caught in the rain.

Eddie leans forward on the driver’s seat, struggling to see the road through the sheets of water slashing at the windshield, the wipers failing to keep up. 

At first, Steve thinks he didn’t hear him over the heavy pitter-pattering but then he waves dismissively at him. Steve flinches when he lets go of the wheel and the van swerves.  

“No way, Stevie, if we stop we won’t make it in time for the game!”

“If we don’t stop you’ll drive us off the road,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “And then we won’t make it to the game either because we’ll be dead.”

Eddie groans, using a rag to wipe the fogged-up windshield. “But-”

“Pull over, Munson.”

With a defeated sigh, Eddie hits the warning lights and stirs the van to the side of the road. “As Your Majesty commands,” he says, matching Steve’s bitchy tone. 

“Hey, don’t get pissy on me,” Steve protests when Eddie kills the engine. “It’s not my fault the sky opened up on us!”

Eddie slumps into the driver’s seat, air puffing out and making his bangs flutter. “No, it’s mine.”

Steve snorts. “What? You suddenly control the weather or something?”

“No, but I made us stop for lunch and waste time and got us trapped in this fucking downpour!” Eddie crosses his arm over his chest, pouting. If Steve didn’t think Eddie would throw him out of the van for it he would lean over and pinch his cheek and call him adorable. 

“We had to stop for gas anyway,” he says instead, shrugging. 

“Yeah, but we could’ve had lunch in the van!” Eddie throws his arms up, almost hitting Steve in the face. “It’s called a road trip for fuck’s sake. And now we won’t make it to the game, so it was all for nothing!”

Not for nothing, Steve thinks. They spent the last couple of hours bickering over who got to pick the music and then singing along horribly to whatever they picked to annoy the other one further, which is one of Steve’s favorite parts about driving around with Eddie. That and watching him while he drives, less worried about being caught staring at him. Not to mention the milkshakes they had at the diner where they stopped for lunch were the best Steve’s ever had. Even if they miss the game, which was the whole reason for this trip, Steve would be okay with it. 

But Eddie sounds genuinely upset about it so Steve turns to face him and puts his hand over his knee. “I bet we can catch the rerun at our hotel in Chicago.”

Eddie huffs. “That’s lame, Steve.” His eyebrows knit into a frown. “You were supposed to be there and watch it live, maybe get hit by a ball or something.”

“Eds, why are you so butthurt over this?” Steve can’t help but ask. Missing a basketball game—even a big one that they drove all the way to Chicago for—shouldn’t be getting under Eddie’s skin like this. “You don’t even care about basketball.”

“No, but you do,” Eddie says with a sigh. “And you- you’re always doing things for the kids and for Buckley and for me so I just wanted to do something for you. Wanted us to do something you want for once. That’s why I got the tickets.” 

It’s Steve’s turn to frown. “Wait, I thought Wayne got the tickets from someone at work.”

Eddie hangs a hand from his neck, watching the rain fall through the window, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Er, no, I asked him to get them for me like a month ago when he drove to Chicago for a job,” he explains shyly. “’Cause, you know, you need a credit card to get them on the phone and well, obviously I don’t have one and neither does Wayne, so-”

“Why?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Because we’re poor?” 

“No, Eds, why- why did you lie about the tickets?” 

“’Cause I knew you’d get all—” he gestures wildly at Steve, “—you about it and offer to pay for them or something and that wasn’t the point. The point was me doing this for you, y’know? Driving four hours just to sit and watch a game that I don’t give a fuck about because you give a fuck about it and I give a fuck about you. Many fucks, in fact.” He lets out a shaky laugh in the middle of his rambling. “Fuck, Steve, I actually love-”

And then Eddie snaps his jaw shut so hard that Steve is surprised he doesn’t bite his tongue off. 

One minute he’s looking at Steve like a startled deer, big cow eyes wide and spooked, and the next he’s flinging the door open and stepping out into the rain before Steve can do anything to stop him 

He blinks at the empty driver’s seat. “What the fuck?” 

He watches through the windshield as Eddie paces anxiously in front of the van, muttering to himself as the rain hammers down on him, soaking his hair and clothes. With a sigh, Steve grabs his jacket from the backseat, zipping it up before following Eddie out of the car.  

“Eddie! What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m drowning myself,” Eddie says, running a frantic hand through his rapidly soaking hair and talking just loud enough for Steve to hear him over the rain. 

“Why?”

Eddie whirls around to face Steve. His bangs stick to his forehead because of the rain and Steve wants to reach over and brush them back. “C’mon, Stevie,” he says, shaking his head. His expression is open, vulnerable, terrified. “You’re smart enough to know that was a love confession. And a shitty one at that.”

Steve blinks, feeling droplets of water fall from his eyelashes. His heart hammers in his chest. “You- you love me?” 

A laugh escapes Eddie’s lips—a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Sweetheart,” he says, his lips curling into a sad smile. “I’m so in love with you that I was down to drive us through a torrential storm to watch dudes throw balls into laundry baskets with you.”

Despite the rain soaking Steve’s clothes by the second, he feels warmth spreading through him at Eddie’s words. “Eddie-”

“I don’t expect anything, Stevie,” Eddie interjects. “You don’t even have to let me down gently or apologize-”

Steve tries again, taking a step forward, but Eddie instinctively takes a step back. “Eddie, I’m not-” 

“I know-”

Steve growls, exasperated. “No, you don’t know,” he snaps when Eddie keeps interrupting him. “God, you’re infuriating sometimes.”

Eddie laughs but it’s a little shaky. “Big word, Stevie. Twenty points for you.”

Steve shakes his head. He closes the distance between them in two long strides, trapping Eddie against the hood of the van. Eddie looks spooked at the proximity so before he can run away Steve cups his cheeks, keeping him in place. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Uh, Steve?” 

“I need you to shut up, Eddie,” Steve says, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheekbones. His lips part, undoubtedly to make another remark but Steve beats him to it. “‘Cause I’m trying to tell you I’m also in love with you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“There you go,” Steve says with a chuckle. His stomach flip-flops in anticipation. “Eddie, you know I love basketball-”

The words make Eddie frown. “This isn’t the love confession I imagined-”

“Christ. Shhh!” Steve presses his finger against Eddie’s lips with an amused chuckle. Eddie yelps but otherwise stays quiet. 

“I said I love basketball,” Steve starts again, “but I’m happy to watch it just on TV, y’know? The reason why I agreed to a four-hour drive for a game was you. I wanted to go on a trip with you. We hang out all the time and it’s never enough. I’m fucking- obsessed with you! Christ, I love you!”

His finger leaves Eddie’s lips, telling him it’s okay to talk, but Eddie just blinks at him, and for a moment, all they can hear is the rain falling around them. 

Finally, Eddie clears his throat. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do a love confession,” he says in an awed voice.

“Do I get another twenty points?” Steve asks with a chuckle.

Eddie giggles. Steve has to fight the urge to pinch his cheek again. Adorable. “You get all the fucking points, sweetheart, that was romantic as fuck.”

His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheeks, warm and pink despite the cold. “Do you know what’s more romantic than a love confession in the rain?” He asks. Eddie shakes his head, water dripping from his bangs. “A kiss in the rain.”

Eddie’s eyes widening in realization are the last thing Steve sees before he surges forward, all but mashing their lips together. 

There’s barely half a second of Eddie’s frozen shock before there are hands in Steve’s hair and lips moving slowly and tenderly against his own. Steve moves closer, pinning Eddie against the hood of the van, one of his hands leaving Eddie’s face to settle on his waist. He wants to move even closer but the angle is a little uncomfortable, and he can’t lay Eddie down against the hood the way he could do if they’d drove the Beamer. Also, the rain isn’t stopping and Steve is starting to get cold after standing under it for so long.

So he breaks them apart despite wanting to kiss Eddie longer but keeps their foreheads pressed together. “Can we get back in the van now? Before we drown for real or catch pneumonia or something?” 

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eddie says in a deep voice. The way Steve shivers this time has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with how Eddie sounds and what he just called Steve. 

Hooking his fingers through Eddie’s belt loops, Steve drags him towards the passenger’s side, pausing to kiss him every few steps. There, instead of reaching for his door, he reaches for the sliding door handle. 

Eddie frowns. “Wait, I thought-”

“It’s still raining.” Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.” He kisses the other one. “So I thought we could keep this going in the backseat.” He places one final kiss on his lips.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he nods fiercely, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s jacket and pulling him inside. They land on the backseat, Steve on top of Eddie, and while that’s exactly what Steve was after when he led them to the van, he still needs to get the door. Eddie doesn’t seem to care about that—he hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

Steve lets it happen for a moment, already addicted to kissing Eddie but he must put a stop to it when he feels water starting to get into the van. He pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, and effectively separates their lips. “Gotta get the door, Eds,” Steve says when Eddie whines. 

“Hurry up,” he says impatiently. With a nod, Steve goes about sliding the door closed and then he’s back to hovering over Eddie, leaning down to bring their mouths together again. This time he licks the seam of Eddie’s lips, and when he parts them immediately, Steve slides his tongue inside, licking into Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie makes a small needy noise in the back of his throat and Steve takes it as approval, kissing him harder, letting one hand snake under Eddie’s wet shirt, feeling him up, while he holds himself up with the other one. Eddie’s hands make their way to Steve’s hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands, tugging lightly on them, making Steve momentarily break the kiss so he can let out a moan when the tug goes straight to his dick.

Eddie looks up at him with dark eyes. He gives his hair another tentative tug to see if he can drag that sound from Steve a second time. 

He can. 

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers like he can’t believe this is happening. “You’re a dream.” 

Steve desperately wants to hear Eddie too, so he starts kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Eddie tips his head back with a heartfelt groan, exposing the column of his throat. Steve takes that as an invitation, sucking at the pale skin until a mark starts to bloom. He bites lightly at the skin and soothes the sting with his tongue, listening to Eddie’s delicious string of gasps and whines.

His legs come up to wrap around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer until Steve is lying on top of Eddie. 

Eddie who is hot and close and already hard against him. 

Steve is hard too, he can feel his dick pushing against his wet jeans. He knows they should probably get out of their wet clothes soon but right now he doesn’t have enough patience to do that. He doesn’t want to waste any time that could be spent kissing Eddie, not until they’re satisfied. If the way Eddie is wrapped around Steve like a needy koala means anything, he doubts Eddie wants that either. 

So instead Steve slowly moves his hips to meet Eddie’s. 

A whimper slips past Eddie’s lips at the friction. “Oh, fuck, Steve,” he pants against Steve’s lips. The way Eddie moans his name goes straight to Steve’s dick, making it twitch as it begs for more friction. He rolls his hips again. “Jesus, fuck- I’m- sweetheart-”

“You okay?” Steve asks when Eddie can’t seem to finish a sentence. When he rolls his hips again, Eddie makes a noise like he’s dying, failing to utter any words. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” Eddie protests, shaking his head, hair wild and fanned out on the seat. “Don’t stop. Just uh- fair warning, I’m about to embarrass myself and come in my pants like- fuck, like this.” 

Steve groans. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?” 

Nodding enthusiastically, Steve starts rolling his hips at a steady pace. “Yeah, I want it. Wanna make you come, Eddie. Wanna see you.” 

“Holy shit, Steve,” Eddie swears. On the next thrust, he pushes his hips up just as Steve grinds down and they both moan loudly.

They fall into a rhythm after that, approaching the edge quickly. Hoping to make Eddie come first, Steve wedges his hand between them, cupping Eddie’s hard dick with his palm. It feels big and Steve’s brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears when he so much as thinks about touching Eddie without his jeans and his underwear in the way, about blowing him, about Eddie fucking him. His own body jerks almost involuntarily against Eddie’s thigh. 

He does his best to rub the length of Eddie’s dick as best as he can through his clothes, pressed so close together. Eddie lets out a string of moans and whines that shoot sparks of pleasure down Steve’s spine.

“God, Eddie, you’re so- you sound so good. So fucking hot.”

Eddie shudders against him, his breaths coming quick and short. “Don’t stop,” he pleads even if Steve has no plans to stop what he’s doing, not when he’s so close to giving Eddie what he wants. Instead of stopping, he squeezes the head and strokes him faster. “Fuck, Steve, I’m close.” 

“Yeah, come on, Eddie,” Steve urges him on. Eddie sobs against Steve’s neck, hips jerking along with the movement of Steve’s hand. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

Eddie whines, high-pitched and needy. “Steve, I’m gonna-” He bites out just as Steve squeezes the head of his dick, his words trailing off into a moan as he tips over the edge. Steve watches Eddie come undone for him—head thrown back as his eyes roll into his head. It’s the hottest thing Steve has ever seen. It’s too much. He needs to come.

He grinds against Eddie’s hip, hard and desperate, chasing his own release as Eddie catches his breath. He’s so close already. 

Eddie must realize it too. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he tells him, his hand finding its way back to his hair, brushing it away from his face. “Fuck baby, you look gorgeous like this. Flushed and needy. Humping my leg, so desperate,” he whispers, kissing Steve’s cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. Little whines escape Steve’s lips as Eddie starts to run his mouth.

“Can’t wait to do this somewhere else, Stevie, someplace where I can drop to my knees and blow you.”

Steve’s breath hitches, his dick twitching when he pictures Eddie on his knees for him—lips wrapped around his dick, eyes molten as he looks up at him. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart?” 

Steve nods eagerly. “Y-yeah. Wanna blow you too.” 

One of Eddie’s hands cups his cheek. He runs his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “‘Course, baby. You can do anything you want to me.” 

Steve’s hips stutter, his brain foggy as he gets closer. “Y-you too. Anything. Fuck, Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, baby, c’mon,” Eddie whispers. His hand travels down until he’s cupping Steve’s ass, urging him to grind harder against his hip. Steve feels like he’s on fire. He’s so close, he can feel it, he just needs something more-

That’s when Eddie tugs harshly on his hair at the same time Steve grinds down, and just like that, he’s done for—he moans Eddie’s name as he spills into his boxers. Eddie kisses him through it, whispering praises against Steve’s lips that make shivers run down his spine. 

Steve can’t kiss him back at first, the aftershocks of his orgasm leaving him feeling a little stupid, yet Eddie doesn’t seem to mind—happily taking control of the kiss, licking into Steve’s pliant mouth. 

Once his brain comes back online, Steve kisses him back lazily until his neck starts to hurt and the arm holding him up cramps and he has to lower himself on top of Eddie, his head resting on his chest. 

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound in the van is their labored breathing, as well as the rain falling outside, though not as hard as before. 

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, which is slowly starting to dry. “We might’ve missed the game—” Eddie starts, and for a moment Steve is confused, having completely forgotten about it, “—but that was definitely a home run.” 

Steve snorts. He gives a weak slap to Eddie’s shoulder. “That’s baseball, you dork.”

“Eh, whatever. I won, ‘s what I’m saying.”

“You lost your money though,” Steve says, absently playing with Eddie’s curls.

“Worth it!” He says, and Steve can hear his grin in his voice. “Hey, it’s not raining as hard anymore. We can try and make it for the last few innings.” 

“Again, Eds, that’s baseball,” Steve giggles. Eddie shrugs, jostling him slightly. “And I told you I’m fine watching it in our hotel. I prefer it, actually. Can’t do this—” He props himself up on his elbow and kisses Eddie, “—at the game.” 

“Good point.”

Steve smirks. “Can’t fuck me at the game either.” Eddie splutters, his eyes nearly bulging out of his face. Steve laughs. “You okay?” 

“Yup! I just- I think my brain broke just by thinking about fucking you.”

“But you want to?” 

A hysterical laugh falls from Eddie’s lips. “Do I- Steve, sweetheart, baby, that’s the understatement of the year. Of the century even!”

Steve smiles, pleased. “Then it’s settled, we skip the game and head straight to the hotel.” He pauses, thinking something over. “Maybe dinner first. It can be our first date.”

“You don’t need to wine and dine me, baby,” Eddie says, “you already got into my pants.” 

Steve glances down at their still wet clothes. “Technically, I didn’t.”

Eddie snorts. “Guess you’re right. Okay! You can take me out to dinner, big boy. Though we should probably change first.” 

Steve shifts, grimacing when he feels the mess in his boxers. The fact that his clothes are soaked only makes him feel more gross. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

They dig through their duffel bags for dry clothes and use the back of the van to change. Steve lets himself look at Eddie in a way he never allowed himself when he stayed over or when they hung out at the pool and finds Eddie staring right back, both of them smiling—giddy and slightly disbelieving. 

By the time they change, the rain has stopped completely so Steve steps out so he can move to the passenger seat. Eddie simply climbs to the front and flops gracelessly onto the driver’s seat. Steve watches him maneuver his long limbs with a fond smile, reaching over to smooth his hair down. 

Eddie smiles back at him, dimples digging into his cheek. Steve can’t help but lean over the space between them and kiss each of them before finally kissing Eddie’s lips. 

“Are you sure you’re not even a little sad we missed it?” Eddie asks when Steve pulls back. 

He shakes his head, leaning back against his seat. “No, Eds.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, interlacing their fingers together in the space between the seats. “As far as I’m concerned, I already won tonight.” 

“Steve Harrington, you sap,” Eddie teases yet he squeezes Steve’s hand, placing them on top of his leg, refusing to let go, going as far as using his other hand to switch gears as he starts the van. “Let’s make sure you score a few more times tonight.”

“Oh yeah, baby, talk sporty to me,” Steve says in a deadpan tone that makes Eddie cackle loudly.

But despite the two of them joking about it, they score again that night.

And a few more times after that. 

[steddie-island]

Heartache to heartache

Second prompt fill for week 1 of @steddiesmuttyseptember - Makeup sex WC: 1,771 | Rating: E | Tags: Makeup sex, financial insecurity anxiety AO3 Divider credit

It was Eddie's fault that he was laying in bed alone, and he was kicking himself for it.

Mostly his fault. Maybe.

He'd overreacted. Maybe.

Fuck. Steve still didn't realize Eddie didn't just have money to throw around. He'd scrimped and saved (and on a couple of occassions stole) for the things he had. The Munsons didn't just get shit handed to them unless it was bad. Sometimes they'd done shit to deserve it, sure, but sometimes they were just in the wrong goddamn place at the wrong goddamn time and life decided to make them pay.

Eddie had been ready to pay this time. It'd taken him months to save up the money to fix his van. Months of borrowing Wayne's truck, hitching rides from the band, from Steve when he was available. Months of cutting corners, buying the cheaper deodorant (his shampoo and conditioner couldn't really get any cheaper) and forgoing snacks he wanted, choosing instead to shove the pennies and the small bills into the coffee container hidden in the back of his underwear drawer.

When the day came for him to finally pay, when he could get his van (and his independence) back, he pulled up only to be told it'd been taken care of.

Just like that.

Eddie could've credited it to the government, to Hopper, to the generosity of the guys who ran the garage. One look at Steve and he had his answer.

"I wanted to surprise you," Steve said. His face had flushed, he'd run a hand nervously over the back of his neck, had turned on that goddamn smile that he knew melted Eddie's heart.

Not this time.

Eddie had been furious. Beyond, even.

He'd yanked the keys out of the mechanic's hand and stormed to his van, letting his quiet fury engulf him. How dare Steve take this away from him. How dare Steve make his months of scrimping be for nothing. How dare he throw that Harrington money around to try to solve Eddie's problems.

Eddie didn't explode until they were in the trailer together.

"Hey—"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eddie had asked. His hands shook with his anger, his frustration, with the desire to grab this stupid beautiful boy by the shoulders. "What the fuck, Steve?"

"I was helping," Steve said, clearly confused. "I just wanted to help—"

"No, you were just using Daddy's money to make problems go away again."

Steve had winced at that, but then he'd straightened his spine. "Yeah, I used my dad's money. So what? Why does it matter how it got paid for?"

Eddie had tipped his head back, laughed without any humor in his voice. "Right, what does it matter when pretty rich boys can just wave their fucking magic wand and throw their name around and make everyone do whatever the fuck they want."

"Last I checked I didn't have to do that with you. You just do it." Steve's eyes were steely, his jaw set.

"Fuck you, Harrington."

In his bedroom Eddie winced as the rest of the argument played out in his mind. He'd been fucking stupid and now he was sulking.

And Steve wasn't around for him to try to fix things.

"Motherfucker." The heels of his hands pressed into his eyes firmly, as if that would turn off the replying looping again and again. Every cruel thing he'd said that had brought the bitchiness out in Steve, too.

Eddie loved that bitchiness when it wasn't aimed at him. Hell, he'd liked the bitchiness even when Steve had been King Steve, when he was turning it on Tommy or Carol or Billy.

But now he couldn't even watch from the sidelines. He'd fucked it all up, had overreacted, and Steve was gone.

"Fuck this."

Eddie sat up and stuffed both feet into his combat boots. He had his jacket half on and a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth when he opened the front door—

"Oh—"

Steve stood there on the front porch, hand raised like he was poised to knock. His hair was a mess, the collar of his polo was wrinkled. It wouldn't mean much to anyone else but Eddie knew better.

"Steve." Eddie nearly dropped his cigarette. He grabbed it between his fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray by the door. "Uh— hey."

"Can I come in?" Steve asked.

Fuck. How long since he'd had to ask to come in? How long since he'd had to knock, and not just use the key Eddie had given him when they'd been together three months?

Eddie stepped back, opening the door wider so Steve could slip by him.

"Sorry if this is a bad time. I can come back—"

"I was coming to see you—"

They stopped at the same time. Eddie cleared his throat, pushed a hand through his frizzy curls.

"I'm sorry." Steve wasn't looking at him, was looking at a spot over Eddie's shoulder instead. "That's all I wanted to say. I should've checked with you and I didn't."

Eddie shook his head, and then he was pulling Steve into his arms. "Hey— I'm sorry. You were helping me out, and I just fucking lost it. I'm sorry, Steve."

"No, it's my fault—"

"It's my fault," Eddie said. "Fuck, you were doing something nice and I threw it back in your face."

"I was just thinking you already had to replace so much, I could do that for you," Steve continued. "It wasn't fucking fair, none of what happened was your fault. You didn't deserve any of that shit—"

"Stevie." Eddie caught Steve's face in his hands. "Baby, it wasn't your fault, either. It wasn't your problem to solve—"

"I know!" Steve shook his head. "I know. I'm sorry, I overstepped and I fucked up so bad, you have every right to be upset."

"Not the way I was." Eddie tipped Steve's face up towards him. "I had no right to yell at you the way I did."

"You did—"

"No. I didn't." Eddie rested his hands on either side of Steve's neck and rested their foreheads together. "I'm sorry."

The tension leeched out of Steve's body, and he practically swayed towards Eddie. Eddie was happy to catch him, to help hold him up. Was happy to return the kiss Steve was pressing against his lips.

"I'm sorry," Steve breathed. Eddie just shook his head, went in for another kiss. His hands dropped from Steve's neck to trail down his body, to his thighs.

Physical therapy had at least given him this. Eddie lifted Steve into his arms and started for his bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him, dropped Steve carefully to the bed before kneeling between his thighs.

Steve's eyes were dark and heavy. He tugged his own shirt off then sat up to help with Eddie's shirt, too.

"Fuck…" Eddie tangled a hand into Steve's hair as the other man nipped and bit carefully at his stomach. "Fucking love you."

Steve let out a soft sound, and then Eddie was on him, over him. There were more whispered apologies that were cut off as teeth dug into the skin of a throat, as hands pushed desperately at fabric until they were naked from the waist down, too.

Eddie had lost count of how many times they'd done this, but each time felt like the first. Steve always opened up so beautifully for him. Every moan and whine, the way those big hands gripped at Eddie's shoulders, then his hair when that was all he could reach because Eddie was using his tongue, too.

"Fuck, please—"

Eddie loved the way Steve begged, loved the way he arched towards the touches and used a heel to guide Eddie just where he wanted him.

When Eddie was sure he was open enough he moved over Steve again. "I love you," he whispered.

Steve's response was a moan, to dig his hands into Eddie's back as he was filled. "Eddie, fuck—"

Normally Eddie would make a joke, but it didn't feel like the moment to do that. Instead he threaded a hand with Steve's and brought it up over their heads before he started moving harder. Not fast, but hard, deep, in a rhythm that made Steve's body clench around him and brought out more of those beautiful sounds.

Eddie wanted to commit those sounds to memory. He wanted to record them for the nights they had to be apart, so he could play them on a loop and try to pretend Steve was right there with him.

"More," Steve urged. His voice was breathy, had the edge that Eddie had learned to know meant he was close.

"Love you," Eddie repeated. He drove home again and again. Steve's nails caught against his ass in encouragement. "Mine— mine—"

"Yours, Eddie, fuck don't stop—" Steve met each of Eddie's movements with desperate little rolls of his hips.

When he came it was with a cry, with those strong legs around Eddie's hips, holding him in place and keeping him inside. Eddie followed right after him, spilling deep into the clutch of Steve's body.

Eddie kissed at Steve's jaw as the sweat cooled on their skin. He still had their hands threaded together, was still buried in Steve's body— still had Steve's legs around him, locking him there for the time being.

"I'm sorry," Eddie said again.

"I love you." Steve kissed his hair, then his forehead. "I was afraid I messed up too bad, that I'd lost you for real."

"Never." Eddie kissed Steve's chest. "You'll never lose me, sunshine. No matter what happens."

There was a soft hitch in Steve's breathing. "That's not how it usually works for me."

"Maybe not. But it's how it works for us." Eddie rose up to kiss Steve. There was no heat behind it this time. He poured all of his love and affection and as much reassurance as he could into it, until he could feel Steve practically shaking with it.

"That okay?" Eddie murmured.

Steve sniffed softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm more than okay with that."

Eddie hid his face in Steve's neck again and breathed in the scent of salt and cologne. They would have to talk about it more later, talk about boundaries and the way to try to prevent something else like this happening. But for now Eddie was happy to just hold and be held by Steve. "Good. 'Cause I wasn't really asking."

"Guess I deserve that," Steve joked. His fingers came up to stroke through Eddie's hair gently.

Eddie found that he couldn't agree more.

[xx-like-a-villian-xx]

I Hate You | Two

Here is part two! Thank you for all of your support on the first part. Enjoy!

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in future posts :)

CW: smut, jealous Noah and Reader, angry sex, possessive Noah, Noah is a munch, P in V unprotected sex, hair pulling, sneaking around, feelings (lots of feelings), alcohol consumption (but not much), let me know if I missed anything.

taglist: @concreteburialplot @lyschko666

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

Fuck this.

Noah was playing a dangerous fucking game and you were just about ready to grab him by the hair and drag him out of the damn club in front of everyone, or maybe scream in his fucking face.

It was the end of tour and of course you were celebrating at some fancy club, it was tradition. The issue? Well Noah had some blonde bombshell in his lap that had basically pounced on him the moment you walked in.

Sure, you weren’t dating, ew, why would you want to date Noah? He’s a piece of shit. But you couldn’t contain the anger boiling inside your blood at the sight. Her hands were all over him, making the same journey that yours did in the venue shower after the last show and the thought made you want to vomit.

Fucking asshole.

”Everything okay, Y/N? You’ve hardly touched your drink.” Jolly slid onto the barstool next to you, beer in hand.

Dragging your eyes away from the torturous scene in front of you, you smiled half heartedly, taking a sip of your vodka soda. “Yeah, just tired.”

When your eyes dropped back to Noah, Jolly’s followed and he rolled his eyes knowingly. Of course he knew about the little cat and mouse chase situationship you had with Noah, everyone did by that point except your brother (but he was oblivious to most things). No matter how much you pretended to hate each other, they could practically taste the sexual tension in the air whenever you were in the same room and the fact that they could never find you both just sealed it.

“How much are you betting that he takes her back to the hotel?” Jolly wanted to add salt to the wound, get under your skin to see if you’d actually do something other than pine after the guy.

Act cool. Act casual.

”Eh, I think she’s a bit too forward for his liking.” You finished your drink and stood from your seat.

Jolly watched you walk towards the bar, watching how your hips sway with each step and his eyes darted to Noah who was staring back at him with fiery eyes. Oh. Funny. Jolly smirked to himself. He had a plan and it could end with him receiving a broken nose.

Drinks were flowing and you were dancing with Laura, one of the lighting techs on the cramped dance floor, moving your hips to the loud R&B music. You were feeling less tense now you were away from the quiet area, away from Noah but you could still see him with the blonde out of the corner of your eye.

Your brother was smoking outside with Bryan and Matt. You had no idea where Nicholas was but you could see Jolly eyeing you from the bar and maybe it was the alcohol but there was something in his gaze that made you beckon him towards you.

Jolly’s huge hands were on your hips then, his head buried in your neck as you started to grind your ass against him, throwing your arms back around his neck. You were lost in the music and the heat from his body moving against yours, weightless on the middle of the dance floor. Until you heard the blonde yelp over the music.

”You. Outside, now!” Noah looked furious and your thighs pressed together with need. His face was flushed red, eyes so dark they may as well have been a black abyss. He looked almost demonic and god it was a gorgeous sight.

You looked around him at the blonde who looked utterly flabbergasted at his actions and smirked which Noah noticed, dragging you by the arm out of the busy club.

”What was that?” He had dragged you outside, around the corner where no one would be privy to the conversation.

You shrugged, clicking your tongue. “What was what, Noah? Can’t a girl have a little fun? Seems like you were quite content with blondie, huh?” You spat venomously.

He only caged you against the brick wall, looming over you and you could almost see the flames of rage dancing in his irises. “Don’t do that shit, Y/N.”

You pouted up at him sarcastically. “Oh no, did I upset you? Seems like double standards though doesn’t it? God forbid I dance with a friend while you’re practically making out with someone ten feet away.” You cross your arms over your chest. “It’s not like we’re dating is it?”

You attempted to slide underneath his arm to walk away but he only pulled you back and pressed his body against yours, pulling your face to his with a tight grip. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

Before you could respond his lips were on yours, teeth clashing together as he kissed you hard, with so much ferocity that it made your head spin. His hands were gripping your hips so tight you would feel bruises in the morning and it felt like heaven. Gasping for air, you pulled away, only to whine when his teeth grazed over your throat.

”You’re mine,”

What did he say?

Your fingers gripped the hair at the base of his neck and pulled his head back, a sly smirk dancing across your lips.

”In what world am I yours?” You chuckle darkly.

“Every fucking one of them.” He growled, pressing his lips back to yours.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It didn’t take long for an Uber to arrive and Noah was quick to tell the driver to step on the gas as his hand gripped your thigh possessively. You were back in your hotel room in no time, his body pressed against yours before you could even turn to lock the door.

You were on fire, face burning, thighs pressing together to gain some kind of friction, anything. His huge hands were all over you, fingers finding the hem of your dress to yank it over your head and you couldn’t get enough.

For weeks you had been sneaking around with him, finding yourself being dragged into bathrooms and broom closets after verbally berating each other, catching yourself sending pictures to him just to hear him groan from his bunk like a feral dog. You were obsessed with making him go insane for you, for your body but this felt different.

There was now something else in his touch, something so much more possessive and animalistic that it made your stomach lurch with need and an arousal like no other pool in your underwear, just begging to be quenched.

Fuck, was it feelings? Did you have feelings for Noah Fucking Sebastian? Surely not, right?

”Fuck me, you’re fucking stunning.” His words were gruff, his lips latching to your throat as his hands slid up waist, your stomach, everywhere, finally reaching your bra to slide the straps from your shoulders and pull it down.

His fingers found the hardened peaks on your chest, softly pinching them, pressing his forehead against yours to revel in the gasp that left your lips. His eyes were so dark, almost black, staring down at you with an unhinged lust that had you silently pleading with him to stop the fucking games and fuck you, please.

”Fuck, please.” With a soft moan, you rolled your head back against the wall,

He chuckled darkly. “You’re so fucking needy.”

Before you could retort, he was lifting you, wrapping your legs against his hips just to throw you onto the bed like you weighed nothing, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your pink thong to pull them down at a pace that was criminally slow.

“Look at you, so fucking wet for me.” His smirk was so cocky and if you weren’t so far gone, you might have used the leg he wasn’t pushing to your chest to kick him.

He settled between your thighs, eyes trained on your dripping cunt, running his tongue over his lips as though he was starving and you practically drooled at the sight, your hands reaching out to latch on to his hair, tugging at the roots.

His tongue darted out to drag a long stripe between your folds, humming in delight at taste before diving in, dark eyes locked onto your face to watch every reaction he was pulling from you. Your back arched off the bed and the moan that left your mouth was filthy, disgusting when his tongue flicked against your clit. He knew exactly how to drive you crazy, his arms pushing your legs up so he could eat you exactly how you needed and it didn’t take long for that burning fire to ignite in the depths of your stomach, legs shaking violently in his hold.

”Oh fuck, I’m gonna c-cum!” You yelped, hands gripping his hair tighter and the growl that escaped him vibrated against your clit, sending you over the edge with a scream.

He lapped at your clit until you couldn’t take it anymore, weakly dragging him up to your face to pull him into a filthy kiss, your tongue licking your own arousal from his mouth. Fuck he tasted so heavenly with you on his lips.

His hands fumbled with his belt as he feverishly kissed you and before you could even catch your breath, he was pushing into you, groaning against your mouth.

”Fuck…” he whined, pressing his forehead against yours to give you a second to adjust. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.”

His hips snapped forward, burying himself so deep inside you that any thoughts in your brain were wiped. His hand slid up to your throat, gripping the sides just enough to make your eyes roll back in your head and he smirked, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

”You take my cock so well.” You whimpered at his words, revelling in how full he made you feel. “It’s like you were made for me.”

”It’s all yours.” God, you really were his, only his, no one could ever make you feel how he did and it was infuriating.

”That’s right, you’re mine.” He gritted, sharply snapping his hips into you, fucking you so deeply you thought you might pass out from the pleasure.

Your walls clenched around him, that warm feeling building up again, tightness pooling in your stomach.

”Are you gonna cum again, greedy girl?” He cooed, earning a brain dead whine from you.

His hand slipped between your bodies and his thumb pressed against your clit, cock hitting you so perfectly against that spot inside you that had you falling apart around him.

The noise that left your mouth as you came violently around his cock could only be described as banshee scream. Fireworks were bursting behind your closed eyes, your back arched so far off the bed, you were sure you looked possessed and god it felt so good.

”Good fucking girl.” Noah pulled you to him, kissing you deeply, tongue dancing with yours. With a whimper against your lips, he pulled out, emptying himself on your stomach.

You couldn’t move. You were so fucked out when he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet flannel to clean up your messes. The room was silent when he lay next to you, tracing circles on your stomach.

”Noah, what is this?” You sighed after a while, heart pounding in your chest.

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you with soft eyes.

You couldn’t deny it any longer, all those weeks of messing around had changed something in you. All of the hatred had turned into something else, something that tugged at your heart and made your head spin. You fixed your gaze on the ceiling, bracing yourself for the let down.

”I already told you, you’re mine.” He laughed lightly and your eyes snapped to him. “And I think I’m yours. We’re past the point of hiding it.”

”Really?” You gulped. Was he admitting that he wanted you the same way?

”Yes, Y/N. I think I was yours a long time ago.”

You grinned, reaching out to push his messy hair from his forehead. “Mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Come on, we’re leaving in ten minutes.” Matt rushed around the lobby while everyone else dawdled along, hungover and exhausted from the previous night.

You picked your bag up from the floor, following him out to the bus that was waiting. You hadn’t seen your brother yet which was weird, you guessed that he was still getting his stuff together in his hotel room. When you stepped onto the bus, there you saw him, staring at you with fiery eyes.

“Everything okay, Nick?” You raised an eyebrow, placing your bag next to him on the couch.

His jaw ticked and his eyes darted to the door, watching Noah enter.

”Noah, when were you going to tell me that you’re fucking my sister?”

[hypnoneghoul]

Ain't No Hope In Hell

WC: 3k

Relationship: Zephyr/Rain

Tags: Disabled Characters, POTS Rain, Fainting, Semi-Public Bathroom Sex, Transmasc Rain, Non-Binary AFAB Zephyr, Cunnilingus, Minor Gender Dysphoria, Tail Sex

T4T Zephyr and Rain fuck in a disabled mall bathroom after the water ghoul has a fainting spell. That's literally it.

Notes: Commission for @everybodyshusband!!! Also tagging @ominousposting because we talked about these two deserving such action a while ago :3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

The bond that Rain and Zephyr share confuses many. They don’t spend much time together and when they do it’s either to sit in silence for hours or fuck viciously for just as long.

Sometimes one follows the other.

Still, despite it seeming so shallow and even toxic to outsiders, the two ghouls need each other. They understand each other in a way that no other ghoul ever could. Their relationship is in their hearts, minds and souls, not so much in anything that’s on the surface.

And like this, Zephyr and Rain love each other fiercely.

One of the things neither of them would ever be accused of enjoying that they do enjoy when together, is going out. Not to clubs, bars or anything like that; what they like is simple dates like going shopping or to the cinema. 

Today they decided to take a train that leaves every hour from a station a few minutes away from the Abbey and go to a mall. They didn’t have any big shopping plans, just mindless browsing, so to speak. If something would catch either of their eyes they’d get it and be pleased, but they’d be as content to leave with empty hands, only having spent that time together. They can also get some food in there, maybe dessert, too—that’s the thing Zephyr and Rain love about malls; there’s everything there.

Well, maybe they are not very fond of the amount of humans they inevitably encounter every time, but that can be overlooked.

And they are having a great day, indeed, until Rain starts feeling unwell.

“Zeph? Think I’m gonna have a spell,” he mutters, blinking hard as his head sways on his neck. The air ghoul reaches out to grab his wrist and turns it to see his watch. His pulse is going one hundred and fifty beats per minute. “Can we go find a bathroom?”

It definitely isn’t anything more dangerous than his usual episodes, so they should be fine without professional medical assistance, but it needs to be taken care of nonetheless.

“Yeah, of course,” Zephyr says, “it should be just around the corner, are you gonna make it or do you want to switch aids?”

“I–I’ll make it,” the water ghoul breathes shallowly, leaning heavier on his crutch, “just gonna go slow behind you.”

“Alright, puddle. Alright, let’s go.” Zephyr grabs their wheels and rolls on slowly, looking over their shoulder every five seconds to make sure Rain isn’t doing worse. The walk lasts both a second and an eternity, but finally the big accessible bathroom’s door latches behind them and Zephyr only has a second to throw their leather jacket on the floor (of questionable cleanliness) before Rain slides down the wall and passes out.

The air ghoul does not worry, he’ll wake up in a few moments, as always. In the meantime they watch as the other’s glamor slowly slips and rummage through his backpack for a salty snack and some water.

Soon enough Rain opens his eyes.

“There you are, puddle,”  Zephyr chuckles. “Was starting to grow bored.”

“Sure you were,” the water ghoul groans, sitting up slowly. “How long was I out?”

“Whole…” they check their watch in a theatrical manner, “two minutes.”

“Hm.” Rain makes grabby hands when he sees the air ghoul holding his replenishment set ready and they can’t help but shake their head at how adorable he is while still so out of it. He’ll feel better once he munches on a few nuts from his obscenely salty mix, though.

“You think you can get up already?”

“Why?”

“I want you off that nasty floor,” Zephyr scoffs, “and in my lap, preferably.”

Rain rolls his eyes but gets to work on standing up. Thankfully this bathroom actually is accessible—unlike many fakely advertised ones—and there’s a lot of things he can hold on to to stand. It works, albeit the water ghoul still gets dizzy and there’s black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He grabs Zephyr’s hand in the dark and flops down onto their lap. “C’mere, puddle.”

“That is more comfortable,” he sighs, leaning back against the air ghoul’s chest. They place a little kiss on Rain’s neck, just under the gills that escaped his glamor when he was out cold. A pleasant shiver runs down Rain’s spine at the gentle touch and his fins ruffle. “Gimme more, Zeph.”

“Greedy,” they hum but oblige nonetheless, putting their mouth over the water ghoul’s gills and kissing them softly. Rain groans and lets Zephyr appreciate their neck for a little while longer before he can’t take it anymore; he needs their lips on his. He tangles his fingers in the air ghoul’s hair and pulls them away from his neck and up, to kiss him. He slams their lips together and they both moan into it, getting more desperate with every second. They only part to catch a breath.

“Have we ever defiled a disabled mall bathroom before?” Rain asks, panting, as he leans down and rubs his nose up and down Zephyr’s neck, breathing in their fresh summer scent.

“I do not believe that we have,” they answer as they continue to grope the pretty water ghoul in their lap.

He hums thoughtfully, “Do you reckon it is time to do so?”

“Absolutely I do,” Zephyr breathes before tangling their fingers in Rain’s hair and pulling him up to seal their lips in a kiss even more heated than before. Their teeth clank together and they both try to shove their tongue down the other’s throat in a battle for dominance. Even though it’s obvious who is—and is going to stay—in charge. It’s always Zephyr; the only one for whom Rain always subs.

The next time they need to pull away to breathe, Rain notices something on the wall.

“Why was I laying passed out on this filthy floor when there’s a perfect bench right there?” Rain scoffs and throws his hands up dramatically; the princess that he is. There really is a perfect bench right there; albeit a foldable and rather unobvious one.

“You were already going down,” Zephyr shrugs. It is the truth, there was no time, but the truth is also that they didn’t notice it earlier, either. “You know I like to see it.”

“Oh, do you now?” Rain scoffs at the air ghoul’s poor joke. Or a flirting attempt.

“How could I not?” they seem dedicated to making him blush impossibly more, now. “Who wouldn’t like to see a pretty water ghoul between their legs, hm?”

“Are you attempting to make an offer, you old tit?” said water ghoul laughs. Both ghouls are well aware of how the half-affectionate, half-insulting nickname sounds without context and even though it does not get much better with it, the situation improves slightly when one is aware that it originally came from the bird tit and the facts that Zephyr’s feathers in their fully unglamored form are a similar color to that of a tit. The fact that it’s a rather loaded homonym just adds comicality that both Zephyr and Rain love.

“Depends,” the older ghoul shrugs. “Are we in a rush?”

“Not at all. It’s hours until the last train back home leaves.”

“Well, then…Do you want to go down?” Zephyr winks.

“If I can kneel on your jacket.”

“Such a princess, aren’t you? I’ve got a better idea.” Zephyr lightly shoves Rain off of their lap before getting up from their wheelchair and walking over to the bench. They unfold it, look it over and press on it to see if it’s reliable for…more than sitting. It’s rather high, but that will only make the air ghoul’s idea work even better.

“Hop on, puddle,” they pat it in invitation, “today’s my turn to get my mouth on that pretty cunt of yours.”

Rain can’t stop blushing even hotter at that, but he follows the other’s command. As he situates himself on the edge of the bench, Zephyr returns to their wheelchair. They bring it as close to the bench as possible, sit back down and lock the brakes so they don’t just roll away mid eating Rain out.

“As much as I wish I had that skill, I don’t think I can fuck you with my tongue through your jeans,” they tease with a wink, patting his thighs.

“Oh, shut it,” Rain grumbles but does indeed start to fumble with his pants. He drops them down to his ankles but Zephyr tuts and shakes their head. “What?”

“I want my head between your legs, puddle,” they purr, “I need full access.”

Once again the water ghoul mutters something unintelligible under his breath, as if in protest, and yet still obeys Zephyr's every word.

His pants are all but ripped off and thrown across the bathroom to land in the sink—hopefully dry—and the air ghoul wastes no more time. They grab Rain’s thighs, spread them and lean in to nuzzle their cheek against his soft skin. The water ghoul’s lower legs end up hooked over Zephyr’s shoulders and their feet on the back of their chair. A rather solid position, if not for the bench under his ass. His back and hips will hate him for it later, no doubt.

Zephyr throws him one more look before descending onto his cunt and licking a fat stripe up his folds. As always, what they start with is a way to indulge themself more than the other—they love having delicate, wet skin under their tongue. They also love seeing how easy it breaks, but that’s for another time.

The water ghoul instinctively puts one of his hands on Zephyr’s head, digging his fingers into their scalp and pulling on their white as snow hair. They groan against his cunt, but not in protest. Lucifer only knows they grew their hair out just to get it pulled more and, oh, does Rain deliver every time. His tail wraps around Zephyr’s arm when they grip his hip.

Zephyr licks between his folds, up and down to flick the tip of their tongue against his clit and then goes back down to tease around his hole. They prod at it and Rain thinks they’re about to really lick into him when a wave of unpleasantness hits him. He curls in on himself slightly.

“Zeph, wait, uh–” Rain breathes out, tightening the hold he’s got on Zephyr’s hair. They pull away immediately.

“What’s wrong, puddle?” they ask with concern in their voice.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong, just…” he bites his lip, “don’t put it in today. Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” the air ghoul smiles at him knowingly, with deep understanding. They’ve been there. “I’ll suck your pretty cock instead, what do you say?”

Rain only lets out a rather undignified grunt as a response as he throws his head back against the wall.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Zephyr smirks and dives back down to take the water ghoul’s t-dick into their mouth. They start out light; swirling their tongue around it and petting it gently with the appendage. Rain is already so lost in it he can only whine and whimper; thankfully the bathroom is all solid walls, or else someone would definitely be calling in an emergency.

He’s pulling on Zephyr’s hair harder and harder with every lick over his cock, losing his mind even more when the air ghoul really starts doing what they’ve promised; sucking him off. Rain all but wails the first time Zephyr hollows their cheeks and sucks at his sensitive t-dick. It’s maddening.

At some point Zephyr grunts and takes one of their hands off of Rain’s thighs to move it down and fumble with their zipper, desperate for some kind of stimulation themself. They manage to open their pants, wiggle a hand inside and rub their own wet cunt. Rain only notices when the air ghoul’s moan vibrates through him.

“Zeph–” he pants, “Zeph, lemme–”

The water ghoul can’t really articulate what he wants, overwhelmed with pleasure. He unwinds his tail from Zephyr’s other arm and shoves it down their pants along with their hand.

“Oh,” they moan as they pull away from Rain’s cunt. They squeeze their eyes and rest their head against the water ghoul’s thighs, breathing heavily as he rubs their clit with the tip of his tail.

“Good?”

“Yeah, get it–puddle, get it in deep,” Zephyr begs and their shaky voice makes Rain whimper.

He obliges—once he collects himself enough to focus—and pushes his tail further down their pants. He finds the air ghoul’s slick hole and pushes in, slowly sliding his tail deeper and deeper until he all but runs out of it.

“Fuck…” they swear under their breath and follow it with a whine and it’s like a song. Zephyr returns to sucking Rain’s dick as if they want to slurp his soul out right through it and the water ghoul himself does his very best to stay focused enough to be able to fuck the other steadily with his tail.

There’s no rhythm to it, but neither of them cares; it’s all a blur of moans and whines and groans as they pleasure each other the way they know the other likes best. That’s the thing about them; they just know things, understand each other like nobody else.

Rain’s eyes cross when the air ghoul trails their wet tongue down, past his cunt to lick at his taint and tease his ass. Just for a moment, to make Rain soaking wet all around; they don’t go further, but Rain moans as they’re taking him apart piece by piece anyway. If Zephyr had access to the base of his tail, too, it’d all be over in seconds. Alas, their position makes it impossible.

There’s something about the softness of the skin in some places that makes Zephyr lose their mind. Another rather peculiar thing about them.

The air ghoul drags a smooth fang up the inside of Rain’s thigh—both a threat and a promise, but only for when they’re back home. They’re both wrecked and the fact that they’re in public escapes their horny minds entirely, it’s the instinct that keeps Zephyr in check.

“Do that…your tail, the–that thing you do…” they groan and even though it’s not much information, Rain knows exactly what to do.

“Lean back, need–need space.” He pulls his tail out of the air ghoul’s cunt and twists it tightly around itself, only leaving the spade out on the bottom. When he slides it back into Zephyr, it’s like a perfectly textured thick dildo with an attachment to stimulate their clit. Rain presses the flat tip of his tail against it and the air ghoul folds in on themself in pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s good,” they moan and start rolling their hips slightly, riding Rain’s tail as much as possible as they return to the task at hand; the delicious, soaking wet water ghoul cunt right in front of their face. And making it even wetter.

It won’t take much more and they both know it; it’s just a minute after Zephyr puts their mouth on Rain’s cock that he cries out a warning, “Close…”

“Uh-huh,” Zephyr hums in acknowledgement and nods slightly. The water ghoul can only assume it means they are nearing their climax, too. Still, the air ghoul is focused solely on Rain and making him cum his brains out. They double down their efforts and the noises falling from rain’s lips gain in volume.

“Yes, yes, yes–I’m–c–cumming, Zeph, oh,” he moans—the loudest and most wrecked of them all—and the air ghoul can feel slick gushing out of him to drip down their chin and onto the godforsaken bench. Rain’s entire body goes rigid as waves of his orgasm wash over him; including his tail. The makeshift dildo becomes impossibly thicker inside them and Zephyr groans in a nearly pained manner as they’re thrown over the edge, too.

Rain sags forward, falling face first into Zephyr’s chest as they lean back in their wheelchair. The both of them breathe heavily for a longer while, slowly coming down from their highs.

“I hate you, you old tit,” the water ghoul murmurs at some point, making Zephyr laugh.

“I love you, too, puddle,” they reply with a grin, patting his back.

Once they deem themselves composed enough again, they get up to clean the mess that they’ve made of each other. Putting both their glamors back in place and adjusting their clothes and hair so as to not scream with their looks about what they’ve been up to in that bathroom, they get ready to go.

“I don’t even want to know for how long we’ve been blocking this bathroom,” Rain grunts, a little disappointed in himself. 

“Don’t worry, puddle,” Zephyr reaches out to pat his hip reassuringly, “it’s not a busy day and I’ve seen another one not so far from here, I’m sure we didn’t cause anyone inconvenience.”

The water ghoul hums in acknowledgement and finally unlocks the door again. To his great relief there isn’t anyone waiting. They leave the bathroom and decide to visit one more shop that was on their agenda; Rain feels alright now and one more won’t hurt anyone. After that they check potential trains that could take them back to the Abbey and start making their way to the station.

“We should have a list,” Zephyr proposes at some point.

“Of what?” Rain asks, genuinely curious.

“Places we defiled,” the older ghoul clarifies and Rain snorts out a laugh, “and places we have yet to defile.”

“I’m down,” he giggles under his breath, “but only if we write it down on a piece of paper that I can hang on the fridge in the den.”

“You got it, puddle,” Zephyr grins. “My requirement is that we put Primo’s closet at the very top of the been there, done that part.”

“Ah…” Rain sighs dreamily, “that was a glorious time, indeed, dear Zephyr.”

“Absolutely it was, dear Rain,” the air ghoul agrees. “Whose next, Terzo or Copia’s?”

“Secondo’s. Let’s go chronologically.”

“I love your brain, puddle.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 12 part 1 | part 11 | ao3

ha haaaa, i lied about waiting until monday. cw: angst, gory imagery, implied prescription drug abuse

In his dream it’s raining pills.

Steve is crying in his car as rainbow pellets rain from the sky, and then he’s pounding on the Munson’s door while the pills burst into fine powder against his hair, his skin, his clothes. Eddie doesn’t come to the door but suddenly he’s there, teleported outside of it, apologizing right away when Steve demands to know what’s wrong.

“I don’t understand what happened.”

A flash of eyes, of lips; his face doesn’t fully form, but he sweeps one of those perusing looks all over Steve, sees his frayed edges and invites him in to stitch them up.

They talk and laugh for hours — dream logic where the seconds are minutes are years — letting their knees knock together, letting their pinky fingers brush. All the while little pills plink plink against the siding, pharmaceutical hail storm, and suddenly it's morning; Steve has drifted off; Steve has never slept so well. There’s a throw blanket made of cat fur and the smell of coffee and scrambled eggs, Wayne humming sleepily to himself at the stove, waving a spatula in greeting when he spots Steve getting up.

“Mornin'!” he grins. “Ed’s still sleepin’, but feel free to stick around.”

Outside the rain comes harder, heavy knocks against the roof, and when Steve peers into the pan he sees that Wayne’s frying up dead birds. "Just about ready."

He spears a fork into a wing. The feathers start to smoke. “You take your coffee black?”

—

“Ma, you gotta get a job.”

“Hmm?”

She’s watching I Love Lucy.

Steve's head is in his hands.

His elbows are going numb where they’re propped on the breakfast table, and his temples throb, a steady band of pressure like a giant's palm around the sides and back of his skull, pulsing down his aching neck. He’s been staring at next month’s budget for so long it looks like hyro…hiero—?

Whatever. Egyptian shit.

He can’t tell if he’s shit at math or if the math just doesn’t work, but either way it’s not working, and neither is his fucking mom, and he finds himself thinking about this one time in middle school when they took a field trip to a factory with a big hydraulic press. Got to tour the control room; got to pick which fruits to crush.

He remembers the watermelon most vividly of all: the way the rind groaned under the machine’s steady weight, splintering slivers snaked over striped flesh; slowly, slowly, then suddenly, boom!!

Watermelon guts on the concrete floor.

(That was also the first time he got to touch a girl's butt; all the girl's squealed and jumped back from the explosion, and one of them backed herself right into his hand. It was Liz Collins, and it was one hundred percent an accident, because, like, gross, Liz Collins, but still.

Memorable day for two reasons.

God, he needs a nap.)

“A job, ma,” he sighs, a little louder this time. “I can... I don’t know, I can maybe ask around, see if anybody’s hiring? Or- talk to Claudia. Or Karen,” he snaps his fingers by his ear, “or Joyce! She might— yeah. Yeah, she might be able to call and put in a good word at Melvalds...”

She might also be busy being far the fuck away from here. He taps his pencil against his cheek as envy crashes over him. He should be in California. Should spend his time hitting on beach babes and surfing sunny waves instead of drowning in debt and wondering why he’s on a first-name basis with so many random moms.

His mom still hasn’t acknowledged a single word he's said. "Hello? Ma? What d'you think?"

She turns to look at him finally. Gives him a dreamy, lovely smile.

She always was so pretty. “…I’m sorry; what were you saying?”

—

Steve flushes his mom’s pills.

—

part 13

tagging whoever commented recently if your settings will let me @acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @grtwdsmwhr @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @lololol-1234 @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @ppunkpuppyy @rani-mayida @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @space-invading-pigeon @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @vacantwatchers @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[runninriot]

Hurt full of Hope (i'll be the pit to your pendulum)

prompt: "I thought we agreed it was over." | rated: E | wc: 4.307 | cw: sexual content, emotional breakdown, unhealthy coping mechanisms | tags: 'friends' with benefits, pining, Eddie is a mess, Steve is a mess too but in a different way, emotional hurt, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending | complete fic on ao3

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 27

The grip in his hair is tight, almost possessive, as strong hands guide him further down the pulsing intrusion blocking his airways. It burns, makes tears well up in his eyes, and Eddie has to fight the urge to cough but at the same time-

he hasn’t felt this good in days.

The familiar stretch of his lips around the girth is heavenly like the scent flooding his nostrils as his nose is pressed into soft skin and coarse hair.

Eddie chokes, feels saliva dripping uncontrollably out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin, making a mess between the other guy’s thighs.

A rough tug brings him back up, lets him breathe for a moment before he’s forced back down.

   “Ah! Yeah, just like that! You always know how to make me feel good, Eddie.”

The praise is like a drug; he’s always been too weak to withstand the drawing power of it, the toxic concoction he knows is killing him slowly each time he goes back for more.

Eddie swallows, sucks, licks as if his life depends on it. And maybe, in a way, it does.

Because this is all he has, all he is.

It’s all he can offer to get what he desperately craves in return - affection, at least. Not love. But everything is better than nothing.

   “Fuckin’- God! Look at you, Eddie. You’re such a mess!”

Isn’t that the truth. The bitter, undeniable truth.

He knows it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t settle for this. Shouldn’t give himself up for a quick blowjob in the back of the car, out on the side of the road where no one can see them. No candle light, no soft sheets, no comfort – just the dirty act of being used for pleasure because somehow, that’s all he’s good for.

And Eddie must be good. Why else would Steve keep coming back after he dumped him?

   ‘I thought we agreed it was over,’ Eddie had dared to say the first time Steve called him again in the middle of the night, asking if he wanted to meet. Said it as if they’d both made that the decision, when in reality-

    ‘You didn’t want to do this anymore.’

Steve had laughed at his words, told him to stop pretending that he didn’t want it just as much.

And he was right; Eddie wants this.

He’s desperate for it.

Because while for Steve their hook-ups had always just been a casual thing, for Eddie it’s always been so much more.

Steve knows that, knows that Eddie’s in love with him. That he wants to be more than just a toy, a warm body, a willing mouth.

That’s why Steve told him to get fucked – before he came back five days later to fuck him once more.

Then again, and again, and each time, Eddie says yes. Each time he puts up with the ache in his heart just to have Steve for a little while longer.

He knows it’s stupid, knows it’ll only end in one-sided misery. That no matter how good he is, no matter how many times Steve comes back to him, he’ll never stay.

Steve will use him up, drain him until he has nothing more to give and then, inevitably, he’ll throw him away like a broken tool.

Eddie’s throat aches because he keeps himself down, forcefully overstepping that fine line between good and too much as he constricts helplessly around the tip of Steve’s cock until he comes, spills his release and fills his mouth with bittersweet poison.

   “A-ha, oh fuck! That’s it, take it all in.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told, greedily swallows Steve’s cum along with his pride, tastes bitterness on his tongue in more ways than one.

And when he’s done, Steve pulls him up quickly, doesn’t even look at him while he tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans.

    So, he’s not gonna fuck me today, Eddie thinks with too much regret.

He would’ve let him. Would’ve let Steve press him face-down, ass-up into the backseat and fuck him hard. Would’ve wanted it to hurt because then he’d have something to drown out the pain in his chest.

   “Need me to take you home?”

Eddie wants to say yes, wants to have just a few more minutes with him. But he declines the offer, knows they would only drive in awkward silence and he already feels like crying, doesn’t want Steve to see how broken he is.

   “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll walk,” Eddie answers quietly, voice hoarse.

He can still taste Steve on his lips, has his senses full of him. It clings to him, like it’s part of him, like it lives there in every cell – Steve is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And it hurts. It fucking hurts.

He pulls the handle with too much force when he opens the door, trying to keep himself steady. He feels dizzy and his legs tremble when he steps out of the car.

   “You sure you’re good?” Steve calls after him but Eddie doesn’t turn around, just pushes the door shut and starts walking.

He waits until he hears the engine go off, waits until he can see the headlights passing in his peripheral vision before he lets the tears flow.

The night air is warm but inside, Eddie feels cold. He shivers, wraps his arms around his middle, tries to calm his breathing but nothing helps because everything hurts. His jaw, his throat, his heart most of all and-

No more. He can’t do this anymore because if he doesn’t put an end to this torture, it’ll be the end of him.

continue reading here

[sourw0lfs]

dance with the devil - part six

I've decided this will eventually be available on AO3, but I want to get through some major plots points for everyone following along here before I have to spoil them with AO3's tagging system.

Words: 525 | Rating: E (mostly parts 1 & 2, but also future parts) | CW: dead bodies, Eddie is having a bad time

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Once the front door of the apartment closes, Eddie spends the first few minutes by himself just staring at it. He isn't sure exactly what he expected when Joyce gave him this assignment, but he's pretty sure what he got isn't even near the list. Having to help cover up a murder definitely isn't on the list. And now that he's done that, Eddie isn't even sure that's what he was supposed to do. The only instructions Joyce gave him before sending him on his way was take care of Steve Harrington. No details, no helpful hint or clues. Nothing but the world's vaguest instruction and a stern warning not to fuck it up.

Eddie's eyes wander to the body still in the middle of the floor and he grimaces slightly. "Guess it's just you and me, buddy," he tells the man as he pulls the fourth angelic miracle of the hour to cover up the murder even further. A pool of ochre colored vomit appears next to the body. Hopefully it's enough to throw off any suspicion of foul play, because it's all Eddie's got left. He's only even had the ability to do things like that for a handful of hours at this point. He probably shouldn't be testing their limit. Or cleaning blood off people with them, but what else was he supposed to do? He can't help a guy that gets slapped with a murder charge five minutes into his assignment.

Sighing and taking one last look around the apartment for anything he missed, Eddie finally lets himself go after Steve. There's a chance it's been long enough for him to have the breakdown he was clearly teetering on the edge of. Or maybe he's actually fine and Eddie's just assisted a psychopath or something. That'll look great on his soul's record. All it takes is a blink for him to find out.

And yeah, maybe he should stop with the magic for now, considering the dangerous wobble to his landing once he let's it guide him back to his charge. And maybe he should have made sure Steve was alone before teleporting to him, because a shrill, frantic female voice is the last thing he needs when his head is already kind of spinning. "Holy shit! Where did you come from?"

Blinking hard to clear his vision, Eddie looks in the direction of the voice. He sees Steve first, looking just as frazzled as he had when he’d stormed out before, but now there’s a girl, too. “You want the long answer or the short answer?” he asks, lips already spreading into a grin to hide his discomfort. “Because short is some guy’s apartment and long is, well, a long story.”

The girl looks at Eddie for a moment longer before glancing at Steve, seeming to have a full conversation with him with just their eyes, before they move back to Eddie again. “Long,” she replies with a smirk of her own. “And it better include how the hell you just popped up in my apartment out of nowhere.”

Grimacing, Eddie takes a deep breath and launches into his story.

Did a quick little Google about why some people might not be showing up, so if you're down below and your tag didn't work, check to see if your blog is searchable in your settings! If it's not, I can't tag you.

If you want added to the list, let me know!

tags: @chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @quevadilla @tboyeddie @penny00dreadful @momotonescreaming @stevesbipanic @dawners @steddiejudas @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @estrellami-1 @vthx @lolawonsstuff @gleek4twd @littlebluejane @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lawrencebshaggoth @sadisticaltarts @queenie-ofthe-void @r0binscript @anaibis @hairdressersdoitwithstyle

[wufflesvetinari]

Preview: "Be My Mirror"

yeah FUCK it i'm excited and i lost my couth 15,000 spreadsheets ago

presenting a full-length multiverse caper fic by 19 (!!) authors in the wyllstarion discord, coming in mid-aug to an ao3 tag near you! we've got fusion AUs, we've got canon divergence, we've got A Very Normal High School AU, we've got......so many AUs, jesus. please understand. wyll's a mouse in one of them

Summary:

Wyll, that sanctimonious bastard, refuses to help Astarion ascend. Astarion leaves the party, hoping they all die screaming.

Ah, but Raphael has an offer: a mirror allowing travel between worlds. Surely there must be a universe where ascension is still on the table? There’s nothing left for Astarion in Baldur’s Gate, after all.

It doesn’t matter that Wyll’s come looking for him. And it certainly doesn’t matter that Wyll follows through the glass, through boundless universes, through their myriad other lives—searching, chasing, never giving up.

-

Prologue preview beneath the cut

“I’m done with this,” Astarion snarls, “and I’m done with you.”

The cavern is massive, the gullet of a creature crouched beneath the palace. The air is warm and dank. Cazador’s body lies butchered, drenched in its own lifeblood. 

It isn’t enough. It isn’t ascension. Now he’ll never be safe.

Wyll’s face is tight with pain, pleading and princely in equal measure. “I couldn’t let you do it, Astarion. All those people—”

Astarion makes an incoherent noise, pure fury. He doesn’t want to think about the seven thousand wretches in their cages—the familiar desolation behind their eyes. Empty of everything but misery. 

(And hope, perhaps. Hope that Astarion was going to save them. It doesn’t bear thinking about.)

“They—they were as good as gone anyway! You put a pile of corpses over me! Gods below, why couldn’t you have just helped me?"

Wyll’s noble shoulders slump. He looks a picture, standing there in his bloodied gambeson: a proud jaw and a gleaming brow, both of which Astarion had kissed with fevered affection just yesterday. 

A warm red eye.

All Wyll had to do was be his eyes. All he had to do was let Astarion carve the damned sigil into Cazador’s back. He didn’t even have to lower himself so far as to hold the knife.

“I couldn’t watch you lose yourself this way,” Wyll pleads, and Astarion remembers—

Drinks by the river. A dance by firelight. A blade flashing in the dark beside his own. Teasing, challenging, spurring him on—but not touching, never pushing, not unless he wanted it. Gentle enough he could’ve cried.

He remembers Wyll’s palm smoothing across his back, checking in after a tough fight. 

Wyll used to have his back. 

He bares his teeth. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” 

He storms over the stone bridge. He ignores the raised voices, the way the party calls his name—the way Wyll’s stupid stately baritone sounds so close to breaking. 

Idiots, the lot of them. They’ve taken his choices away. It doesn’t matter what happens to them anymore.

Chains sway over the chasm. Cages in the fog.

What’s left for him now? Skulking through shadows, remembering the glorious weeks he’d walked in the sun? (Remembering a palm on his back, gentle—)

No. He’ll show them all. 

This little tadpoled traipse across Faerûn may have been a waste of a good vendetta, but it’s still earned him a few assets. Friends in low places, for one. 

He makes for Sharess’ Caress and the devil he knows. 

--

It takes two days.

Raphael refuses to give a straight answer: some feeble excuse about time travel being difficult. Some lord of the hells he is. 

It doesn’t feel good, throwing himself on a devil’s mercy. It doesn’t feel good, sleeping alone in flophouses he’d once frequented as Cazador’s lure. It feels, altogether, like he’s rather less in control than Wyll had promised he’d be, once Cazador was dead.

Stupid man. Sweet fool.

He hadn’t looked back, in the palace—hadn’t let himself see whatever big wet cow eyes Wyll was giving him. People never talk about how manipulative the Blade of Frontiers can be. You don’t hear about that, in the stories: the diabolical way he twists you around inside until you forget what’s good for you. Until you get all caught up in stupid fantasies of knights and fairness and respectful conversation. Until you forget how to think for yourself.

The Gate is in chaos. Shapeshifters kill civilians, the Zhent are moving in, and none of this is Astarion’s problem anymore.

On the third day, Raphael shows him a hand mirror.

It’s a gaudy thing: silver and studded with pearls. Look straight on, and the glass is normal. Look from the corner of your eye, and it seems almost to ripple.

“And this trinket will allow me to redo the ascension,” Astarion says, carefully skeptical—pushing down the excitement bleeding through his chest.

“Not exactly. At least, not in the way you mean.”

“By all means, thrill me with riddles. Or you could speak plainly for once and we could skip to the godsdamn deal.”

Raphael stands surrounded by the Caress’ plush comforts: velvet drapes, plates of plums and currants, a warm bath set in the back of the room. He regards Astarion with mild, patrician interest. “Patience, little mouse. Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“I am extremely tired of people steering me anywhere.”

“Mm. Hopefully you’ll have the power to change that very soon.” He shifts the mirror in his hand. It catches the light. “My collection lacks any artifact with the power to turn back time. You’ve missed your chance at ascension. This world marches forward, lockstep.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “Then why are we still talking?”

“Because your efforts hardly have to be confined to this world. Not with this…trinket.”

Astarion peers at the mirror more closely this time. There’s an etching down the handle, but it’s half-hidden by Raphael’s hand. Raphael shifts the mirror away from him—casual enough to be coincidental, though Astarion knows better. It’s one bloody powerplay after the next, with devils.

“Shaundakul’s Mirror,” Raphael says, “will allow you to move between universes. I’m sure there are boundless worlds where ascension is still in your grasp.”

“So just…leave? Ascend somewhere else?”

“As another version of yourself, yes.” Raphael examines his nails. “Or I suppose you could stay a spawn in Baldur’s Gate, scuttling between alleyways as you wait out the dawn.”

A strange ringing starts in Astarion’s ears. He’d never considered—of course there are other worlds. Of course things would be different there. He could steer some pitiful other version of himself toward greatness. He could ascend, then make a life there.

Nothing’s left for him here, after all. Not anymore.

There must be other Wylls, surely. Perhaps some of them are more reasonable about the things desperate people do for power. Perhaps he could find a Wyll who’d never look at him with disappointment, or with pain. 

He squashes down the raw-rubbed feeling in his chest. Ascension must be the priority. Mooning over strange Wylls is in a distant second place.

It’s every fool for himself.

“If the first world doesn’t suit your tastes,” Raphael is saying, “just skip to the next. The mirror will be nearby, in some form or another.”

“What’s in this for you? What’s my end of the bargain?”

“I thought it would be obvious.” He smiles, and Astarion knows a predator when he sees one. “I could make better use of seven thousand souls than Mephistopheles ever could. Just between you and me.”

[tinytalkingtina]

Not a "Big Deal"

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild kinktober day 21 prompt "ride" Rating: E (18+ only please) | ~1.3k words | Ao3 link

A sequel to Not Your "Cute Little Button" from day 10 (either can be read as a standalone though, just wanted to give these two a chance to let Eddie top in the micropenis AU <3)

Tags: Steve/Eddie, Eddie has a micropenis, mutual insecurities, blow job, fluff/smut/comfort, anal sex, Top Eddie/Bottom Steve, Steve's oral fixation continues to be happily fulfilled, modern AU, bisexual Eddie and Steve (it's not brought up in this one but I want it to be known lol), no feminization, the boys fall hard for one another

Many thanks to steddiecameraroll-graphics for the divider!

Eddie stared at the box of condoms, half expecting it to explode at any moment. The packaging claimed they were good for a “snug fit.” As if that would preserve his dignity for being too small to buy normal sizes. Belatedly, he realized Steve had continued talking after he had walked in and slapped the incriminating object onto the counter like it was nothing:

“I figured the kind I usually use probably wouldn't fit on you so uh, I got these? The lady at the store said they'd work fine unless you were super thick.” Of course Steve would have no problem asking someone what to buy for a tiny dick.

“You…you really want me on top?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded eagerly.

“Are you sure? It's okay if you don’t, it might not feel super good if I can't reach your prostate and you should feel good, it takes two to tango after all, right? Not that I'm saying I don't want to, because holy shit, you have a ‘well-turned ass’ as a French peasant would say, or maybe they wouldn't say that because it's too lustful and the Church of course—”

“Hey,” Steve interrupted his ramblings before he could launch into a wildly off-topic tangent about medieval Catholic guilt. “Weren't you just saying last week that the rim is a, what's the word, erroneous zone?"

“Erogenous,” Eddie wheezed, his face bright red.

Steve snapped his fingers.

“Oh yeah that's it, erogenous! When you do that thing with your tongue I see fucking stars man, so why wouldn't your dick feel the same? Don’t think we’re gonna have a problem though. Your fingers are shorter, and they've definitely managed to reach my prostate. If the play ends up not working then we'll regroup and try out another one, yeah? Change up the position.”

Eddie squinted at his boyfriend.

“Are you trying to give me a pep talk like this is the championship ball game and I'm the next guy up at bat to make free throws?”

“First of all, you know they’re called home runs, you came to two games when my kids made the playoffs, and second of all I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve said, like a lying liar. "It's working on you though, isn't it?"

“…A little.”

“Good.” Steve gave him a confident smirk, and G-d, Eddie had never been more attracted to the man. “Get undressed already so I can blow you first. Want you to last if I'm gonna ride.”

He eagerly followed him to the bedroom, leaving shed clothes in their wake without a second thought. Two months of dating and Steve lavishing compliments on him any chance he got meant that Eddie's instinctive self-consciousness about someone seeing him nude was finally giving up the ghost.

After one enthusiastic blow job—holy shit did his boyfriend love having something in his mouth when there was no risk of gagging—Eddie was rather proud of the valiantly quick rally on the part of his dick, eager to get to the main event of the afternoon. 

Steve pushed him onto his back against the pillows. Impatiently, he rolled the condom down and slathered on some lube before straddling Eddie’s legs. They both moaned as Steve slowly lowered himself, relaxing quickly.

A whispered “fuck!” escaped his mouth as he bottomed out and without pause began to frantically bounce straight up and down.

“Feels okay sweetheart?” Eddie had to check, even if another part of him continued to thrust in time to match Steve’s movements.

“Yes. See, I ohhh, told you so,” he said breathlessly, giggling when Eddie stuck out his tongue in retaliation. Steve was so beautiful like this, lit up in gold by the setting sun, chasing his pleasure with abandon.

As his boyfriend rode him ever faster, Eddie had to concentrate on not coming for a second time so soon. He grabbed Steve’s hips when he finally lost his balance and collapsed onto his chest, stomach muscles trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright for so long.

The movement was too much though, and Eddie felt himself slip out enough for Steve to whine in protest.

“Shit, lost it,” he said, desperately trying to find his prostate again from this angle, but it was no use like this. The bitter voice at the back of his head got louder and more insistent the longer he took. Steve was going to leave him now, he couldn’t satisfy him. He’d be nice about it probably, let him pick up the things he’d left in his apartment but—

“Eddie?” A hand to his face shook him out of the spiral. “Do you wanna stop?” Steve’s thumb brushed his cheek and came back wet.

“N-no but I’m so s-sorry, I can’t make you feel good.” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and stilled his hips. “I can blow you or eat you out, whatever you want, just let me get rid of the condom and—.”

He let out a yelp when Steve suddenly flipped them over without pulling off, and locked his legs behind Eddie’s back.

“If you don’t want to stop, can you tell your brain to shut up? Told you we might just need to change the position.” He huffed out. “Come on, what I want is for your abs to get a workout instead of mine now.”

It took a few seconds for Eddie to process what Steve had said. But another bitchy demand had him get with the program. He hitched Steve’s legs higher over his shoulders before grinding down. Better able to move like this, it wasn’t long before:

“Yes, there, right there, please don’t stop!” Steve writhed underneath him, openly moaning as his hand drifted closer to his dick, where it slapped against his stomach with every thrust.

“There you go,” Eddie panted. “So gorgeous, so good for me.”

Steve moaned louder and looked up at him with pleading eyes. His lips, still slightly puffy from the earlier blow job were so inviting. Eddie gave into his impulses and stuck a couple fingers into Steve’s mouth. His boyfriend sucked them down and hummed happily. The sight had Eddie careening straight towards an orgasm. He just barely managed to hold it off while babbling:

“There you go, just needed to be filled up on both ends huh?” Steve frantically nodded. “That’s good sweetheart, take what you need, you’re so tight around me holy shit.”

It didn’t take much more encouragement for Steve to finally stiffen and come. Squeezed from all sides, Eddie pretty soon followed him over the edge.

Later, after they’d wiped themselves off and changed into clean clothes, Steve curled up in his arms like a giant contented house cat. Eddie considered letting three words slip from his lips, ones that he hadn’t quite worked up the guts to let out just yet.

“Thank you,” he settled for instead. “You’re kind of a mensch when it comes to dealing with my shit, you know that right?”

Steve didn’t open his eyes, just nuzzled further into his neck as he snorted. “I’ve dealt with worse shit than yours. ‘sides, it’s worth it, you make me happy. I'm gonna start yelling at your brain to fuck off with the bullying,” he continued. “Not too good to fight it to get the point across for someone I lo-like. Someone I like a lot.”

Steve heartbeat plucked out a staccato rhythm against his chest from his slip-up.

Eddie placed a kiss on his forehead and held him tighter, hoping it conveyed the intended meaning. Someday soon, he’d find the courage. 

Because Steve was worth it too.

Author's Notes, aka some irrelevant G-rated world building for this AU: -Steve is an activity coordinator at the local YMCA and coaches Little League. His team didn't win the playoffs that year, but they were very excited to be there! -Eddie is a session musician. Wayne has a display of the albums he's appeared on in his trailer, right under the mug collection.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

We need more of Jake being cute so hear this. 

Jake comes home after doing some driver jobs all day. Nothing really happens but today was just one of those days where he has a few too many rotten customers. He comes home and just takes the leisure to cuddle up with you on the couch. So he’s there laying on your chest, ranting about everything while you play with his hair. He thinks nothing about it until he wakes up, still laying on you and all that, but some time has clearly passed. He asks if one of the boys took over and you just say “No, you just fell asleep while ranting. It was actually really cute”. 

This is just so adorable!

Tell Me About It

Jake Lockley X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: sleepy Jake, swearing, typos, rail road sentences Please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 684

_______________________________________

Jake flops down on the sofa next to you, sprawling out for a second like all the bones in his limbs had suddenly dissolved. 

He was still in his coat and cap, his driving gloves still covering his hands. His shoes were off though, placed neatly on the show rack by the door. 

If he had been back in his own flat, and not your home, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to find the strength to take them off. 

You smile at him, putting your laptop down. “You okay?” 

He rolled his neck dramatically and looked at you, pouting. “No.”

Your smile widens, he knew he was being cute on purpose. “Aww, why?” 

“Customers.” 

“That bad?”

He hums and then shakes his head. “Not… bad, just.” He shrugs.

“You’ve had enough of them today.”

Jake nods and rubs his eyes. “Yeah.” 

“Awww, poor Jakey.” You lean forward, taking hold of his cheeks and kissing all over his face. 

He giggles and playfully swats you away so that he can kiss you properly. You relent and sigh happily. 

“Here.” You pull him gently as you settle back down into your seat, encouraging him to rest on you and wrapping your arms around him. 

You kiss his temple and take off his cap before gently taking his hands and pulling off his gloves with care before laying all three items on the arm rest beside you. He watches you the whole time silently, his eyes filled with adoration.

“So who was the most annoying fare today?” You ask softly. 

“Well, no real outstanding assholes, it wasn’t like that guy who asked me to wait and then took nearly fifty minutes and tried to get into a different cab and avoid paying the waiting time. Just everyone was so…” He pulls a face. “One was insistent that I took Mayfield Road.”

“Mayfield Road?” You said surprised.

“Mayfield Road, in rush hour.”

“What the hell?” 

“He said ‘it’s the fastest way,’” Jake put on a mock voice. 

“Yeah, maybe 50 years ago, or if there were no other cars on the road.” 

He nodded. “Exactly. That’s what I told him. Such a dickhead. And this one lady, she started to paint her nails in the back?” 

You laugh in shock. “What the fuck?” 

“Exactly.” Jake tuts. “I told her to stop, or I’d throw her out and charge her, well at first I asked nicely.” 

“Did she stop?” 

“Eventually.” 

“Arsehole.”

Jake nods sleepily, nuzzling closer to your chest. “I don’t think I’d care, but the smell in the enclosed space, you know?” He closes his eyes.

You stroke his hair softly. “Yeah, it’s not very considerate, plus she could have made a mess on the upholstery.”

He shrugs, starting to doze.

You smile at him, the frustration line easing out of his forehead as he relaxed. 

“I charged her extra though.” He murmurs.

“Yeah?” You smile. 

“Yeah.” 

He drops off to sleep quickly, breathing gently and evenly. 

After a few minutes you move slightly and grab your laptop so that you can carry on working, one hand typing, the other holding him close. 

He wakes with a gulp after nearly 50 minutes, moving his head up, confused. Before resting back down against you. 

“Oh, sorry, were you with Steven or Marc?” He mutters, his voice still full of sleep. 

You smile at him and kiss the top of his hair. “Neither, I was with you.”

Your grin wider when he stares up at you confused. “You fell asleep, you're still in your coat.”

“Oh…” He looks down at himself as if he was only just realising. “Sorry.”

You chuckle kindly, “what are you sorry for?”

He gestures with his chin to the laptop. “You’re working.” 

You tut and kiss him warm lips. “You’re more important, silly. You fell asleep while ranting. It was actually really cute.” 

Jake smiles, one of his little heartfelt expressions that light up his entire face. Then he makes an over the top kissy face until you laugh and lean down so he can press his lips to yours again. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockleyy @saturn-rings-writes

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[tvgremlin]

Calla - Syd x Carmy nsfw

A drive home after friends and family and the night that follows. Read the full fic here on ao3

Tags: slow burn, nsfw, season 3 au, angst, hurt comfort

They are standing in the kitchen together, still dressed in their uniforms. He is shaking, she is hollow.

“It went well.” She tells him, her mouth still tasting of acid. He won’t look at her. She wishes she knew why.

“I heard.” He says. She laughs.

“You heard a lot of things.”

“I did.” He is laughing now too.

Then it sours, and they are manic in their noise. She might throw up again, he might cry.

They look at each other for a long moment.

“I fucked things up with Claire.”

“I threw up in front of my dad.”

They laugh again. This time it’s tender. This time it holds the weight.

“Let me take you home.”

“Okay.”

—

In the car, he turns the radio up. She presses her skin to the glass and breathes.

They don’t talk. There isn’t anything to say.

When he drives past her street and towards his she doesn’t protest. It’s for her own good. She knows it.

On the radio the smashing pumpkins croon. He taps the beat onto the steering wheel.

“Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage”

They sing along, still as in sync as ever. When he breathes, she breathes. When she sighs he sighs. Because maybe this is something. Maybe this could work when everything else falls apart.

“But can you fake it, for just one more show?”

Sure they can. They’re faking it now.

—

In his apartment, they sit on the floor. They smoke and rest and breathe and try to be whatever they need to be to make this feel okay.

Because they’re okay now. It’s over.

“She’s the reason I’m like this, you know,” Carmy tells her as he lights his third cigarette. She is comforted by the rasp in his voice.

“Who?”

“My mom.” his words hang heavy in the air.

“Oh.” she takes a drag, her voice broken.

He looks at her. She’s a wreck. So is he.

“Same, you know.” smoke billows up into her face.

“I know.”

Outside the L goes by. Loud and demanding.

“You saved us tonight.” His voice is quiet. She’s the only one who needs to hear this, “Syd, You were so good.”

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

He laughs. She’s not kidding. She wishes he knew that.

“I’m not that good. My food made you puke.”

“Come on-” she leans her head back, “You know it’s not like that.”

“No, no- I know.”

“I just let it get to me.” she squeezes her eyes shut, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“It happens to me, you know. It’s okay.” He’s looking at her, something tender in his eyes, “Hey.”

She looks at him. She’s crying. It makes him ache.

“How do you get out of it?” she asks. It’s a lifeline, a grasp at something tangible to hold onto. He starts nodding.

“I think of you.”

She takes a breath.

There is nothing here. She promised herself that.

He promised himself that too, but he is a coward, and she is crying.

“Fuck you.” she laughs. He shakes his head.

“No, no- Syd, I’m serious. When my head is all screwed up and I can’t see straight or think straight your the only fucking thing that brings me back, alright?”

“Please stop talking.” She presses her head to her knees. Something has shattered within her, something she said she wouldn’t hurt. “I can’t do this.”

He places his hand on her back and rubs slow circles. She relaxes under his touch.

“This is nothing. This is nothing. This is nothing.” She thinks until it starts sounding right again. When she lifts her head he is taking a drag, his brows furrowed and eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, “Fuck- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be shitty like that.”

She sighs.

“You’re not shitty. You’re good. You’re so good, Chef”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispers, “Don’t do that.”

“What else is there to do?”

She drops a hand beside his. He stares at it.

“So much.” she presses her pinkie to his as he speaks, “There's so much left, Chef.”

“Stars,” She mutters. She is tracing his tattoo, “Magazines and awards.”

“Yeah. So many stars Chef.” he is whispering now. This is how it should be. This is how it was always going to be.

“Do I really…?” she asks, too weak to finish the question. It’s alright, he knows. He nods.

“You make me better.” He tells her. She presses her forehead to his, their joined hands now resting on her lap, “Hell, you make me.”

It’s gibberish yet she understands.

This is nothing. This is all there is.

She presses her nose to his and brings her closed fist to her chest. She rubs three circles. He places his hand over hers.

Their lips meet.

This is something. This is all there is.

–

He carries her bridal style to the bed. She has her head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Camel Lights and The Bear. She could drown in him.

He lays her down like she is the most precious thing. Tender care is taken in undoing each button of her chef’s coat. She runs her hand over his initials as he slowly pulls her jacket open. She realizes he is doing the same.

They place their folded uniforms on the edge of the bed. There is a need, but there is also reality.

“Come here,” He says into her skin, pulling her flush against him.

“I’m here,” She says back, “I’m right here.”

He kisses her again, slow and desperate.

They remove the rest of their clothes, stripped down to underwear and flushed skin. He presses kiss after kiss to every inch of her, unsure and confident all at once.

He knows her, in this way and all others. Can that be enough?

Her hands hold tight to his arms. Steady and strong as he begins to will her undone.

“Can I?” he asks, lips barely leaving her skin as he grasps the worn fabric of her bra.

“Yeah,” She drops her head back to his shoulder. She is safe here, “You can.”

Her breasts are lush and vibrant. She is a deity he should be praying to.

Repenting like the sinner that he is, he touches her with a nervous hand. His fingers ghost over her nipple, threatening a stimulation she craves.

“This alright?” he is unworthy of even asking her.

“Please.” She tells him, “More.”

He takes one in his mouth, making her squirm just slightly. He can do this. She is too good to him.

Her nails rake into his skin as she leans back. She is too good for this life.

He pulls her underwear down, sliding down the bed to look up at her.

There is not a word in the English language worthy of her. If only she knew that.

She makes him better. She makes him whole.

She is so good.

“Carm,” She says, eyes shining, “Come here.”

Her hand on his shoulder pulls him back up to her. She kisses him with a certain hunger.

In his arms she is whole. Here, she is good.

This is a worthy pursuit. This is what it’s all for.

She wraps her legs around his middle, pulling him closer to her. He is hard. She’s done something right.

“I like this,” She mutters against his lips and for a moment he is in a different room with another woman and nothing makes sense. For a moment he’s lost her again.

He opens his eyes. She’s here. All is right.

“Let me,” he moves back between her legs, “Please.”

She places her hands in his hair, her eyes meeting his.

“Okay.”

Here he pays homage to her. Promises both made and lost playing out in the space between his mouth and her body.

He lifts her leg over his shoulder, tasting her like a starving man.

No palette is worthy of her. No one is worthy of her.

She pulls on his hair, bringing him closer as he kisses and sucks and prays.

“Good,” she sighs, “So good.”

He hums against her.

Good.

When she comes it is slow and easy. She takes her time, something so precious these days. He holds her through it, muttering sweetness into her skin.

With a new softness in her gaze, she brings him back to her lips. Their kiss tastes of her and him. Like a union. Like home.

“Here,” She pulls at the waistband of his boxers, “Can we…”

“Yeah,” he takes them off, discarding them on the floor.

Beneath her touch, he is solid and painful. Desperation hangs heavy in the air. She can’t remember how long she’s wanted this.

He presses into her and they both gasp. This is it. This is what was supposed to happen.

This feeling. This taste. This moment.

She rocks her hips against his, needing the friction. He pushes her into the mattress, her thighs wrapped around his waist, and gives in.

He relishes every noise he coaxes from her lips. She takes pride in how he curses her name. Begging for a relief only she can bring.

“Come on,” She tells him, both of them on the edge, “Let go.”

When he does they both cry.

This is too much. This is not enough.

–

Laying in the sticky afterglow, he traces the outline of her spine.

“This could be something.” He tells her. His voice is barely audible. He speaks only for her, “Something for us.”

“That would be nice.” She closes her eyes. She already wonders how she will ever leave his touch, “It will be nice.”

She is so warm beneath him. Warm and steady and alive.

He is so tired. He is so happy.

They could stay here forever. Maybe they will.

Maybe this could work.

Maybe.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged for fuck it Friday by @daffi-990 @rewritetheending @devirnis @lover-of-mine @thewolvesof1998! I have two little scraps of dad themed drabbles I’ve posted here before (and have not tagged well enough to track down and link lol) and I thought I’d add another and post them to ao3. Three seems like a good number? Anyway here’s a bit of Ramon watching Buck and Eddie interact.

Eddie takes half a sip and then makes a scrunched up, laughing kind of face. “Oh god, that’s so- Here, Buck, you take this one.” He passes the mug along into his companion’s hands, keeping the one made for Buck to himself. He sips at it cautiously, then takes bigger gulps of the more reasonably sweetened liquid. “Dad, you trying to give me cavities?”

“You used to like it that way,” Ramon says, uncomfortably settling onto one of the porch chairs, trying not to sound defensive.

“When I was fifteen,” Eddie laughs as he says it, but it's a sound more amused than mocking. “My taste buds have matured,” he says, elbowing at Buck who's happily drinking the over-sweet coffee in his hands.

Buck snorts. “Okay, mister venti iced caramel macchiato-”

“That's-” Eddie flaps a hand at a grinning Buck. “Those aren't even coffee to me, that's- it's a dessert drink.”

Buck presses his still smiling lips together, humming, and nods with raised eyebrows. “That's why you ask for the extra pump of caramel, then.”

“Dessert drink,” Eddie protests, somewhat weakly, hiding in his mug.

“And the whipped cream on top-”

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, throwing another elbow that Buck easily dodged. “You're terrible. You're so mean to me.”

Buck grins, eyes narrowed, head tilted. “Yeah? And who's buying you those dessert drinks, babe?” Buck turns to Ramon, then. “If I let him do the coffee run he gets plain dark roast with a little half and half-”

“Which I enjoy!”

“And then he pouts about it until I share some of mine.”

“Mean to me,” Eddie repeats, but the look he gives Buck is terribly fond.

Tagging @malewifediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @shitouttabuck @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @homerforsure @shortsighted-owl <3

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 7 Prompt: Mall and/or Job

Tags: Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler (but they don't even kiss), Eddie Munson Has A Crush On Steve Harrington, Shopping Malls, The Great Cabbage Patch Riots, Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart, Good Sibling Nancy Wheeler, Banter

wc: 1724 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

“Can you believe my parents?” Nancy scoffs, sliding into the passenger seat of the Beamer. “It’s all Holly wants and they won’t get it for her.”

“Look on the bright side, Nanc,” Steve says, throwing a hand over her seat as he reverses out of the Wheeler’s driveway. “You’re going to be the best big sister in the entire world when you give it to her on Christmas morning.”

“If we even get our hands on one. They sell out in seconds.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little mall rush after facing off against monsters last month. We can totally do this.”

🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬

Steve should know better than to underestimate Nancy, but how was he supposed to know she was right about this? It’s a baby doll for christ sake. A weird-looking baby doll for that matter. And what the hell is with the name? Cabbage? They couldn’t have thought of anything cuter?

What does he know, though? Apparently, the stupid name and weird design worked because he’s currently stuck in a crowd of thousands outside a mall in Indianapolis at six in the fucking morning. Nancy disappeared into the crowd half an hour ago to see just how deep it went. He’s hoping she made it to the front and that’s why she hasn’t returned. The other outcome is one he doesn’t want to think about, but his mind can’t help but conjure up the image of the headline: “Teen Girl Dies In Cabbage Patch Stampede.” The Wheelers would kill him.

There’s no time for dwelling as the sea of people lurchs forward. He can’t see the front doors but judging from the sudden rush of shoving and shouting, the doors to the mall are about to open.

For the first time in his life, he’s happy Nancy sat him down two days ago and laid out the game plan. The layout of the mall is fresh in his mind as is the doll Holly wants — blonde hair in pig tales, freckles, blue eyes — a creepy carbon copy of herself.

The minute the doors open, Steve’s shoving adults double and triple his age out of the way. He breaks out into a sprint when he clears the pack, b-lining for the toy store on the second floor. Despite his speed, he’s beaten by at least a hundred other eager shoppers who were probably at the front of the hoard outside.

It would be easy to get discouraged, but Steve powers on. He didn’t drive this far to let Holly and Nancy down. Thankfully, the boxes are stacked in the entryway of the store. The massive pile gets smaller and smaller by the second as hands grab the dolls free, hoisting them up over their head in victory.

Acting on adrenaline alone, Steve dives into the dwindling pile and gets his hand on a box. He can’t tell which doll it is, but at this rate, anything is better than nothing. With the box clutched to his chest, he starts getting up from the floor when he feels a pair of hands reaching for him. The person tugs, hard, freeing Steve from the stampede that’s coming. For a second Steve thinks the person saved him, but then he feels the box being tugged from his hands and he realizes what’s actually happening.

It’s not a rescue mission, it’s a kidnapping.

“Get your hands off my doll!” Steve shouts, yanking hard enough to send the person surging forward. They collide in an instant, falling to the floor with the box clutched in both their hands.

“Harrington?” The man asks as he struggles to get to his feet.

“Munson?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Come on, Steve, isn’t it obvious? I’m here for the same reason you are. For one of these bad boys.”

“Yeah, okay, Munson,” Steve snorts, eyes squinting as he takes in his appearance. Ripped black jeans and leather jacket. Vest with patches to bands Steve’s never even heard of. Hair longer than some of the moms currently fighting behind him. Eddie’s not really the Cabbage Patch Kid type. Not in the slightest. “Didn’t peg you as a fan of dolls. Isn’t that a little too freakish even for you?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t it weird for you to be buying one? What would our wonderful peers at Hawkins High think?” Eddie teases, grip still tight on one side of the box.

“It’s not for me.”

Eddie hums, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spots a mother handing over a handful of bills to a man on the other side of the store. The woman is in a pristine coat, not a lock of hair out of place. There’s no way she was in this mess and yet, she’s happily walking away with a doll. The man waves her off, stuffing the handful of bills back into his pocket before making his way back into the store.

It clicks then. The man and the shady business deal a second ago. The news report he remembers listening to a few days ago. Cabbage Patch black market deals. Scammers. Fakes.

“You’re a reseller!” Steve gasps, glaring daggers at Eddie. He tries to roll on top of him to free the box, but there’s no use. Instead, he ends up rolling them into a quiet aisle where they stayed on the floor, hands denting the box.

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are! That’s the only explanation for why you’re here. You don’t give a shit about these dolls, but you know you can get cash for them.”

“Honestly Harrington, could you be a little bit more original with your accusations?” Eddie scoffs. “What? You see ripped jeans and a guy who lives in a trailer and automatically thinks I need cash? Newsflash big boy, I do fine supplying you and all your friends that grass you love smoking every weekend.”

“Well, then, what do you need the doll for?” Steve asks, trying his best to yank it free from Eddie’s unrelenting grasp.

“None of your business.”

Steve’s about to argue back when another pair of hands join the fray. A petite and wrinkled elderly woman hovers over them. The look of pure determination and mischievousness is a stark contrast to the rest of her.

“Oh, no you don’t lady!” Eddie shouts, tugging the box and Steve towards him and away from the woman’s hand. She stumbles, nearly falling into the display of Barbie dolls. “Come on, we can settle this later!”

Struggling to his feet with his hands still gripping part of the box, Steve and Eddie make it to the checkout aisle. Together they hand it over to the clerk, not daring to put it on the conveyor belt when hundreds of empty-handers are hovering waiting to steal. They split the bill and reach for the plastic bag at the same time, each taking one side as they make their way out of the store that’s spiraling deeper and deeper into chaos now that the store is sold out.

“Now what?” Steve asks when they manage to make it into the parking lot.

“Well, it’s not like we can share the doll.”

“Right, so one of us needs to give it up.”

“Yeah, one of us does.”

For a moment, Steve considers kicking Eddie in the shins and making a run for it. He knows he can outrun him no doubt. The only problem is he’d have to leave Nancy behind. Even if he managed to get Holly the doll, he’s pretty sure Nancy would not appreciate being stranded in the city.

It’s hard to tell what Eddie’s thinking, but Steve thinks it’s something similar. Probably less running if Steve had to guess. Maybe blackmail.

“Steve!” Nancy calls, startling Steve out of the impromptu staring contest. He follows the sound of her voice and spots her exiting the mall with a plastic bag clutched to her chest. A giant smile is plastered on her face. “I got her!”

“The one she wanted?” Steve shouts back.

Nancy nods.

Oh thank god, he thinks before offering her an enthusiastic thumbs up. With Holly’s Christmas gift secured, he turns to Eddie and finally lets go of the plastic bag. “Guess it’s your lucky day, Munson. M’sure you made whoever that doll is for very happy.”

With a finger-wiggle wave, Steve jogs off to catch up with Nancy.

🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬 👶🏻🥬

“Eddie!”

Eddie jumps and turns to find Jeff silently judging him. His arms are crossed and he’s not holding any bags. Oh, fuck.

“What the hell?” He shouts, punching Eddie’s shoulder. “One second you were behind me and then you were gone! I spent so much time looking for you I missed out on getting the new release!”

“Shit, Jeff. I’m—“

“Are you holding a Cabbage Patch Kid?”

“Uh, I…” Eddie trails off and glances down a row of cars. In the distance, he spots Steve helping Nancy and the stupid doll box into the passenger seat of the Beamer. He tears his eyes away when Steve shuts the door, but it's a mistake because Jeff is right there, staring at him with even more judgment in his eyes.

“Dude,” Jeff whines. “You bought a Cabbage Patch just to talk to him?”

“We talked for a long time, Jeff! And our hands touched!”

“I cannot deal with this,” Jeff groans, burying his head in his hands. “What are you going to do with that thing now?”

Eddie glances into the plastic bag. It’s the first time he’s actually looked at the thing. A red-headed doll with green eyes and freckles stares back at him with a painted-on smile. It’s fucking creepy.

“I didn’t think I was going to keep it!” He defends which sends Jeff on another tangent. One that fades into the background as Steve’s words from earlier ring in Eddie’s ears. “Wait! Steve mentions something earlier.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“No, I’m serious,” Eddie snaps, glaring at Jeff. “Apparently there's like a black market for these things. Maybe we can sell one and get enough to buy ourselves a decent miniature set for Hellfire or new speakers for Corroded Coffin.”

“You better hope so,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “Or else I’m never letting you live this down.”