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

[salemrph]

The taste of apple and pomegranate

Ch. 8: Melted Ice Cream

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 (coming soon) // AO3

Summary: You just wanted to survive university, not fall for either of them—let alone both. Two handsome idiots who somehow made your apartment their second home. You, Sylus, and Caleb were supposed to be just friends. So why does everything feel like their is more going on?

Character: Sylus x f!reader x Caleb // Tara, Rafayel // AU - College, Student

Genre: romantic, fluff, intimacy, sexual content, humor, friends to lovers, poliamore, slow burn

Word count: 4.6k | Reading Time: 18 min | AO3

A/N: This one’s more of a short, episode-style story. I just wanted to have some fun throwing these two into everyday situations and seeing what kind of chaos unfolds. Hope you enjoy the mess!

Tag list: @thechaoticarchivist @peacedreamer14 @blessdunrest @strwberriiblnde @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusqt @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan @peacedreamer14 @escapeis @plzdonutpercieveme

Ch. 8: Melted Ice Cream

You tried to reach out to Rafayel that very day, hoping to learn more about the incident with the wine. The only thing you got was: “Sorry, the number you dialed is not in the mood for phone calls.”

You sighed. What a mess. The tickets to the park sat on your desk. Sylus and Caleb hadn’t told you anything either. You could try to squeeze the truth out of them, but… what exactly was behind their strange behavior toward each other? Rafayel had mentioned something about an aphrodisiac in the wine. Could something have happened between them while they were drugged? They were close—great friends. An Aphrodisiac… you do quick search:

Can increase sexual desire and sexual pleasure.

They primarily work by increasing blood flow, relaxing smooth muscles.

The goal: intensify sensation, drive, and the ability to achieve an erection.

Sure, the wine might have caused painful erections… But to the point of— You open your mouth in utter disbelief at the thought. No, no. No way. You laughed it off, heat rushing to your cheeks. As if Sylus and Caleb could be sexually interested in each other. That would be ridiculous, plus, they seemed to be more upset about something else... They were both interested in the same girl. 

You remembered what Rafayel had said, teasing and serious all at once:

“Are you sure it’s not you?”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

You definitely weren't that girl—and even if you were, choosing between them would be impossible. What a fucking, goddamn mess! It was getting harder and harder to pretend you only saw them as friends, especially after those intense solo sessions you’d been having. Oh yeah, sessions with your fingers and a few well-chosen toys, imagining their mouths, their hands, their bodies pressing in from both sides. The things you’d fantasized about... borderline sinful. Shameless, if not downright naughty to a point that you deleted your search history. 

But no. This couldn’t keep happening. Your lust-fueled daydreams were dangerous territory. Your sexual desires were secondary if you wanted to at least maintain a friendship. You had to be better. Therefore, you set a firm goal in your head: you would see them only as friends, and Sylus and Caleb would, somehow, talk things out. So everything could go back to the same old routine.

Group Chat: Apple, Pomegranate & Me

You: Do you want to hang out next weekend? 🎫🎢

══════════════════

Whatever it was, maybe a day at the amusement park would help them get back to their funny dynamic.

The day began like any other. The sky was bright, the air warm, and for a moment, it felt like maybe this day would be normal. Despite your protests, Tara and Rafayel had insisted on helping you pick out an outfit. Rafayel had whispered, “It could be a date,” with that sly glint in his eyes. Tara had scoffed but added, “A double date with those two hot idiots…” You’d laughed it off, brushing away the flutter in your chest. 

When you finally stepped out in your chosen outfit: casual, cute, maybe just a little more flattering than necessary, Tara and Rafayel went momentarily silent. Tara’s lips curled up. Rafayel’s eyes lit up. They high-fived satisfied with their job. You don’t know when they became such close friends. 

When you arrive at the meeting point, just in time, you see Caleb and Sylus, dressed down but sharp, like they hadn't coordinated but somehow still matched. You’d joked about it but neither had laughed. They stood on either side of you like repelling magnets. Still both acknowledge your outfit with their usual casual tone. 

“Okay,” you said, hands clapping once. “Let’s have some fun.”

Each one found a place to your side. One to your left, one to your right. They spoke to you normally, but there was nothing in between them, only strained courtesy to avoid completely ruining the atmosphere. At first, it felt kind of nice. Inside the park, music and laughter rang through the air. Kids ran past, sticky with cotton candy, teenagers screamed on roller coasters, bubbles floated in the sun. You wanted to feel that joy and happiness of this place. You really did. But as the day wore on, it became... exhausting.

The vibrant energy around you only seemed to highlight how hard they were both trying. Caleb insisted on winning you something at every booth. Sylus offered to carry your bag and refused to let you stand in line alone. They spoke over each other, interrupted your sentences, subtly glared when you laughed too hard at the other’s jokes. It was too much.

You tried to at least calm things down whenever the hatred escalated. It started on the merry-go-round. You rode a horse. Caleb stood beside it, hands ready to steady you. Next, a shooting game. Sylus effortlessly nailed every target. He then turned, a triumphant grin on his face, and handed you his prize. From the shadows of the arcade, Caleb's gaze could have incinerated Sylus.

But no matter how hard you tried, it kept feeling like some ridiculous tug-of-war for your attention. Every smile you gave, every comment you made—both Sylus and Caleb latched onto it like it was a prize. It was exhausting. This was supposed to be fun. A carefree day. Instead, your head throbbed, and your patience thinned with each passing hour.

Somewhere on the park edge, nestled behind a churro stand and a line for face painting, Rafayel adjusted his sunglasses and took a sip of his iced drink. 

“God, I love this,” he whispered. Beside him, Tara peered through a pair of chunky binoculars she’d absolutely brought just for the drama.

“Do you think they’ll kill each other?”

“Hard to say,” Rafayel murmured. “But the tension.. . ”

They weren’t being subtle in the slightest, drawing surprised looks from several passersby who noticed their rather suspicious behaviour. One small child asked if they were secret agents.

“You two know that you’re drawing a lot of attention.” Gideon’s voice cut through the moment. He strolled up behind them, casually munching on a churro. “Also—why the hell am I here?”

Tara didn’t even lower her binoculars. “Because you said you had nothing better to do.”

“Babe, I said that, not knowing this would turn into some twisted surveillance mission.”

“We prefer the term emotional intervention,” Rafayel said, waving a hand. “You’re the muscle. In case one of them tries to throw the other off the Ferris wheel.”

Gideon just took another bite of churro and muttered, “I’m too sober for this.”

“Hush. They’re approaching the park mascot” Rafayel ordered. 

══════════════════

On your way to the next attraction, your eyes caught on the park mascot—a giant, fluffy creature that looked like a cross between a cat and a marshmallow. Your steps slowed, lips parting in surprise before curling into a grin.

“I want a picture with it!” you announced, voice bubbling with sudden excitement as you made a beeline toward the oversized mascot. Sylus instinctively pulled out his phone, ready to hand it to Caleb.

“No, no!” you stopped him quickly, cheeks warm with anticipation. “I want a picture with both of you,” you insisted without giving them a chance to object, you flagged down a passing visitor. Then you wrapped one hand around Sylus’s arm and the other around Caleb’s, pulling them close on either side of you. Caleb blinked and his eyes softened, he let out a low breath. While Sylus glanced down to your hand curled around his forearm, he could feel the heat of your touch through the fabric.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of tension lifted. Their shoulders eased, forgetting whatever passive-aggressive nonsense they’d been locked in. Melted under the bright curve of your smile. 

“Let’s take more!” you said breathlessly, scrolling through the picture with a spark in your eye. “This one’s so cute.”  

You didn’t even notice how they were staring at you, too distracted by cuddling the big mascot. Your laugh made the air feel different. You lit up the space around Caleb and Sylus. They didn’t know how someone could just… glow like that.

Sylus watched you, arms crossed but loose now, he was admiring the way your nose crinkled when you smiled. That softness in your face, it hit him deep down. Caleb saw it too. Felt his chest clench at the sound of your laugh. It was stupid how beautiful you looked in that light. 

Sylus flicked his gaze to Caleb. Caleb met it with a sidelong glance of his own. And in that instant, they both knew—they’d been caught watching the same thing, wanting the same thing. Caleb cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to stretch his arms. Sylus rolled his neck, annoyed, as if to shake it off.

What the hell are we doing?

Whatever this was… it couldn’t last like this. Not when you looked that happy. And not when they realized how much they wanted to be the reason behind it.

The rest of the afternoon became a blur of spinning colours and chaotic joy. Running from one ride to another—from the log flume to the craziest roller coasters, to the lazy river that drifted to cheesy animation and bubble-blowing speakers. There were cotton candy clouds, hot dogs you regret halfway through eating, and a park-famous crepe so good that Sylus actually licked powdered sugar off his thumb. Even though the communication between the boys didn’t improve much, they managed to stop actively ignoring each other.

As the sun dipped lower and lights around the park started to glow, you tugged them both toward a neon photo booth. 

“Pipsqueak, haven’t you taken enough pictures?” Caleb asked, raising a brow.

“Nope. I want more,” you said firmly, folding your arms.

“We can’t say no to your wishes,” Sylus muttered, already pulling back the curtain.

You grinned and climbed in first. They followed, bumping into each other, elbows jabbing awkwardly as you all squeezed into the tiny space. Inside the cramped photo booth, the world felt smaller. Just the three of you, pressed shoulder to shoulder, the glow of the screen painting your faces in warm, shifting colours lights.

Somewhere between the shutter clicks and the shared, too-close space, Sylus and Caleb felt it—that subtle pull in their chests, like someone had plucked a string deep inside them. A tender melody strumming against their ribs. Could it be…?

Sylus watched, captivated, as your eyes crinkled with laughter, as your fingers danced over the glass screen choosing filters. His mind, without permission, flickered back to that night: the dream, the heat, the confusion. Wine or not, it didn't matter right. The only thing that should have his attention... was you.

He leaned in, just slightly, close enough to catch your scent, and you glanced at him, smiling so effortlessly. Sylus knew that whatever was stirring between him and Caleb was just a shadow. You were the sun. And right now, he didn’t want to look away.

Caleb, on the other side, chewed the inside of his cheek, gaze flickering between your profile and Sylus’s calm face. He couldn’t quite untangle why he’d acted so strange lately. Why Sylus’s presence irritated him in ways it never had before. Why everything felt so volatile between them. The tension, the heat and the dream. No, he pushed that away.

Eventually, he would talk to Sylus. He had to but not now. Today, you had asked them to come. You’d looked at both of them with so much hope, so excited for something simple and joyful. And how had he repaid you? With silence and selfishness. Had let his confusion spill into silence, let his pride get in the way. A knot of guilt twisted in his chest. You deserved more than their mess. 

Both leaned in slightly as the next picture snapped, eyes half on the screen, half on you. Maybe, just maybe, it was time they stopped running from what this was becoming. And started showing up like they meant it.

As the countdown ticked down—

3… 

You were mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, your head tilted back just slightly, the sound like sunlight caught in motion.

2… 

Then, as if tugged by the same invisible string, they shifted. Sylus leaned closer, his breath catching at the edge of your shoulder. Caleb mirrored the movement, drawn by something neither of them could name.

1… 

Their lips brushed your cheeks at the exact same time.

Click.

The flash went off. Your eyes went wide open, caught between shock and something that fluttered low in your stomach. Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, heat blooming across your skin as their lips still brushed against your skin. They were tender in a way that caught you completely off guard. 

As reality came crashing back, they both jolted slightly, pulling away at once. Their gazes locked across you, tension flaring in the space between them as a lightning strike.

You blinked, cheeks flushed, heartbeat stuttering. “Guys…?” But they were already sliding out of the booth, one after the other, in complete silence. You sighed, shoulders sagging as the machine spit out the photo strip with a jingle. In the tiny, glossy image, your wide-eyed surprise was perfectly framed by two pairs of lips pressing against your cheeks. 

You exhaled, slowly. Something had definitely shifted and no matter how sweet the photo looked…

“Are you sure it’s not you?”

You stepped out of the booth with a weak laugh, waving the photo strip in your hand like it was no big deal even though your heart still hadn’t found its rhythm. The theory of Rafayel must be wrong.

“Well, that was… something,” you said, forcing a smirk. “Should I be flattered or worried about the synchronised kissing act?”

Neither of them answered. Caleb was looking anywhere but at you. Sylus had his hands in his pockets. Okay, cool. Very normal and not awkward at all. 

You cleared your throat and tucked the photo away in your bag. “Alright, weirdos. Time for our penultimate ride—House of Terror. And no, I’m not letting either of you chicken out.”

That at least earned a noise from Caleb, something like a scoff, and Sylus gave a short nod. 

When you reached the haunted attraction, the line was already forming. You turned to the boys, motioning to the side. “Give me a few minutes. I just need to go to the bathroom.” You braced yourself for the usual teasing: a sarcastic comment, a smug joke about you stalling because you were scared. But there was nothing. They fell silent again. What a fucking pain in the ass... Caleb and Sylus were already in line, standing stiffly apart, not even looking at you. You frowned, but didn’t push it. “Okay... be right back,” you said out loud.

The cool tiles of the bathroom provided a momentary escape. You splashed cold water on your face, staring at your reflection in the mirror, but all you could see was the image of the photo booth. The flash, the close proximity, and then… their lips on your cheek. Both of them.

A bewildered little flutter started in your chest, blossoming into a full-blown pounding. They'd always been affectionate, especially when you were vulnerable—soft kisses pressed to your hair when you were sick, comforting pats on your shoulder when you fail a test. But those had never carried this weight, never given so much space for interpretation. This felt different.

Caleb was usually more touchy in a familiar, almost brotherly way. He was always more openly affectionate than Sylus, quick to pull you into a hug, to press his forehead against yours to check for a fever. So a casual kiss, while surprising, wasn't entirely out of character. And Sylus…? He was usually so reserved, more of a hand-kisser, a chivalrous, almost old-world gesture. For him to lean in, to actually connect his lips to your skin in that confined space…

Did they do that on purpose? The thought sent a fresh heat through you, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The mirror showed the full extent of your blush. What should I do with this now? The answer remained elusive, caught in the rapid beat of your own pulse.

When you returned, the line had moved forward and so had they. Or… not? You checked the queue, scanned the crowd. Nothing. You stood on tiptoe, peeking around the winding barriers. Panic fluttered in your chest as you pulled out your phone. A quick text:

Group Chat: Apple, Pomegranate & Me

You: “Where the hell are you?”

You tried calling. Voicemail. First Caleb. Then Sylus. Your stomach tightened. Had they gone in without you? You stood there a little longer, your hand curling around your phone like it might suddenly ring. You took a slow breath in through your nose and tried to ignore the sting in your eyes. This was supposed to be fun. 

Fine. Fuck them! 

You turned on your heel and headed for the food stand nearby, your mouth tight. If they wanted to act like moody children, they could do it without you.

You bought yourself a towering soft-serve cone that you hadn't really wanted. You found an empty bench near the main plaza, the ice cream already weeping sticky trails down your fingers. You watched, numb, as couples laughed and children squealed, wrapped in a happiness that felt miles away. You remained there, a quiet observer, as your ice cream melted and the insecurity and confusion inside you grew louder with each passing minute.

Definitely, what a mess…

══════════════════

The haunted house was darker than either of them expected, less flashing lights and cheap jump scares, more creeping shadows and eerie silence. Their footsteps echoed against the wooden floorboards as they moved through narrow hallways twisted with cobwebs and artificial fog.

Caleb kept his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, eyes flicking left and right. Sylus walked slightly behind, the darkness itself had set his nerves on edge. They turned a corner into a pitch-black corridor, only faint red lighting flickering from overhead. A skeleton dropped from the ceiling with a mechanical whirr.

Caleb flinched. “Fuck—”

Sylus didn’t even blink. But then, he stopped walking and turned around slowly.

“Where is she?”

Caleb blinked at him. “Huh? I thought she was behind you .”

Then Sylus clicked his tongue, his jaw tightening. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t check?”

“I thought she was just being quiet, like usual in these things!” Caleb snapped, his voice rising. “I thought—" Caleb ran a hand through his hair, panic seeping into his voice.

Sylus muttered something for himself, pushing past a curtain that led to the next section. The winding, labyrinthine layout of the haunted house stretched behind them, filled with flickering lights and the occasional jump-scare actor popping out with mechanical screams. But nothing could spook them more than the realization that you were missing and they hadn’t even noticed.

“Caleb,” Sylus snapped, voice low, rough with a sharp edge. "We need to talk about what happened."

Caleb didn’t answer right away, eyes scanning the narrow hall as if hoping to find you and dodge the conversation at once. “Tsk…” he exhaled through his nose. “There’s nothing to talk about. We were high. You were trying to help. That’s it.”

Sylus grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back, slamming him hard against the fake stone wall. A plastic skeleton jolted on its hook beside them, creaking ominously. The overhead light flickered again, casting jagged shadows over Sylus’s face. 

Caleb’s hands clenched at his sides but he didn’t shove him back. “I’m not doing this here.”

“Is a bit too late for that” His voice dropped low, irritated. Caleb tensed, eyes flicking away, but Sylus leaned in, not letting him escape. “If it were nothing, we wouldn’t be so fucking weird,” Sylus said. “We didn’t even notice she was gone. We’re acting like idiots. So…” he tilted his head, eyes narrowing, “Appleboy, tell me it was nothing.”

“Then what do you want me to say?” he barked.

Sylus leaned in, their faces barely inches apart. “Go ahead. Lie to my face.” The flickering light caught the briefest flash of hesitation in Caleb’s eyes. Outside, laughter echoed from another group. Inside, it was dead silent. Caleb didn’t answer. His throat bobbed, and his fingers curled at his sides. 

Caleb looked him straight in the eyes. “We need to find her.” Sylus sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head. 

Sylus’s expression didn’t soften. “We’re not done.” 

══════════════════

The golden hour had already passed. The warm glow that bathed the amusement park earlier had faded into cooler hues, shadows stretching long between attractions. The crowd was thinning. Somewhere in that shift, it had become painfully obvious:

You were gone.

Sylus stormed past a row of empty carnival booths, his phone pressed to his ear for the tenth time. Nothing, straight to voicemail.

“Where the hell is she?” he muttered.

Behind him, Caleb jogged up, slightly out of breath, scanning the area. “Pipsqueak!” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. 

They looked at each other, both flushed, both too stubborn to admit out loud what they were both thinking. They’d fucked up.

Far across the plaza, Rafayel’s voice cut through the growing dark. “Still nothing?”

Sylus shook his head.

“Nothing here either,” Tara said, slipping her phone back into her jacket pocket. “She’s not answering me or Gideon.”

Gideon, who had joined reluctantly but now looked fully invested, let out a low whistle. “You sure she’s still in the park?”

Rafayel sighed and pulled a folded map of the park from his coat. “Then let’s split up.”

An hour ago

Caleb had sunk onto a bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. He looked like a kicked puppy. Sylus stood stiffly nearby, arms crossed, eyes locked on the path trying to find you in the crowd.

From across the plaza, hidden half-heartedly behind a cotton candy stall, Tara lowered her sunglasses. Rafayel had stopped mid-sketch, his pencil dangling from his fingers. Gideon looked between the two of them, blinking slowly, eating the last bite of candid almond to his mouth.

“Something’s off,” Rafayel muttered. He was already moving before the others could reply.

“Wow,” Tara said, stepping in front of them with a tilt of her head. “You two really know how to ruin a date.” The trio approached the still-frozen boys.

“Wasn’t a date,” Sylus mumbled, still staring ahead.

“Could’ve fooled literally everyone,” Rafayel said. “Including yourselves.”

Gideon placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “What the hell are you doing, man?”

“Leave me alone,” Caleb said hoarsely. He didn’t lift his head. “I could ask you the same.”

“Clearly spying,” Sylus muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose like it might somehow make the migraine go away. “Let me guess—this was the idea of that lousy artist.”

“I was trying to help,” Rafayel replied coolly, arms crossed. “You’re welcome.”

Then Tara cut in, voice sharp and cold. “So? Where’s Y/N?”

Silence.

Sylus finally turned his head slightly. “We… don’t know.”

They split off in different directions, hearts pounding, scanning every cluster of people, every corner of the park. They ran through the winding paths and fading golden light, desperate to spot you in the crowd.

Footsteps hit the pavement, sharp and urgent, echoing through the thinning evening air.

“Pipsqueak!” Caleb's voice, ragged with exertion.

“Kitten!” Sylus's call, sharp with worry, followed close behind.

A head snapped up from the bench near the towering Ferris wheel. There you were, sitting on a bench. The soft glow of neon lights painted your skin in pastel tones, the sharp edges of frustration still clinging to your expression. Relief hit them like a wave. Caleb slowed, breath catching, while Sylus came to a sudden halt. You blinked up at them.

“Hey!”

Caleb practically skidded to a halt, his eyes falling to your propped-up foot. A small blue ice pack clung to your ankle, secured with a bit of napkin and stubbornness. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, already crouching down beside you, eyes searching your face like he might’ve missed something worse.

You let out a half-scoff, half-sigh. “This?” You gestured at your ankle. “You big assholes disappeared so I went off to enjoy the park by myself. Then I tripped on a stupid stone on the way to the restroom.”

Sylus dropped to one knee on your other side, his brows furrowed as he gently lifted your hand holding the phone. The screen was dark. “Did your phone break, kitten? You didn't answer any calls.”

“Oh, yeah, it's empty.” The black screen was waved dismissively. “I didn’t realize how low it was. Figured I’d sit a while and then limp home.”

Then Caleb’s voice, softer than you'd expected. “We’re sorry. For everything. For not waiting. For the way we’ve been acting.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips tight. “You better be sorry.” You glanced between the two of them. “Because this was supposed to be fun. Instead, I’ve got a bruised ankle and babysitted two grown ass men.”

Sylus didn’t flinch at your tone. If anything, his gaze softened. “We really screwed up.”

“You think?” you muttered. You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two need to figure out whatever the hell is going on between you before dragging me along again.”

They both nodded.

You let out a breath. “Now help me up, I’m tired and I want to go home.” Sylus offered his hand. Caleb steadied your other side.  As they helped you to your feet, you leaned on both of them.

“You know what?” you said, eyeing them both. “You don’t just get my forgiveness for free.”

Caleb glanced at you, wary. “Are you going to punish us?”

“Hell yes! You’re taking me to the arcade next weekend. No excuses.”

Sylus raised a brow. “That’s it?”

“Oh, I’m not done.” You poked Caleb in the ribs and turned to Sylus. “You’re carrying me home tonight, on your back.”

He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut him off with a sweet smile.

“And for the next two weeks, snacks and beer. From both of you. I don’t care who buys what, but if I’m craving chips at midnight, I expect someone at my door. Oh, and I want to see that romantic summer movie.”

“The one with the tourist and the beach girl?” Sylus clarified.

“Yeah, that one. And I want caramel popcorn.”

“You shouldn’t eat so much junk, Pips,” Caleb interjected.

“Hush! I choose how you compensate me for today.”

Caleb groaned softly. Sylus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “bossy,” but neither of them objected.

As the three of you hobbled toward the park exit, your arms slung loosely around Sylus’s neck. “You’re heavier than I expected, kitten,” Sylus sighed, carrying you on his back.

“Say that again and I’ll accidentally drop a beer on your precious boots,” you warned, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“She’s threatening you already…” Caleb sighed dramatically, walking beside you and holding your bag.

“You deserve worse,” you replied, poking his side. You wiggled a bit on Sylus’s back, enjoying the subtle shift in his muscles.

Caleb continued, eyeing Sylus with an exaggerated sigh, “If I’d carried her, we’d be home by now. I have more upper body strength.”

Sylus scoffed. “You have more ego, you mean.”

“I bench press more.”

“Congrats. Want a sticker?” Sylus’s voice was deadpanned, dripping with sarcasm.

You groaned. “You two are exhausting.”

Despite everything, you laughed, a soft, real sound that warmed the air around you. You leaned your cheek against Sylus’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for just a second as the neon park lights flickered in the distance. Caleb glanced over and softened, watching you with something warm and quiet in his gaze, the remnants of their bickering fading into the gentle hum of the night.

Release every 1-2 week

A/N The chapter feels a bit week, but still we have this three moving forward somehow. I hope I don't lose track of the story, cause I'm a bit tired, not of writing. I pressed "Salt on my Skin" in the middle of this, and my energy in Ch. 8 was low. Hoping to pick up the pace for the upcoming events. We are more or less half way from the ending.

Small Easter egg to "Salt on your skin" Did you catch it?

Nav: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 (coming soon) // AO3

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[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.

[myownwholewildworld]

gif by @\pedrospascaled

“for emergencies only” — an oldman!joel miller drabble

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel has a lil' accident, but you know exactly how to help. or joel cums in his boxers a bit too early and you feed him a blue pill for endurance. a/n: uhm... yeah, hi? i promise you this fic wrote itself, i almost had nothing to do with it. i am so fucking feral over this man, can't flush him out of my system. lord have mercy... 🙇‍♀️ tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. joel cums in his boxers like the old man he is. mortified!joel but you make him feel good i promise <3 use of viagra. kneading the bulge, kissing the bulge, worshipping the bulge. pussy eating. face/nose riding. squirting. fingering. your slick is his hair gel (scent marking? idk). blowjob. you go cowgirl on him because the poor man can't do extraneous exercise, protect his bones. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. petnames. no description of reader other than afab. w/c: ~4.2k

Joel let go of a big sigh, knees cracking as he sat down on the couch. Even taking a shower was damn exhausting at his age—he preferred it when you scrubbed his back in the bath, massaged his biceps and forearms, gently squeezed his dick while the movement created rippling waves in the water.

He’d only managed to comb through his dry, silvery curls, to throw a worn shirt and some loose boxers on, before he needed to take a break. He was getting too old to go on long, extenuating patrols. Perhaps Joel should take up Tommy’s offer and solely focus on managing the construction in Jackson. He’d have more time with you that way too.

His mind was drifting away, thinking about all the things he would do to you in his free time, when his most delicious desire materialised in front of him. His precious little thing—you.

“Why are you so lonely over here, handsome?” you teased, lips curling into a sinful smile.

You lost no time, sitting beside him, snuggling up to his side. Joel’s arm draped around your shoulders instinctively, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on your collarbone.

“I dunno, someone didn’t want to join me in the shower…” he pouted slightly, a laugh tearing up your throat as you poked his ribs with one finger.

“I told you to wait for me, but you’re a grumpy old man who has no patience,” you reproached jokingly.

His eyes rolled back in exasperation, but you were right. He’d just wanted to hop in the shower as soon as he got home, ready to dust off the fatigue of the day.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, shrugging.

His hand slowly moved away from your collarbone up to your neck. Carefully, his fingers dug around your throat, just enough for you to look up at him and gape for air—the sweet pressure on your trachea making you gasp like a little fish out of the water.

“Give your old man a kiss, will ya?” he husked, bowing down his head.

You reached up to him, mouth agape, almost touching his lips. You froze there, your sight simmering with need, awaiting his permission… and when his eyes flicked with lust, you closed the distance and pressed your lips on his.

The kiss quickly became sloppy, your spit coating the stubble around his mouth. Muted, needy moans bubbled up your windpipe—an irresistible call of nature, silently begging him to give you what you wanted, what you needed.

How could he resist you? Joel simply couldn’t, especially when your hand landed on his knee and the making out session came to an end, the tip of your nose tracing his jawline before you pressed a kiss to his beating jugular and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your palm squeezed the back of his hairy knee, slowly sliding it up his thigh whilst he manspread on the couch. His brown eyes tracked your every move, his legs’ muscles tensing as you playfully approached his groin. A pull in his soft tummy made him flinch when you reached the dip between his crotch and thigh, his cock hardening at the seductive tease.

A throaty moan rumbled through his chest when you tightly gripped the flesh of his inner thigh, thumb lazily stroking the outline of his shaft over the boxers.

“You’re a bit starved for touch today, aren’tcha?” you nudged him, lips pressed against the shell of his ear.

His cock twitched.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped back, nerves on edge.

You simply giggled, shaking your head as your hand finally cupped his growing bulge. Gently kneaded him, massaging his aching balls over the fabric. Joel could feel the warmth of your touch seeping through the boxers, compelling him to grow bigger, harder, thicker.

Your palm rubbed against the covered length of him, then dropped to his sacks again—and, irremediably, his hips bucked up, bare heels dug in the wooden floor. He thoroughly enjoyed it when you cupped his balls like that—lovingly, languidly, exquisitely, taking the weight off him so he could find some bliss.

Seeing you so locked in on his pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips… It just added to your appeal, another reason to love you. Because he did—fuck, yes he did, with all his fucking heart.

Suddenly, you squeezed his balls a bit too harsh, holding your grip as if your life depended on him, kissing his jawline. The unexpected squash on his testicles forced a moan out of him—and something else.

A firing pulse took a hold of him, surging down from his spine directly into his balls, and inevitably his cock throbbed with releasing strength. Joel couldn’t have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He first felt the sticky warmth soaking his boxers, and his eyes quickly shot down to his lap.

There was a wet, growing spot on his underwear. He’d fucking cummed in his boxers like an inexperienced teenager—or the old man he was, despite how adamant he was to deny it—and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

Embarrassed wouldn’t even start to cover it. Joel was fucking mortified.

His mouth ran dry, heartrate throbbing in his eardrums like a shameful cacophony. This had never occurred before—cumming way too early in his loose boxers, the proof right there for you to see, staining the grey fabric. It happened so fast, so intensely, Joel hadn’t had the time to rein in his own orgasm.

His face flushed with abasement; the tips of his ears hot as embers. Unwrapping his arm from around your shoulders, Joel leaned back, his head slacking back and resting on top of the couch. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand tight in a fist, before a trembling sigh escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to look at you.

“Oh, it’s okay, baby,” you replied reassuringly, your tone too sweet for the circumstances you both were in. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, forcing his hand out of his face. “This just proves how much you love me, so much you can’t even resist me. It’s hot.”

Joel finally had the courage to look you in the eye, a cocked brow showing his disbelief.

“Hot? You think it’s hot I just came in my boxers with a lil’ tugging?” he repeated out loud, unable to believe what you just had said. “I’m not even hard, sweetheart. It’s… humiliating.”

You nodded to his question, your top teeth sinking in your plump bottom lip. Your eyes locked in on his as your hand travelled down his frame, your thumb stroking the obvious wet spot in his underwear.

“Mhm,” you cooed with a playful grin. “Very hot, not humiliating. And I can fix that. Fix him so we can have a good cuddle.”

“I don’t think I can…” you silenced him with a kiss before you got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

A minute later you were back, towering above him with a sinful little smirk, one hand hidden behind your back.

“Open your mouth,” you requested.

“Huh?”

“Just open it for me, please?” you dragged the last word, blinking rather exaggeratedly.

Joel huffed his disagreement, but ended up obeying. His tongue slid out, patiently waiting for whatever you had in mind. With a flourish, you opened your fist to reveal a blue pill. His eyes lighted up in understanding—he thought he had run out of viagra.

“I always keep a secret stock,” you confessed, reading his mind. “For emergencies only.”

Slowly, you set the pill down on his tongue, your thumb caressing the tip of his wet muscle before you retreated to let him close his mouth. Before Joel could swallow, you bowed down to kiss him, your tongue pushing the pill down his throat with a little needy moan.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, the pill secure in his belly now. It was just a matter of time, but meanwhile…

“Let me make it up to you, sweetheart,” he growled, the taste of your sweet cunt haunting him. “You deserve to be eaten out—so thoughtful of your old man. It’s what you enjoy most, right? Having your swollen pussy drooling all over my face, leaking into my mouth…”

His words had an immediate effect on you. Joel knew exactly how to get you off—not that you needed any more encouragement. Your clit was already palpitating, your hole gushing for his attention. The promise of a good pussy eating was everything you’d hoped for after feeding him that viagra pill.

You straightened your back, ready to get started, and Joel slithered off the couch until he was sat on the floor, his achy back leaned against the bottom part of the sofa. He sat back a little, his head resting on the edge of the couch while your pants and underwear dropped to the floor.

“Someone’s eager,” he taunted when you kicked off your clothing to one side.

“Oh, that’s an understatement,” you exhaled sharply.

Joel curled one long, thick finger at you to invite you to sit on his face, and that was exactly what you did.

You knelt on the sofa, his head right between your thighs, and you anchored your hands to the back of the furniture. His warm breath fanned your pussy, a shiver running up your spine. His broad, calloused hands ran up the back of your legs, coaxing your ass cheeks apart so your slit would crack open for him.

“My sweet girl… You’re already so wet,” he tutted at you, pecking your perineum, the tip of his aquiline nose tickling your entrance. “You really like your old man, don’tcha?”

You were about to answer when Joel lapped your entire seam in one smooth motion before his mouth latched onto your pulsing clit. You sobbed audibly, head lolled back, fingers curling tightly around the cushion of the backrest. Only managing a hushed “mhm,” Joel suckled on your throbbing nub again, pulling the hood back with his tongue.

A myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids when Joel gently nibbled at your bud, his middle finger sliding in your tight hole to rub that precise spot inside your cunt. He ate you out diligently—sucked, licked, bit, flicked your clit… rinse and repeat. Your pussy fluttered around his finger, your moans louder than they should have been considering the thin walls of the house. Sensing your desperation, Joel’s finger slipped out with a pop, to quickly fill your drooling entrance with his tongue.

It was too much—deliciously so. When you thought you’d had the best head ever, Joel always outdid himself. His wet muscle thrusted in and your pussy reciprocated with stuttering squeezes on his tongue. He didn’t falter, not even for a breather—as if he was trying to pull something out of your cunt.

“Jo-Joel…” you mewled, half whimper, half prayer.

You were so drenched, you could feel a flood forming in your womb—a heap of your arousal waiting to drip into his mouth. A tight coil low in your belly with a strangling force, so intense your shut eyes were tearing up, the drops of your silent cries sliding off your temples. Joel didn’t leave a spot unattended, worshipping your puffy pussy lips, your gushing hole, your thudding clit with his tongue and teeth.

Unable to rein in your own lust anymore, you dropped one hand and fisted his hair, forcing him to stay put, still between your trembling thighs. Your body was asking to take control, to let go of the tethers of decency—not that you had much left anyway.

“Wanna ride my face, hm?” Joel muttered with a shaky laugh.

“Mhmmm,” you moaned, shaking your head yes, your bottom lip twitching.

“Go on, baby, use me,” and then he rolled your bundle of nerves between his teeth.

That was the last straw—his words, your undoing. So you did exactly that. Still anchoring his head to the couch, you rocked your hips on his face, just once. His nose traced the entirety of your slit, catching on your clit, and you whined. A second later you were completely sat on his face, almost smothering him, while you rode not only his face, but specifically his nose.

Looking down, you saw his forehead reappear when your hips moved back. Every time you glided over him, the coil tightened and the flood dropped further down in your uterus. Stilling, you circled your waist on his mouth, and then resumed the riding.

It happened too quickly. Suddenly, the dam in your pussy just gave way, and you squirted all over his face while the most wanton moan tore up your throat, your vocal chords feeling raw from so much screaming. The biggest wave—no, tsunami—of your life washed over you, your thighs quivering like crazy while you locked them shut around his head.

Joel eagerly drank everything you offered him, groaning below you like a thirsty man who had not tasted water in days. For a long minute you couldn’t control the spasms of your cunt, dripping onto his nose, mouth and chin, your slick running down his neck and wetting the neck of his shirt.

Heaving, all your muscles finally relaxed, and you dropped to one side to release Joel from the imprisonment of your thighs. A side glance at Joel told you that he was licking off your juices from anywhere his tongue could reach, and that vision made you whimper again.

“I… Uh…” you mumbled, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened. “That was… the best head you’ve ever given me, you handsome old man.”

“You mean the best head you’ve ever had, full stop. Right?” he joked while he planted his hands on the edge of the couch to push himself up and sit besides you, his knees loudly cracking.

You laughed, nodding vehemently as you curled up to his side. His face was still wet from your cum, so you swept off some of it for him, kissing it away. The curls freely hanging over his forehead were damp with your slick too, and just that sight made your clit throb again. Raking your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, you combed it back with the product of your arousal.

“You don’t need hair gel if you’ve got me,” you said with a smile, and Joel tsked before letting go of a hearty chuckle.

“My personal hairdresser,” Joel quipped.

His laugh died in his mouth when your taunting hand flew to his bulge again. This time, he was extremely hard. Balls loaded and heavy, cock drumming.

“How’s my toy doing? Ready?” It was a rhetoric question, you could feel how ready he was.

“All… yours,” his words hitched, eyes darkening with a burning desire.

Without wasting another second, you knelt before him on the floor, his thighs spread open to house your frame. You couldn’t resist to lean forward and kiss the wet spot on his underwear, stealing a quick taste. Licking off the stain, you gazed up at him.

Joel was watching your every move with predatory attention, his tight fists resting to either side of him. Trying to convey calmness, but you could feel the eagerness simmering under the surface.

You buried your face in his bulge again, rubbing him over the fabric with your mouth, lips and cheeks. Kneaded him with worshipping heed, pulling the textile between your teeth, drunk with the crispy, sticky sound the wet boxers made when they unglued from his damp cock. Feeling his heartbeat, you inhaled keenly—his scent swarming your senses.

You could spend hours like this, with your face tucked away in his groin, feeling the length of him hardening against your cheek. But you were anxious to shove him down your throat.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his old man’s loose boxers, and Joel lifted his hips off the pillows just enough for you to pull them down his legs, tangled around his ankles. His dick sprung free, swaying in front of you like a tasty lollypop. Cockhead flushed and painfully red, the vein on his underside visibly pulsing, his heavy, full balls tightened up into the base of his dick. And then the cum he’d been so embarrassed about, topping his mushroom head and sliding off his shaft.

It really was a beautiful sight. You pushed his girthy length against his soft tummy and lapped at his balls first, to then find your way up his shaft until your lips sealed shut around his angry cockhead, cleaning off all his nutty spent.

Joel groaned above you, shifting his position ever so slightly, and was gentle enough to caress your cheek with his thumb before he gave you a soft smack.

“Careful not to choke, sweetheart. Take it easy,” he growled, words dying off when you pushed him down your mouth, the hoarse curls at the base tingling your nose. “Easy does it.”

With your mouth full, you gave free rein to your instincts. Took him out completely, a bridge of saliva linking your lips to the tip of his cock, and then shoved him down your throat again. You gagged and whimpered at the same time, precum and spit overflowing from the corners of your mouth. How the end of him hit your uvula, breaching past it… it was the most elated you had ever felt.

Your pace quickly picked up, and soon enough you were bobbing your head on his lap to the point that tomorrow you’d have a stiff neck. But it would be completely worth it. Sucking him off, your tongue swirled around his leaky cockhead to then nip at it. Closing your mouth, you slid his tip over your clenched teeth and lips, making a mess of your face.

“Eaaaasy… Fuck, stop,” Joel tugged at your hair.

You had been so lost in the moment, you looked up at him bewildered. You didn’t want to stop, you could never have enough of him. But realisation quickly hit. His balls were twitching against your chin, a sign that Joel was about to lose it.

“I could have my dick in your mouth all day and night, sweetheart, but I need your pussy now,” he husked, half plea, half threat.

Joel relaxed against the couch when you got up to your feet and straddled him, your knees sunk in the pillows to either side of his legs. Reaching behind you, you grabbed at his throbbing cock, gliding it over your entire slit until it hitched in your entrance.

Biting your lip down to stop a slutty moan from coming out, you locked eyes with him. Watching his façade tumble down every time you descended on his lap was one of the most beautiful sights. So slowly you impaled yourself, taking in how Joel’s face loosened up, his hands firm on your hips—how the crows’ feet kissing the corners of his chocolate eyes would smooth out, how his cheeks would flush, how his nose would do a cute little scrunch, or how his lips would part, letting out a heavy sigh.

Joel tried to fuck up into you when you lifted your hips and you tutted at him, pinning him down so he wouldn’t move.

“Nuh-uh. I’m doing all the work tonight, baby. You just lean back and relax, let me fuck you,” you warned him, an edge to your tone advising him to refrain from complaining.

He’d been on patrol out all day—you knew how tired he was, how his old man’s bones would crack with the gentlest of moves.

“But—”

“No, no buts. If you stay still and behave, I’ll let you come inside. Be good for me, please,” you cooed, your mouth moving against his with every suggestive word.

Joel finally grunted in agreement, and the smile on your face couldn’t be wider—even your cheeks hurt. Despite how badly you wanted to say “good boy,” you didn’t press your luck. Joel was quite dominant, but you enjoyed these subtle shifts in your relationship when he was very tired. So tired you could boss him around with no reprimands.

Once he had settled down, you began riding him, his reassuring hands kneading your hips for encouragement. At first it was slow-paced, his cock lazily swallowed by your labia only half-way through. With every pump, you let him slide a little bit deeper, sweet desperation building up behind his adoring eyes.

And after a few minutes, you were bouncing up and down on his throbbing shaft with heavy, quick dives. You laced your hands behind his neck for support, your forehead resting on his, your sweats mixing. Every time he exhaled, you inhaled his needy groans, high with the passion burning between you two.

His cock filled you up to the brim, especially when he was fully seated in your crying cunt. His tip would kiss your cervix, sending firing signals up your spine, numbing your mind. He was so girthy, your inner walls parted like the Red Sea to greet him, to house him. Every time he pulsed inside, your pussy squeezed him hard—as if they were talking to each other. Joel was the perfect fit to you, in every fucking sense.

His cockhead dragged along your anterior wall, putting pressure on the exact spot that always had you gushing. You were so close to nirvana, you could almost touch the sky with your fingertips. Understanding how close you were—probably because your pussy was uncontrollably fluttering around him—Joel took it upon himself to tip you over the cliff of your pleasure. One of his hands flew to your clit, pressing tight circles on your nub as you, quite literally, jumped on him like a demon possessed—and your whole brain short-circuited right there and then.

“Come for you old man, sweetheart. Squirt all over my cock, drench my lap. Wanna feel her sing around me, milk me fucking dry until my balls are completely empty,” Joel husked against your lips, his thumb quicker on your clit now, pushing back the hood to expose your bundle of nerves to his incessant touch even more. “Can you do that for me, hm?”

You did exactly that the moment Joel stopped petting your clit and, instead, he gently tapped at it with four fingers, the squelching sound driving you crazy. The clapping of skin on skin driving you wild. You finally came, screaming at the top of your lungs, while your hips stuttered above him. Incapable of maintaining any pace now, you sat on his lap—his thudding cock buried down to the hilt in your quivering pussy, the best orgasm of your life hitting you at once.

Your entire body was quaking, your pussy flitting arrhythmically as the last squirts left your insides. Joel was throbbing inside you, grown to a point you thought he might explode. And with the last bit of energy, you clamped down on him as strongly as you could, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart,” Joel moaned loudly, head tilting back against the couch.

He pulsed one last time, and then finally filled you up. His cum flooded your pussy with long, thick ropes—so much that it was soon gushing out, mixed with your own arousal. It was warm and comforting, knowing that his seed was safe in your cunt. You squeezed once more to completely drain his balls, and he gifted you with some more drops.

You hummed in approval, so satisfied you almost felt sleepy. Joel smacked your right buttock and then hugged you around the waist, feeling your weight on him like a blanket. Neither of you moved, his cock still snug inside your pussy, your breathings loud and heavy.

“We still have a couple of hours before they serve dinner in the community hall. Can’t go anywhere in this… state,” Joel snickered, kissing your cheek.

“Gonna have to take care of this for you, ain’t I?” you whispered, batting your eyelashes at him before you grinded your hips on his lap. Your clit twitched in response, overstimulated. “I need a minute though, I feel like my whole nervous system is on fire right now.”

“Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I could be here all day right until the last minute,” he muttered, his hands gliding over the sweaty skin on your back.

“You’ll need to at least take a shower before we leave. I made a mess of your hair,” you laughed, nudging the vein on his neck with the tip of your nose.

“No, I like this hair gel better. I ain’t washing my hair.”

Your eyes shot up to him. The mere idea of him leaving the house with your slick dampening his hair, him being in public bathed in your pussy scent… while talking to others, fully claiming him as yours… Right then, you brain chemistry was changed forever.

Your clit throbbed, and you purposefully clutched around his still hard shaft.

“I’m ready again.”

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

i dont know how many asks you have built up, but hullo :3

Wondering if you could make a little fic of reader with a biting kink and sub!Steven? It could go any way you want, but I can just imagine this scene:

Marc waking up, feeling all sore and stingy in certain areas and seeing reader blissfully sleeping like they didn't just bite the fuck out of the body. He stumbles to the bathroom, looks in the mirror to see bite marks all over his neck, chin, shoulders, arms (and some on his thighs 😼). Marc, talking to Steven in the reflection, asks why the hell would he let reader keep chomping on the body like a chew toy, and Steven was just like "well, bruv, you should have seen them on top of me last night. I couldn't say no to that face" Marc, Steven and Jake have been dating reader for a while, and they know all to well about their biting kink, that a different reason they summon the suit to heal (even though they sometimes keeps the bite marks on like a display to others that they have a sex life. I feel like Jake would taunt others and be like "yeah, my lover owns me" and other people could be like wtf??)

Extra points of reader is a demihuman 😼

Thank you so much for the ask! Ahhh!

Sorry this has kind of gone in a different direction.

Love Bites

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Marc has a problem he needs to share.

Warnings: Kissing, biting, pet names, Marc and Steven having a conversation (bickering), fluffy silliness, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 973

Steven moans softly as you straddle his thighs, your hands on his cheeks as you kiss him and lightly push him back against the pillows. His fingers dig into your waist as he kisses you back, leaving him breathless, lightheaded. 

Which isn’t helped by the blood rapidly rushing downwards. 

You rock against him lightly as you lick into his mouth and nibble on his bottom lip, breaking away for just a moment to tug his t-shirt up and off. Steven helps you eagerly, throwing it to the side as if the material had personally offended him. 

When you go back to dragging your lips along his throat, he groans loudly, wriggling under you in excitement, his heart thudding in his chest. 

“Love,” he moans, needy and wanting. He places his warm hand on the back of your neck, applying a firm but not oppressive pressure. 

You know what he wants, what he craves. But instead, you smile and run your tongue along his jugular. 

“Love.” He pants, a little harsher this time and you just about manage not to giggle at the indignation in his voice. 

‘Steven.’ Marc’s voice echoes in his head, clear as day and he rolls his eyes. 

‘Bit busy now mate.’ 

There’s a pause, and even though Steven doesn’t look over to the mirror, he can feel Marc shiver, the sensations starting to bleed over, his arousal. 

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Marc pauses, but doesn’t fade back. 

You nip lightly at the spot under Steven’s ear. He shudders, whining beautifully. 

‘Maybe you can…’ Marc swallows. 

‘Spit it out mate, come on. Me and Jake have talked to you about this. It’s not really fair that you’re constantly dropping in on, well, intimate moments with us, but when it’s the other way around, you get all pissy and-’

‘This isn’t about that.’

‘Isn’t it?’ 

Steven can feel Marc frown at his sarcastic tone. But neither of them comment on it. 

‘Look, it’s about the biting-’

It’s almost like you can hear them. At the exact moment the word is out of Marc’s mouth you sink you teeth into Steven’s neck and suck.

Steven yelps, arousal burning in his lower stomach. His grip on you tightens. “Oh, fuck love, yes, that’s what I want.” 

‘Steven.’ Marc tuts. 

‘I don’t care if you’re here or not, don’t act like I can’t tell when you’re in the background watching to get your rocks off. You’ve got a vouyism thing, I swear down, all high and mighty on your horse acting like you don’t when you watch all the blood time and-’

‘Steven-’

‘But do not give me the condescending mother goose voice when I am trying to have a nice time here, yeah? It’s a bit of a mood killer.’

‘I’m not trying to kill the mood!’ Marc snaps back, going from his stern slowness to matching Steven’s fast pace. His accent is stronger when he’s frustrated, and now it’s out in full force. ‘It’s the biting! Does it always have to be with the biting?’

‘First, is this really the time to be discussing it? Second-’

‘I think it’s the right time, the best time. You hardly ever-’

‘Second, you one to talk!’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true!’

‘What the fuck are you talking about, Steven?’

‘You love getting bitten.’

Marc gasps, trying to sound insulted. But it falls short. ‘I don’t.’

‘Yes you do!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Protest all you want, but I know you do Marc.’

‘That’s a fucking lie.’

‘You’re a fucking liar.’

‘Steven, I’m not, shut up!’

‘You just use the suit to heal them after, but I know, Jake and I both know.’

‘Bullshit.’ 

‘What’s the real problem here?’

‘I…’

‘Yes?’ Steven waits. 

Marc sighs. ‘Look, can you, you know, heal them after too?’

‘Why?’

Marc squirms a little, embarrassed. ‘‘Cause… I get… worked up… when I see them, feel them, on the body…’ 

Steven snorts involuntarily and then quickly stops himself, internally apologising. ‘Are you saying you get a boner from some bruises?’ 

He can feel Marc’s glare. 

Steven chuckles. ‘You do!’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Oh, you really do. That’s bad mate, really bad, a fetish for sure.” Steven teases and Marc scowls. 

‘Fuck off.’

‘A deviant they’d call you.’

‘Like you don’t fucking get the same?’ Marc snaps. ‘Acting like you’ve never got turned on by anything.’

Steven relents, internally holding his hands up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just teasing. I’m not trying to really upset you.’

Marc pauses. ‘Yeah… I know… sorry. I just…’

‘I’ll heal them after.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Marc says quietly.

‘You don’t have to fuck off either, you can stay and…’ Steven pauses, realising that your lips are no longer on his neck. He opens his eyes to look up to you, confused. “Love?” 

You smile at him. “Marc or Jake or both?” 

“Hmm?”

“Who you were talking to?” You lean down again and kiss his cheek.

“Oh, how did…?”

“You go still and sort of, move your lips a little, like you’re asleep.”

Steven blushes a little. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” You shrug.

“Not very sexy, is it?” 

You chuckle, “It’s fine, I’d do the same if someone was talking to me.” 

“Still…” Steven smiles. 

“So, who were you talking to?” 

“Marc.” Steven touches back into their shared space. Marc’s still there, though he’s stepped back a fraction. But he’s not pretending he’s gone. “He’s hanging out.” 

You smile and stroke his hair. 

“Now, I believe you were in the middle of something?” Steven wiggles his eyebrows at you, giving you a cheeky look. 

“Oh, was I?” 

Steven nods. “Something that you’ll have to finish, love. You have no choice.” 

You giggle at his teasing tone, “Oh, well,” you shrug, pretending as if it’s some great chore. “If I have no choice.” And lean back down to suck a love bite into his skin.

Thank you for reading!

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[runninriot]

Salty Lips Like Candy

written for the @steddiesongfics June prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo prompt: mutual pining

song inspo: Summer Sweat by Hannah Cohen (with a hidden nod to Djo's song Potion) | wc: 2.500 | rated: M | tags: alternating pov, not actually unrequited crushes, sexual content, idiots in love, friends to lovers | also on ao3

   “I’m not gonna survive this. Tell Wayne I love him. Tell Dustin he can have all my DnD stuff and you... you can have whatever’s left of my weed. It’s hidden in the-“

   “Oh for fuck’s sake, Munson! Will you stop with the dramatics? It’s just a sunburn! You’re gonna live.”

    If I don’t strangle you with my own two hands, Steve mumbles to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose trying to calm his nerves.

Eddie has been whining ever since he woke up from the little nap he took by the pool. In the sun. Which Steve had explicitly warned him about.

He told him it was a bad idea to lie in the blazing sun unprotected, but did he listen? No. Of course not. Because underneath that pretty hair is a skull so thick, no reasonable advice – no matter how well-intentioned – gets through.

Now, Eddie’s back and shoulders are glowing bright red, and they hurt. Probably not quite as bad as Eddie lets on but it sucks either way, Steve knows it does. Had learned it the hard way and never made the same mistake twice.

Because unlike Eddie, he’s not a stubborn donkey. So, no. No pity there. He did that to himself.

   “It doesn’t look that bad. You’ll be fine in a few days. Once the burned skin peels off, you’ll be as good as new.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

   “Wait, hold on. My skin will do what?”

He sounds genuinely distressed now and- okay. Maybe Steve does feel a bit sorry for him.

   “Why are you acting like this is news to you? Are you telling me this is the first time this has happened? How?”

There’s no way Eddie never had a sunburn before. That would be, like, a miracle or something. Because let’s be honest, Eddie Munson does not seem like the type of guy that takes good care of his skin. Not like- he doesn’t have bad skin. It’s actually unfair how good his skin looks despite the fact that he probably never used any cream or other products in his whole damn life.

Not the point, though. The point is-

   “It’s all your fault, Harrington!”

The accusation leaves him speechless for a moment because seriously, “What?”

   “Yeah, well, this never would’ve happened if I’d stayed in my dark room, where the sun can’t hurt me. And I’m only not because you invited me over and I-“

Eddie stops his tirade, teeth pressing into his bottom lip.

   “Oh excuse me for wanting to spend time with you! You dickhead!”

Steve throws his hands up in frustration and starts pacing from the counter to the fridge just to let off some steam.

This is ridiculous.

If Eddie doesn’t want to be here, why did he agree to come when Steve asked him if he wanted to hang out?

Didn’t he enjoy himself earlier? Steve sure as hell thought so. Thought it would be nice to spend the day together.

It’s so rare they get to be together alone, just the two of them. Where they can talk shit and be stupid without having to keep one eye on what the kids are up to, and Robin’s not there to make fun of him for being a apparently too obvious with his stupid, unrequited feelings.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why Eddie doesn’t want to be here. Why he-

   “Steve?”

A hand drops on his shoulder and when he blinks himself out of his spiralling thoughts, he finds Eddie looking at him with those soft, disarming eyes, and an apologetic smile on his lips.

   “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s obviously not your fault. And I’m glad you invited me- you have a fucking pool, man! The trailer doesn’t even have air-con. I’d be dying of a heatstroke right now if it wasn’t for you. You’re literally my saviour, Steve! Knight in shining armour and all that.”

Eddie shakes him lightly by the shoulder, and Steve can’t not laugh at his overdone speech.

   “You’re lucky I like you enough to put up with you,” Steve counters as nonchalantly as possible, not giving away just how much he likes him.

    Take that, Robin.

   “Still like me even if I’m being a big whiny baby about a sunburn?”

Eddie pouts, looking up through his stupidly long lashes, and- okay yeah, fine! Maybe Robin does have a point because Steve feels weak, unable to keep a straight face when Eddie’s looking at him like that. He wants to bite his cheeks. Or lick them. Press his mouth against those unfairly kissable looking lips.

    Fuck. Get a grip, Harrington.

   “Yeah, yeah. Now, do you want the lotion or the aloe gel? Both will sting a bit but it’ll cool your skin and you’ll feel much better.”

Steve grabs both bottles and holds them out for him to choose – that’s what they came inside for, after all, before Eddie started to make his last will.

   “Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna be able to reach most of it anyway.”

Eddie turns over his shoulder, looking at the reflection of his back in the sliding door that leads from the kitchen to the backyard.

   “Well, yeah. That’s what I’m here for,” Steve answers matter-of-factly, ignoring the small but unsubtle tug in his gut.

This is not quite how he imagined getting his hands on Eddie’s body, but he’ll take it. It’s not like he’ll ever get a chance for more anyway.

When Eddie looks back at him, his face is painted with the same colour as his damaged skin, a flashing red that spreads from his nose right down to his bare chest.

   “If, uh, if you don’t mind,” Steve adds, suddenly unsure.

   “Y-yeah. That- that would be nice.”

Despite the undefined tension hanging thick in the air between them, Steve walks over to him, clutching both bottles like their weapons and he’s going to battle, buzzing with nerves.

   “Aloe?” he asks again, setting the lotion aside when Eddie nods.

He clicks the cap open, tips the bottle and lets its content drizzle into his left hand.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Eddie watching him, dark eyes fixated on the translucent liquid collecting in Steve’s palm. Watching even more intently when Steve spreads the gel between his hands.

He seems nervous, biting his lip while his hands fiddle with the cords on his swim shorts, feet tip-tapping from left to right like he can’t stay still.

   “Turn around for me?” Steve asks and he hates how soft his voice sounds, how unsteady he moves when he closes the remaining distance between them. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Eddie nods again and turns around like Steve asked him to. He hisses at the first contact of Steve’s hands with his neck, shoulders tensing up.

   “Doesn’t hurt, ‘s just cold.”

His words are a little slurred, and Steve worries that he’s lying, trying to act tough. But then he can feel him relax, shoulders dropping when Steve continues, carefully spreading the cooling gel over hot skin.

   “Feel okay?”

Eddie’s head falls forward before he answers with a sigh, the sound bordering on a moan, and Steve has to bite his tongue not to mirror him.

It’s hard to focus on the steady movement of his hands, hard not to let his mind misinterpret Eddie’s reactions to his touch. How he squirms slightly when Steve’s fingers tickle his sides, letting out these soft little puffs of air at every gentle stroke along his spine.

This shouldn’t feel so intimate, but it does, the way Eddie leans into him, his body relaxed, his skin soft under Steve’s palms. How he hums contently when Steve reaches the small of his back, fingertips dragging along the waistline of his shorts, itching to dip lower.

A real torture on his heart that flutters violently, not understanding that this isn’t what it so desperately longs for.

   “All done,” Steve says, not without regret, when all of Eddie’s back is covered under a soothing layer of aloe, that’ll offer relief for his irritated skin.

He steps back to give Eddie some room, instantly missing the contact now that his arms are hanging useless down his sides.

The blush on Eddie’s face is still visible when he turns, and his chest is heaving, almost as if he’s a little breathless, when he lets out a small giggle.

   “Fuck, Steve. You’re like a witch with healing hands. It already feels so much better.”

In response, like a dork, Steve lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers in front of him, and is instantly hit with a wave of shame. He tries to laugh it off, acting casual, annoyed.

   “Next time, let me do that before you get sunburned.”

Eddie stops mid eye-roll, smile faltering “Ugh, fuck. I can’t sleep on my back like that.”

   “Then... don’t?”

   “But what if I turn in my sleep? It’ll hurt and I’ll wake up and then I’ll be grouchy all day.”

Steve chuckles, can’t not when Eddie’s being his over-dramatic self.

   “You’re such a baby.”

He laughs even more when Eddie crosses his arms before his chest and frowns.

   “Hey! Stop being mean.”

It’s just an act, Steve knows that. The problem is, that it’s working on him. Eddie is cute when he’s fake-sulking like that, and Steve can’t handle cute right now. Not with his whole system still running on overdrive from hearing Eddie fucking moan because he enjoyed Steve’s hands on his body so much. That’s... a lot to take in, okay?

He needs a distraction, or he might do something stupid.

   “Come on, let’s grab a beer and sit in the shade. No more sun for you, mister.”

Two weeks later, Eddie is back at Steve’s place. They’re having a pool party, grown-ups only, and Eddie promised to help with preparations.

He’s stacking bottles in the refrigerator when he notices movement behind him, finds Steve standing there with a grin on his face and a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.

   “No excuses this time,” he says and Eddie doesn’t dare to argue; he’s learned his lesson.

Once he’s done, he follows Steve outside, who sits down on a recliner, patting the empty space between his parted thighs.

Eddie swallows hard, feels his insides tie into knots, heart beating rapidly in his chest, when he settles down in front of him.

He should’ve just waited and asked Robin to help him out. Or Jonathan. Anyone else would’ve been the better choice, because none of the others make him feel like Steve does.

It’s so stupid, but it’s hard to stay cool when the guy you’ve been having a tragically miserable crush on forever, is sitting so close. Dressed in nothing but shorts, heat radiating off his unfairly perfect body that must’ve been blessed by the sun god himself.

   “Take off your shirt,” Steve tells him, and Eddie thinks he might combust.

    Keep it together, Munson. You survived this once, you’ll survive it again.

Only this time, it’s so much worse.

Because last time, Eddie could focus on the bearable but omnipresent stinging sensation that mixed with the soothing touch of Steve’s hands.

But now, with his skin unblemished, Eddie is committed to the full force of how good it feels. And if he thought the noises he involuntarily made last time, where embarrassing, then whatever sound breaks free from his throat now, makes him want to die on the spot.

It sounds downright pornographic, the way he moans when Steve’s thumbs press into space between his shoulder blades, kneading his flesh with strong hands, smoothly following the shape his spine, teasing fingertips reaching around his waist, dipping almost all the way down to his waistline.

It goes on and on, with no mercy on Eddie’s weak heart that tells him, delusional as it is, that this isn’t about putting sunscreen on him anymore. Can’t be, because Eddie’s skin has already soaked up all of it. Still, Steve keeps going, massaging Eddie’s back, hands gliding over his skin, working the knots in his shoulders.

Eddie’s melting, not just into the touch, it’s like his whole body is suddenly made of molten wax. He feels hot, and he’s not sure if it’s from the sun or from the burning wildfire of emotions that’s raging inside of him.

It’s too much, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Wants to tell Steve how fucking good it feels. Wants to feel more of him. Wants to feel him forever.

Another breathy moan breaks the silence between them, but to Eddie’s surprise, the source isn’t his own mouth.

Steve’s suddenly so close, his breath hot on the side of his neck, chest pressing against Eddie’s back.

   “Fuck, Eddie. I’m-”

    Oh.

    O-holy shit.

He can feel it. Unmistakably.

Steve is hard.

Rubbing against him with shallow movements, barely there but enough to send him into spiral of overwhelm and arousal and- fuck!

   “Steve.”

The name spills into a desperate little whine when Steve wraps a hand around his throat, thumb pressing against his jawline, forcing his head to turn to the side, awkwardly twisting to meet Steve’s lips in a kiss.

Eddie thinks he might’ve fallen asleep again. Thinks he must be dreaming when Steve’s mouth connects with the sweaty skin on the side of his neck, sucking, licking, biting.

But he can taste the salt on Steve’s lips, somehow still sweet like candy, when they collide again and again while their hands have developed a mind of their own, searching, finding, moving where they’re both aching for touch.

Their bodies now a tangle of limbs, unsteady on the recliner that wasn’t made to defy such need but holds up anyway. Barely. Hinges groaning to the sound of unrestrained lust, shaking with the violent tremble of two people slowly coming undone. Every hip thrust welcomed by a tight fist threatening to cause a collapse. Not of the recliner, but it’s a fall nonetheless. Down into the pit where desire meets the unison echo of a four-letter word confession.

Choking on each other’s breath, Steve follows him over the edge. It’s over too soon, and not soon enough, because God knows when the others will arrive and burst the bubble Eddie finds himself floating in.

   “Can we-“ Steve starts, still a little breathless, “Can we come back to this? Later? When everyone’s gone?”

His voice is only a shy whisper, like he’s scared Eddie might pull away.

Like it isn’t obvious that he’s all in.

   “I meant what I said, Steve. I want you. Now. Later. Forever.”

He doesn’t say love this time, not because he doesn’t feel it in every fibre of his being, only because he wants to do this right, take his time to pour it all out, let his heart speak through his body. Let Steve know he wants this more than anything.

   “Kiss me again?” Steve asks, and Eddie is more than happy to oblige.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A slip of the tongue

Upside Diner, part 6 [previous parts here] Rated: E Words: 1.659 [also on AO3] Tags: No UD AU; Future fic; Record label owner Eddie; Waiter Steve; Sex worker Steve; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Explicit sexual content; Angst; They're idiots, your honor Notes: It's @house-of-the-moving-image 's birtdhay and - as tradition demands - I come bearing more Upside Diner as a gift. Happy birthday, house, I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day. Here is some soul-crushing angst! ❤️🎂

Eddie is on his third cigarette of the night, absentmindedly shuffling through his record collection under the pretense of tidying up, when the doorbell rings. 

“Oh, thank Christ,” he breathes. He throws the cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray without checking where it lands, and rushes to the apartment door, not bothering to flick on the lights in the hallway. “You’re late.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve mutters as he shoulders past him. “Something came up.” 

“Something-” Eddie parrots, alarm flaring low in his gut. “What do you-”

Steve, who has already deposited the bag with his skates next to the shoe rack and is now toeing off his sneakers, pauses and shoots him a warning look, and Eddie bites down on his own tongue to keep the question in. 

“Right, sorry. None of my business, I know.” 

Steve keeps watching him for a moment longer, and it might be the dim light, but Eddie thinks he sees something like hesitation flicker in those pretty eyes of his. Then, he huffs and turns away, and the moment breaks. 

Eddie trails after him into his own bedroom like a lost puppy dog, taking the opportunity to let his eyes wander over Steve’s body. He’s still in his uniform from the diner, even though Eddie knows for a fact that his shift ended almost two hours ago. He also doesn’t appear to be hurt. No unfortunate run-ins with any other customers, then - or ex-customers, as Eddie has been his only one for a while now. It’s what they have agreed on, and Steve has given him no reason to believe he isn’t honoring their deal. On the contrary, he’s been treating their weekly meetings with nothing but exemplary professionalism. Punctual. Polite. Detached.

“Shit. You got a towel?” 

The question takes him so much by surprise that he needs a few seconds to process it. All the times that Steve has been here, he hasn’t asked him for so much as a glass of water. Now, though, with him standing at the center of the bedroom, the soft light of the bedside lamps illuminating his features, Eddie can see why he’d ask for a towel. 

He’s positively drenched. Flimsy uniform shirt clinging to his skin, big droplets of water dripping off the tips of his hair, leaving dark stains on the plush carpet. It has been drizzling all day - a thin but steady curtain of water blurring the world like an aquarelle painting. Steve looks like he’s been caught in it for hours. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie blurts. “Why are you-” 

Steve gives him another look from underneath his sopping bangs. There’s a tight curl to his shoulders, like that of a cornered animal.  

“Towel,” Eddie mutters. “Yeah, sure. Hold on.” 

It’s just a few steps into the ensuite bathroom. He yanks the first towel he can reach off its hook and storms back into the bedroom, holding it out like an offering. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, and throws the towel over his head. He reemerges a few seconds later with a relieved sigh, rosy-cheeked and wild-haired, and Eddie needs to avert his eyes. “Sorry about your carpet.” 

“Oh, fuck the carpet,” Eddie barks. He imagines the tiniest smile tugging on Steve’s lips, but it’s gone as fast as it came. “The carpet can’t get pneumonia, dude. We need to get you into something dry.” 

Steve takes a step back. His brow furrows. “It’s okay, I’ll get changed once I get home. Just let me get this done.” 

He makes to get to his knees. 

“Oh, like fuck you will,” Eddie hisses and catches him by the shoulders. Large, startled eyes stare up at him. The lamplight brings out the golden flecks in them, and it’s all he can do to not lean in. They said no kissing. It’s part of the deal. “Seriously, cut that crap. Let me just get you a shirt. Everything else can wait.” 

He can feel Steve’s eyes boring into his back as he walks over to the wall with the closet. 

“You don’t have to do this for me. You already pay me enough.” 

Eddie, already elbow-deep in the chaos that is his wardrobe, rolls his eyes. “I know I don’t have to, but I wanna. Why can’t you just accept people being nice to you every once in a while, huh? You don’t have to turn every little kindness into a business transaction, y’know?” 

Steve goes very silent. Silent enough that Eddie wonders if he left, except he doesn’t hear the door or any footfalls in the hallway. He suppresses a groan at the disorganized state of his closet - maybe he should make a habit of actually sorting his laundry instead of just chucking it all in there in one giant, tangled pile - and finally pulls out a random, faded band shirt. 

“Probably not your preferred color,” he jokes, closing the door and turning around. “But I think it’ll do for- holy shit, what are you doing?” 

Steve’s face is inches from his. When Eddie tries to reel back, he takes a step closer, bracketing him between the closet door and his own body, arms on either side of Eddie’s head. His eyes are calm and oddly determined, and up this close, Eddie can see the tiniest drops of water still glistening between his lashes. The shirt slips from his fingers and lands at their feet. 

“I have a proposal for you,” Steve murmurs, idly twisting one of Eddie’s curls around a finger, breath puffing over Eddie’s lips as he leans closer. He smells of rain, and Eddie can see the outlines of his nipples through his soaked shirt. Steve’s eyes follow his, and his lips curl up. “I know you’re not satisfied with our current … arrangement. I know you want more, Eddie. I’m willing to give you more, if the price is right.” 

Eddie’s heart is hammering behind his collarbone, a violent thudthudthud that echoes dully in the empty pit of his stomach. This isn’t really happening. There’s no way. When he makes a weak attempt at twisting away, Steve pushes one leg between his. His shorts ride up as he does, naked thigh brushing against the bulge of Eddie’s stirring cock in his jeans. Eddie moans involuntarily, hands flying up to steady himself on something as his world threatens to spin off its axis. They land on Steve’s hips, and Steve reaches down with casual ease, pushing Eddie’s fingers under the waistband of his shorts. His skin is hot and smooth and wet. 

It’s heaven. It’s all he ever wanted. It’s what he fantasized about for years, touching himself in the darkness of his tiny bedroom in the old trailer, knowing full well that he’d never have it.

And now he’s here, and Steve is in his arms, slowly grinding against him, undoing the fly of his shorts with practised movements while he guides Eddie’s hand lower. 

“No,” Eddie whispers. This isn’t right. There’s something off, this is too good to be true. “No, wait.” 

Steve kisses him, deep and urgent, tongue slipping into Eddie’s mouth to drink down his noise of protest. Eddie tries to struggle, but Steve nips at his bottom lip, using his gasp of surprise to deepen the kiss, pushing Eddie’s hand down all the way, so that he can feel the hot, hard length of him in his palm, and from there, things descend into a blurry haze of lust and mingled moans. Eddie comes back to his senses just long enough to yank Steve’s wet shirt over his head, hastily throwing it to the floor so that he can pull him close again. Steve moans into his mouth when Eddie’s hands squeeze his ass, and trails wet, sloppy kisses down the corner of his lips, his jaw, his throat. His hands slip under Eddie’s shirt, roaming over the plane of his stomach, up to his chest. His cock strains against the confines of his boxers, rubbing against Eddie’s own as they stumble their way towards the bed. 

They land in a heap on the mattress, Eddie on his back and Steve on top. His skin glows in the lamplight, golden and glistening with moisture, and too beautiful to be true, and Eddie needs to touch him to make sure he’s real. Steve lets him, straddling his lap and bending down for another long, filthy kiss, deft fingers working open Eddie’s jeans and slipping inside. 

“Just like that,” Eddie whispers, hips nearly bucking off the bed as Steve wraps his fingers around him, giving him three, four, five firm strokes. “Fuck, I love you.” 

He realizes what he did before the words are even fully out, horror and regret hitting him like something solid. Steve’s entire body goes rigid in his hold. The movement of his hand stills. When he pulls back, his mouth is hanging open in shock, and his eyes are wide and horrified. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie whispers. “No, wait.”

When he reaches out, Steve twists out of his grasp. The air in the room was warm and electric a moment ago, but now it hits Eddie like a bucket of ice. 

“I’m sorry,” he pleads, but Steve is already backing away from the bed. “I shouldn’t have- … I didn’t mean it like that, I promise.” 

Steve shakes his head so hard his hair whips. 

“No,” he whispers, and his voice cracks. “It’s me who shouldn’t have. This was … Fuck, this is all one giant mistake, Eddie. We never should’ve even- …  I’m sorry.” 

He whirls, pausing just long enough to pick up his fallen shirt from the floor, and then he’s gone, door slamming behind him before Eddie can so much as call out. 

By the time Eddie manages to pick himself off the bed and make his way out of the bedroom, the apartment is empty. The bag with the skates is still lying next to the shoe rack. 

Outside, the rain grows thicker. 

Tag list: @grtwdsmwhr @p0lybl4nkk @fairytalesreality @colidamae @dissociatingdemon

@steddhie @formosusiniquis @steddiehasmywholeheart @ellaelsinore 

@braincell-pingpong @sofadofax @foolishness-and-confusion @aol19 @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[burekforsatoru]

boss makes a dollar, i make a dime, that's why i fuck on cumpany time

sam (stardew valley)/f!reader | read it on ao3 sneaking into joja warehouse to be with sam during his break… need i say more? wc: 2.2k tags: joja mart, piv sex, multiple orgasms (sam), praise kink, semi-public sex

the joja mart warehouse hasn’t always been a mess. sam always says there was a week when everything was in its place, and then he got hired so naturally all hell broke loose.

there’s a speaker in the far corner of the large room. static spills from it alongside some corny overplayed pop song, but sam’s mood can't be ruined by something as trivial. no, he's nursing a fat boner, has been since you sent him a sneaky selfie as you were getting dressed, not showing your face, but instead a delicious view of your cute bra and a very tasty underboob.

he’s counting down seconds until he can go on his lunch break, especially since you are supposed to join him. he will let you in through the staff entrance, just like many times before, and sneak you into the warehouse.

there's a nice, cozy space between two old shelving units where sam used to sit and read comic books, then sit and eat lunch, and then sit and jerk off to photos and videos you'd sent him, all starring your plump tits, your bouncy ass, those sweet, sweet wet folds that got parted by your gentle finger as you moaned out his name, telling the camera how much you missed him. he can never grow tired of hearing it, hearing the wet noises your pussy made when you'd stick your finger inside, the resolution of the video so high he would get tempted to lean in and lick the damn screen.

you don't send him videos anymore, not at work. since the back door camera got miraculously busted about a month ago, he’s been sneaking you in almost every day, taking you to that cozy space between the two old shelving units and fucking you senseless, right in between the crates of joja cola cans. 

his alarm couldn’t go off any sooner, it barely rings when he already pushed the door to the warehouse open, sliding his key card through the reader and nearly started running towards the exit. you're already waiting there, sparkle in your eyes upon seeing him so damn excited. he takes a moment to look at you, to calm his speeding heart, to drink in your radiance.

fuck, if he wasn't so damn horny he would take you out for a picnic, sit down with you and hold your hand as you tell him about your day, as you listen to some music sharing his earphones, as you giggle and twirl in your sundress and tuck your hair behind your ear while he leans in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek and another to the corner of your mouth, making sure to take off the dot of whipped cream you have there. but the press of his erection gets even more painful when he lays eyes on the little dress you're wearing. you're really not making things easier for him.

unceremoniously, he drags you inside, already kissing you before even shutting the door fully, holding your waist with one hand while the other cups your cheek, lips attaching to yours desperately like you're his personal oxygen mask. he's obsessed with the way you always find a way to giggle into the kiss, the corners of your lips tugging while he desperately tries to hold on, drink in your every sound, drowning out the static overlaying another shitty pop song dripping through the stupid speaker in the corner.

the sound of you fills his chest, his ears, his head. his cock twitches in his boxers and sam bucks his hips towards you as your back meets the shelving unit. quickly, with practiced movements he picks you up and sets you onto the appropriate shelf, positioned to be perfectly level with his hips.

how funny, you once said, it's clearly meant to be. yeah, meant to be because sam had lifted the fucker and stuck a big chunk of wood under all four posts, making sure they're identical, making sure everything is stable and the height is perfect for when he grows a pair and throws a rock at the security camera outside the door. now it's your spot, he can't imagine anything else being on that shelf that isn't your ass, your perfect body being fucked by him for as long as he can handle at breaks.

with one quick motion he lifts your dress, uncovering a cute, heart themed pair of panties. sam slides his hand under the elastic and tugs them off, instinctively pushing them into the pocket of his uniform for later. now your sweet little dripping cunt is right there for him to see. with an almost whiny groan, he looks down at your pussy and back at your face, seeing the redness spread over your cheeks like every time he exhibits feral behavior.

by this point he thought you'd get used to it, but each day carries a new way he surprises you, making you shy with the way he devours you with his eyes.

while he leans his forehead against yours, grounding himself in the moment, you work your way through the zipper of his uniform, following it with his boxers, now half-way down his thighs as that girthy, unfairly big cock springs out and slaps against his abdomen. already twitching and leaking, he guides it to your soft opening, parting your thighs while he kisses your lips once again, murmuring sweet little pleas in between kisses, holding the back of your head with one hand.

your arms wrap around his neck, he's almost in, almost. sam nearly folds as soon as your warmth sucks in his tip, he nearly finishes right then and there, making for a very short lunch break. it's alright, he's alright, you keep reminding him. your voice breaks him out of the spiral he's got himself into, and instead makes him focus. he pushes into you a little further, eliciting a strangled moan from his own throat and a lewd, sultry one from yours. 

yoba's soggy underwear, how are you always so damn sexy?! here he is, trying not to be a one-stroke-wonder even though you've fucked nearly every day since getting together, surely he should be used to it by now. and you're a damn goddess with your plump thighs, sugary moans, and a warm cunt just begging to be fucked. bottoming out, he throws his head back and groans, already twitching with stimulation while you lean in and pepper little warm kisses over his neck.

“thaaat's it,” you drawl, feeling him relax against you, slumping his head now against your shoulder as he moves his large hands to your thighs, “suuuuch a good boy, sam.” 

it's those two words, good boy, that make him so damn needy whenever you utter them. they drag a whimper out of his throat every time without fail. his hips push against yours despite being all the way in, he wants to give you everything and more . the slow strokes of his cock dragging in and out of you pull the same little noises from your throat as they do from his, your lips seek out his, exchanging sounds and breaths before connecting into a sweet kiss. 

it’s one of those times, when he’s pent up but wants to prolong it as much as he can. wants to spend the whole break just feeling you around him. and how good he was at it, kneading your thighs with those nimble fingers, calloused fingertips digging into your flesh as he pulls back and pushes forward, his curses slipping in between your juicy lips, the moment before he’s silenced once more by your little moan. he slides along your silken walls so slowly, dragging out every movement to feel you better, to enjoy every inch of you as you tighten and relax around his cock. 

“a- ahhh that’s s’ good babe, mmmphhh please…” he groans into your mouth, as slow strokes of his hips, guided by your ankles locked behind his back, make you moan so sweetly, sweeter than the maple bars he loves so much. 

“right th- oh right there, baby… so good–”

“a-again please…” he begs, needs to hear you tell him how it feels. 

he’s losing his damn mind, it’s leaving him in the breaths that mingle with yours, leaving in the press of the tip of his cock against your spongy sweet spot, the one that makes you tighten around his shaft, suffocating him and making him dizzy. he loses track of how many times he’s pushed his twitching length inside you, loses the number of times you’ve made his head spin with your sweet little comments.

“that’s m-my good boy, oh i’d do anything f-for you baby…” you purr into his mouth, capturing his gentle lips in another wet, sloppy kiss as your soaked pussy swallows him again. again, again , until he cums the first time.

he barely acknowledges it with his body, continuing with the slow pace, only pausing for a moment longer once his balls are pressed against your wet cunt. sam keeps kissing you, his teeth grip onto your bottom lip and tug, moaning in time with you, digging his fingers deeper into your flesh.

“sweet… sweet boy…” words drip like honey from your tongue and he catches them, tongue scooping them back into your mouth, torn between letting you praise him and licking into your mouth. “s-so good to me, m- mmph sam.. feel s’ good, g- ah good boy–”

sam whines, feeling his hips stutter every time you say those words, but he doesn’t speed up, he drags his strokes out even longer, even lazier.

“m-more,” he whispers, licking your bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it, “more, tell me… tell me more, please .” the last word is barely a breath as he lets go of your thighs, instead cupping your face and holding it still as he grinds his hips against yours.

“m- mmmph w-why, you wanna–” your words are stolen out of your mouth, he’s dragging his tongue against yours just like he drags his cock along your walls, “–wanna hear how sweet you are, hmm?” 

he hums, tilting your head up so he can kiss along your jaw, nipping the skin as he makes his way to the sensitive spot under your ear. pressing his tongue against it and flicking it against your earlobe, he lets out a barely stifled moan directly into your ear. your walls instantly close up, squeezing him so tightly that he needs to pause, taking quick, desperate breaths as he tries to stay somewhat alert until you relax and let go. 

“babe… babe please– oh fuck .” he feels himself rush over the edge and, as soon as he starts moving, he cums, slowly feeling it drip out of his sensitive tip while he resumes that slow, languid pace.

second load already behind you, he whimpers into your ear, holding onto a thread of sanity as his lips trace the shape of your ear, pleading with you to… anything. to have mercy on him, to stop being so damn perfect, to curse him, praise him, kiss him. to take all of his cum and keep it nice and warm inside you as he glides in and out of you. his words turn incoherent, a blabbering mess of noises as his hips stutter again and he tenses, holding your face a little tighter and bringing his lips to yours again. he nearly sucks out the breath from your lungs, snapping his hips a little harder, getting desperate for one more release.

“saaaam–” you drawl again, higher in pitch as his hip bones dig into your soft thighs with harder thrusts.

“ sam, your break has been over for two minutes, return back to work. ” the speaker sounds, breaking up words with static, but the message is clear.

“n-no… look at me,” you bring a hand to the side of his face and tilt it towards you, “at me, sam. mmm that’s good,” he zeroes in on the glossiness of your eyes, on the dilated pupils that drink in his blushed face and the sweat on his forehead, “be m-my good boy, y-yeah?” 

it’s enough for him, sam nods like an obedient little thing and snaps his hips a few more times, taking you to another dimension before spilling his cum inside you one last time, stilling completely as he takes a few more sloppy kisses from your lips, slowly pulling out with your shaky legs spreading to let him look at the result. the sweetest sight he’s ever laid his eyes on, dripping sticky liquid on your shelf, the flowy sundress making you look sweeter than ice cream on a hot summer’s day. 

“go,” you sigh, looking up at the malfunctioning speaker, “i’ll clean up and meet you outside when you fin–” you chuckle, quickly changing your choice of words, “when your shift’s done.” 

sam groans, reluctantly pulling his boxers and pants back up and leaning in for another quick kiss and a glance down at your dripping cunt.

“love you babe.” he shoots that sweet smile at you before turning and dragging himself back into the store, leaving you to clean yourself up with joja branded wet wipes. before slipping out through the back door, you chuckle as you feel the air on your naked pussy, thinking about the pink heart pair of panties stuffed into sam’s pocket.

♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also if you don't agree with any aspect of this that's okay, this is just my opinion and it's hella self-indulgent!

[somuchforahobby]

invisible string

Summary: Jessica is out of town and Hotch hires a new nanny for Jack Word count: 8k Warnings: Hotchner is afraid of women Tags: Tooth rotting fluff GIFS belong to @kiwriteswords Read on AO3

Time, curious time

It had been quite a while since you got a job interview. You had been recommended by your friend Jessica to her brother in law to take care of her nephew for a few weeks until she comes back from a work-related trip. But first you had to be interviewed by him and Jessica warned you it was not gonna be a walk in the park.

You didn’t know if you had to look like governess or a Nanny Fine, so you went somewhere in the middle, with an oversized blazer, straight jeans, a crop top and loafers. You wanted to look professional and mature but not boring and old.

When you arrived at the Cafe, your eyes quickly searched for a man alone, who seemed like a dad, but you could not find any. Only one that was much closer to a Calvin Klein catalog than what you expected to be Jessica’s in law. He raised his hand and for a second you thought of politely saying no with your head, because you were here for a job interview not a flirt, but then realized.

“Mr. Hotchner?” You asked, once you have walked to his table.

“Yes, nice to meet you, please have a seat.” He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to you. You shared a professional hand shake and sat in front of him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this in such a short notice, I appreciate your time.” He said, raising an eyebrow, forming a crease in his forehead. “Do you have your resume?”

You handed it to him, his eyebrows remained creased as he readed it. While he did it, you ordered a latte to the waitress, his eyes quickly examined you while doing so.

“Why did you study pedagogy and education?” He asked once your coffee had arrived.

“I think the best way to eliminate violence is education, I want to contribute. Also, I like to study human behavior, in a way, and the way we educate children has a lot to do with how they grow up to be. So I’m passionate about that.” You calmly explained, his sigh was still stern. “And I also really like the outfits we get to wear as educators” you decided to throw in a small joke to get a smile but it flopped magistrally. 

“According to this” he gestures to your resume, “you’ve had experience helping children to cope with trauma, can you talk me through the process?” He finished his question and took a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, sure, it’s mostly through art. We either paint, draw or sculpt feelings and we explain them, that way we can talk about ourselves while being grounded by some self made craft.”

“You bring the materials?” 

“Yes, sir. In case there is anything extraordinary I’d be letting you know about extra costs, and of course it’s all based on the child’s preferences and allergies.” 

“I would not want Jack to be off school, get home and feel like he still has work or school to do, how would you manage that?” 

‘What a fucking jerk’ you thought, the superiority in his tone made you cringe.

“Well, yes, sir. I have a masters in Primary Education, I think I can realize when a child is bored or exhausted and change the activities for something that makes them have fun and relax. So, yeah, I am indeed trained to manage that.” You were certain that answer alone was gonna get you off the job because of the moody tone it came out with. Oddly, you saw the corners of his lips curl upwards just a little.

***

“He hated me” You stated the moment you picked up the phone call from your friend Jessica.

“He loved you!” She overspoke through the line.

“What?” You both said.

“You first” she requested

“He hated me, he was polite but his tone, OH MY GOD!, his tone was implying I was an idiot question after question.” You explained as you walked down the street to your apartment.

“He just called me to ask me when it’s appropriate to tell you you’ve got the job!” Your friend was laughing over the line.

“So, when is he gonna call me?” 

“I said I’d tell you myself.”

You laughed through the line and yelled a little in excitement for finally getting a job.

“Let’s have dinner tonight to talk about Jack and his father.” Your friend made plans and you thought they were perfect.

***

“So, you’re a child’s profiler?” The tall skinny guy you had been talking to since you arrived was very interested in your work.

“Not really, no. I treat kids with trauma to avoid them growing into it.”

“But can you realize when there’s a psychopathy in them?”

“Yeah but I don’t treat them, I refer them to a psychiatrist and I advise the parents to take therapy as well.” 

“That is so interesting, how do you treat them then?”

“Well, I usually work with kids than have blocked their trauma, so I can give them exercises and activities to learn it, live it, understand it and manage it—“ A voice calling your full name interrupted you. You turned and saw Mr. Hotchner on the threshold. You nodded to the young man who you were talking to and headed to your employer’s office.

“Please, come in, how can I help you?”

“Thank you. Well it’s just procedure, a few questions I have to ask before I start treating a child—“

“You are not treating my child.” He scolded you.

“Yes, I am.” You gave him his tone back. “But if you will be ashamed of it then your son will be too and this is not going to work.” 

“Go on.” He took a deep breath.

***

Gave no compasses, gave me no signs

You and Jack had spent the day playing in the snow, then coloring and finally, you requested his help to cook dinner in order to teach him to be independent. Truth is, you two were really getting along.

Dinner was ready when Mr. Hotchner arrived.

He called your name as soon as he opened the door, and the corner of his eyes wrinkled when he saw little Jack with an apron in the kitchen.

“Daddy, I made you dinner!” The little guy raised his hand holding a spoon, wearing a big smile.

“That is amazing, buddy. Then let’s have dinner.” Mr. Hotchner hugged Jack. “How was your day?” He turned his gaze to you, still holding Jack.

“It was great, maybe Jack should tell you what his favorite part was.” You asked him as you laid out the plates for dinner.

“The snowman!” He said with a big smile and you did as well.

“Thank you very much, that would be all for today.” Your boss gave you a handshake with the stern face he always has on. “Jack, say goodnight to your nanny.” He put the boy on the ground.

“Can’t she stay for dinner?” He asked his father. Mr. Hotchner raised his gaze at you in a questioning manner. You scrunched down to meet Jack’s eyes.

“No, sweetie. This is quality time you have to spend with your daddy, besides we only cook for two.”

“Are you also having dinner with your daddy?” He tilted his head to the side in confusion and you couldn’t help but laugh. With the corner of your eyes you saw Mr. Hotchner laughed as well.

“Yeah, I should, right? See you tomorrow little buddy.” You gave him a hug.

You walked to the couch to get your backpack and headed out of the house.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hotncher, Jack.” You gave them a smile before opening the door and walking out.

***

“Hotchner”

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, sweetie get in the car–” 

“what’s going on?” 

“Sir, I can’t work from your apartment today” a car door closed in the back

“what’s wrong?” 

“There’s a–god–I don’t–I think there’s something inside” You were trailing off, he could hear you starting a car.

He said your name trying to get you to focus.

“I won’t go in there, sir, we will be in my apartment, you can pick up Jack when–”

“Where are you? I’m sending an officer”

“That’s not necessary”

“Come to my office, now” that sounded like an order

“Sir, let me just” you took a deep breath, trying to calm down

“Stay on the line, I will locate your phone”

“Sir, there’s a rat!” You screamed. Jack’s laugh resonated through the line.

“A rat? This is because of a rat?” He was ridiculing you.

“Yes, I opened the door and saw a rat running through the living room. So I can’t go in there.” 

“Daddy, she’s afraid of rats!” Jack screamed through the phone, laughing at you.

“Don’t you ever do this again” And he hung up.

“I think he is afraid too” You told little Jack as you drove home.

***

“Daddy! You’re early! Can my daddy make one too?” Jack jumped to hug his father the second he walked through the door, showing him the paste of play-doh he was holding.

“Yes, of course!” You answered, clearing another seat at the table for him. “Maybe, I should explain the activity again for your father to join in, would you like that Jack?”

“Yes, yes!” 

Mr. Hotchner had no other choice but to drop his briefcase and blazer on the couch and join both of you at the table.

“Today’s activity, Mr. Hotchner is to think of one emotion we have been feeling a whole lot this week and try to represent it in the play-doh. Jack and I had already started so you gotta catch up. Once we finish our sculptures we will share them with the rest, okay?” You looked at him with an apologetic look and he nodded in response.

“I made two,” Jack started to explain. “One is sadness and the other one is happiness.” He pointed at each of the sculptures, one blue and one pink. “The blue is the sadness and the pink is happiness.”

“Why did you choose those colors, Jack?”

“Because blue is a sad color, I think. And also when my daddy is sad he plays music he calls blues.”

“And why have you been feeling  sad,  Jack?”

“I don’t want to say it in front of my daddy, he says I have to be strong.” The little boy covered his face with his hands, in shame. You turned to look at his father in concern and he was just as ashamed as his son.

“Sweetie, if you want you can tell me in secret but you can also share it with your father because above all people, you should trust him to know how you feel.” Your tone was soft and tender, your focus only on the blond child sitting in front of you. “Or you can talk about happiness while you think about how you want to share the sadness.” You finally see a smile form in the little guy’s face. 

“Yes!” He yelled. “I am happy because you’re my new friend and we paint, and play a lot.”

“Oh, thank you sweetie, I am very happy to be your friend too. And why is happiness pink?”

“Because your backpack is pink! When I see it after school I know it’s going to be a fun day!” He was glowing, making your heart fill with joy. “You go!” 

“Okay, I made surprise, because this whole week I have been surprised with you Jack, because you are so smart, funny and amazing!” Your little friend blushed but quickly turned to his father to hear what his emotion was.

“I did love, because that’s the feeling that floods me when I am with you, and this moment is the most important I’ve had in my week.” 

“Not catching the bad guys?” Jack asked, excited.

His father moved his head from side to side with a smile, giving him an answer.

“Now, would you like to share why you have been feeling sad, buddy?”

“I miss my mommy” The little boy dropped his head to the table and you could swear your heart had been smashed. You looked at his father to handle it, but by the look of his face he wasn’t anywhere near to do so.

“Thank you very much for sharing this with us, Jack, is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” You ask. Jack said yes with his head and raised his arms in a hug. His father was quick to raise him in his arms in a tight hug. A tear rolled down your boss’ cheek when he mouthed ´thank you´ to you in complete silence.

“Thank you, that would be all for today” He dismissed you as he took off his jacket, but before you could turn away little Jack took his hand, guiding him a few steps from you.

***

“Daddy, I need to tell you a secwet ” 

Mr. Hotchner gestured for you to wait while he talked to his son, he hunched down to reach his height and the 5 year old leaned to whisper in his father’s ear. Your boss’ face turned from amused to intrigued in seconds while the child eyed you up and down.

“Thank you for sayin that, buddy. Wanna watch some TV while I talk to her?” The little blond kid nodded and walked to the living room. Mr. Hotchner guided you to the kitchen to talk, but you already knew what this was about the second he leaned against the door frame, locking you inside. “Jack says you cried today” folding his arms on his chest.

“I can explain.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Well, uh, today when I went to pick Jack from school the teacher said his grandfather had already picked him up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Even though his voice was lower, he was speaking louder to you, rougher. His shoulders seemed to grow wider and his height taller.

“Sir.” You warned him, “I decided to check first and panic later, which was not necessary because Jack was actually with his grandfather.” You gave him his scolding tone back and saw how his shoulders went back to its original size.

“You should have called me.” He stretched his neck sideways, trying to relieve stress.

“Well I didn’t” you crossed your arms and turned away from him, tears pricking your eyes again. You heard him sigh.

“And then what?” 

“Well I drove to his house.” Your voice was shaking. “And he said a lot of things.” 

Mr. Hotchner said your name in a slow whisper, giving you the courage to look back at him.

“He said horrible things, sir.” Tears were already scrolling down your face and any signs of anger on him disappeared. “It’s not even worth saying them again.” 

He strode closed, “I’d like to know, please.” He raised his palms to your elbows but never actually touched you. He just stood there, in front of you, with his arms stretched to hug you but without the courage to do so.

“He said” you finally met his gaze, “that you… killed her?” A sob left your mouth at the sole repetition. “Is that…?” You couldn’t finish the question. He never had told you exactly what happened to Jack’s mom, he said she had been murdered while Jack was in the house, only that.

“No.” He turned away, “Of course I didn’t do it.” He kept moving his head sideways, almost obsessively, as if he was trying to convince himself as well. “It was a serial killer. He offered me a deal, not to go after him and he would not kill while I lived, but I declined it. I thought myself better, smarter, and I wasn’t responsible enough to take the necessary security measures.” He took a deep breath and you continued crying.

”is he in jail?”

”no.”

You gasped, “so he is still out there?”

“No.” One of his hand raised to massage his eyes in circular motions, “I killed him.”

Your entire body froze at the confession, alarms were flashing inside your head, warning you all the possible trauma that Jack might be suffering because of this. This was much more problematic that “his mother was murdered” as Mr. Hotchner said in your interview.

“Sir, that’s-“

“I know.” He returned to his initial position against the door. “What else did Jack’s grandfather say?”

“Well he insisted that I wasn’t a pedagogue, that I was with you” you turned down again, embarrassed, “so that I would be next.” 

“Did Jack hear any of this?” 

“No.” 

“Good. The first part, he,” he took a deep breath, “believes it is my fault, he thinks my mistakes are what pulled the trigger.” He was looking away, avoiding eye contact. “For the second, I apologize.” 

“Sir, don’t” now you wanted to comfort him, “why haven’t you put him to a stop?”

“Maybe because I think he is right.” He looked down and that was all you needed to round his chest with your arms, pulling him into a hug, his head falling to your shoulder.

“He is not” you repeated slowly while your fingers ran through his hair.

***

Were the clues I didn’t see?

Your boss had let you know he’d be coming home later than usual and requested you to stay home with Jack. Since this had turned out to be an usual request, you always had an extra change of clothes, pajamas and all the basic beauty products in your car.

So after you had dinner with Jack, left some for his father and got him to bed, you headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready to sleep.

You turned the tv on and chose a documentary in the Discovery Channel to lull yourself, after a few minutes you were fast asleep.

The keys didn’t wake you up, neither did the door opening nor the man walking in. Not even him turning off the tv. What woke you up was his judging stare or at least that’s what you woke up to.

“Jeez, Mr. Hotchner, you scared me. What time is it?” You said, sitting in one movement, with your eyes still sleepy.

“It’s 2:30 am. What if I was a murderer?” He asked, and maybe it’s because you were sleepy but you think he was teasing.

“I’m sorry, I was so tired, I couldn’t stay awake for long after putting Jack to bed.” You kept apologizing for… sleeping? At night? Like a human being? 

“No need to apologize, go back to it. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“No, sir, I should get home.” You stood up fast to get out of his scrutinous eyes but you were still sleepy so you ended up stumbling on your boss’ chest. His hands secured you by your shoulders. Your eyes automatically raised to his and for a few seconds you allowed yourself to admire him. Gosh, he was so handsome. He raised an eyebrow and that was your cue to stop staring.

“Careful, you can’t drive like this.” You’d swear his voice had dropped an octave. “Sit for a few minutes”

“Yes, sir.” You sat back down, your cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. He walked out of the living room.

“Do you always stay on the couch?” He asked from the kitchen. You didn’t have the courage to look back yet.

“Yes.” 

“Even when I leave for several days?” 

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t. Sleep in my bed next time, please.” You finally turned your head to see him, shook by what he had asked you.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” You quickly answered.

“Why not? There’s nobody else there. I don’t see why you would neglect a perfectly comfortable bed when nobody else is using it. I need you to rest so you can take care of my child.” His tone was scolding, he sounded like he was talking about something serious, not asking you to sleep on his bed.

“Understood.” You limited to answer and stood up from the couch without losing eye contact with your boss. Or at least enough to see him scan your whole body in seconds and you felt nothing but shame.

There he was, with his pristine suit, tailored head to toe while you wore pink booty short pajamas. You started to fold the covers on the couch to distract yourself from him. Although you couldn’t, you wish you had stayed seated to avoid him seeing you like this. He must think you're a simple, immature woman. He must be the type to like lingerie for pajamas, not the Walmart 2x1 100% cotton promos.

You were lost in your own thoughts of how must be the woman he likes, how well he must treat women, fantasizing of your boss like a man, for once, when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Aren’t you cold?” 

“Mm?” You railed out.

“Aren’t you cold? It has been snowing lately.”

“No, not really. The heating system is enough. I'll change so I can go home for the night, excuse me.” And so you walked through the room to the bathroom.

“I’mma go home, Mr. Hotchner, have a good night.” He was still in the kitchen when you were leaving, you got your backpack without looking back and headed to the door.

“Good night”

You opened the door but he called your name before you could be out.

“Yeah?” You turned back to see him.

“Text when you’re home so I know you’re safe.”

“Sure, Mr. Hotchner, good night.”

***

“Is this yours?” Mr. Hotchner asked you, holding a hoodie in between his fingers. Jack was already asleep and you were gathering your stuff to leave for the day after one of your boss’ three day work trips.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” You quickly grabbed it, blushing. You had forgotten it in the bathroom after your morning shower.

“Did you go to Georgetown?” He pointed at the hoodie. Casual conversation wasn’t usual with him, so his question took you out of your concentration.

“Oh, no.” You scoffed, “I was a barista in Georgetown. Getting discounted coffee to the guys in the souvenir store got me some stuff.” He smiled. “You didn’t know? I thought the FBI knew even my high school hobbies.” You teased as you finished folding your clothes in your backpack at the end of the couch.

“Yeah, right, cheerleading and making out with the quarterback?” He teased back with a side smirk that melted your insides, walking to you. You laughed.

“What gave me up? The reading club or the academic scholarship?” You asked, giggling. He smiled, coming to sit next to your backpack, looking up to you.

“I never actually searched you in the FBI database.” 

“What a hustle!” You fake mocked, “what if I was a murderer?” You repeated his question from days before. He smiled again.

“I would’ve known,” he nodded with a confident smirk.

“How?” You put your backpack on the floor and sat next to him.

“I’m very good at my job.” He scanned your face thoroughly, his smile nowhere to be found.

“Oh, really?” You asked, your gaze lost on his lips and how his tongue came out and licked them.

“Yeah” he swallowed, nervous.

“What am I thinking, then?” Your voice was merely a whisper, the tension in the air had gotten the best of you, the logical side of your brain nowhere to be found. His eyes had never been that dark, traveling between your own and your lips.

“That is very late,” he took a deep breath, “and I should” his eyes closed and you bit your lower lip in anticipation as he leaned closer to you when his phone rang. He jumped off his seat in a second.

“Hotchner.” 

You stood up to grab your backpack and head for the door when he lifted a hand motioning you to hold.

“I’m on my way” He said, closing the flip phone. “I have to go back, do you mind staying? I can call a co-worker if you need to leave, he can stay with her husband.” He asked you, taking off his jacket.

“No, it’s ok.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take a shower and go, please feel free to go to sleep.” And with that he disappeared in the bathroom.

***

“Hotch” his voice resonated through the line, manly and powerful. Made your mouth water, honestly.

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, I’m sorry to bother you-“

“It’s not a bother,” he interrupted you, “you can call me anytime. Is everything ok?”

“It is, but Jack had a bit of a breakdown today and I think we should talk about it.” 

“How is he now? Do you need me to be there?” He was concerned.

“No, no, he is good. I calmed him down and lulled him to a nap. I’ll text you recommendations on how to behave tonight according to how I see him when he wakes up.”

“Thank you. Let’s have brunch tomorrow while he is at school, 1 o'clock is ok?”

“Perfect.”

“He misses his mom, of course.” You started to explain once you both got your coffees and had exchanged the usual courtesies. He didn’t seem surprised at all by your discovery. “But he says some boy at school told him he can have a new mommy.” You repeated the exact words Jack had said the day before. Mr. Hotchner seemed to be confused. 

“How?”

“His daddy needs to pick him a new mommy. And Jack is upset that his daddy hasn’t done it because he doesn’t have time.” You finished explaining but the gears in his head were still working.

“A step mother?” He finally asked with his usual eyebrow up.

“I think—yeah.” You took a sip of coffee to let the idea sink in.

“I… okay.” He finally said something. His whole face was a puzzle, he was evaluating the options. For once he had more questions than answers. “Should I… get him one?” It was absurd to even ask.

“Look, I definitely cannot tell you what to do, and your dating life is none of my business but as your son’s nanny I would strongly advise you not to introduce anybody to him until you’re very certain of the relationship.” You gather the courage to say.

“So I shouldn’t hurry to find someone?” 

“No, Mr. Hotchner. Jack needs to know that he won’t have another mom, that he already has one. But he has to understand and grieve the death of his mother. As painful and horrendous as it is.” You saw his eyes fill with water at your words. He only nodded in response.

“He will be okay, he is a smart kid and has a loving father helping him in the way.” You gave him a smile and he mimicked one.

“I wish I was around more often.” He took a sip of coffee. “You’re real wise for your age, uh” He sounded amused and scolded at the same time.

“I’m not as young as I’d like to, though”

“Do you mind me asking?”

“Not at all, I’ll be 32 this year, I’m getting old.”

“Oh, I wish I was 32 again. So young, full of hope.” He was glowing, a half smile formed on his lips.

“Well, if I’mma age like you, I shouldn’t be worried.” Oh, shit, you said it. A blush creeped your face the moment you realized and apparently his too. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotch—.”

“Please don’t be.” He cut you off. “Flattery isn’t common in my line of business, I appreciate it.”

“Well, in mine is overly common.” You exaggerated the phrase to lessen the tension.

“Oh, really?” He leaned both of his elbows on the table, amused, “how so?” 

“You do know I do therapies in a clinic, right?” He nodded in response. “Well, there was this one time, I was treating a 10 year old girl for sexual harassment, one day, her father comes to pick her up from the therapy and, in front of her, he just straight out asked me if I was interested in a threesome with his wife!” You blushed at the memory and he laughed. He actually laughed. 

“What did you do?”

“Well I explained to him why his behavior was inappropriate, even more in front of his daughter, and transferred the girl to another therapist. A forty something year old partner, so even if they dare to propose to her, I doubt she’ll have the libido for it.”

“Hey, be careful there.” He actually commanded you and damn it was hot. His phone rang once. You showed him your hands in surrender.

“Hotchner.” You looked at your watch, you had to pick up Jack in 20 minutes. “I’m on my way.” And he closed his phone. “I’m sorry I have to go.”

“It’s ok, so do I.”

After paying the bill, he walked you to your car like the gentleman he is. He even opened your door once you turned off the alarm.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hotchner.” You said to him from inside your car.

“Nothing to thank me for, and please call me Aaron.” He stated before closing the door and sending you a wink.

***

Isn’t it just so pretty to think

It was a Saturday night, you were getting drinks with your friends when you got a phone call, you answered to your full name being called on the line.

“Hello, sir.” You said with a smile.

“Is that the hot guy?” Your friend asked next to you. You shushed her.

“It’s my employer.”

“Good to know” you heard him chuckle through the words.

“I’m sorry, I have very nosy friends, Mr. Hotchner. How can I help you? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to interrupt but I have an emergency call and I need you to come stay the night. If you’re busy or… intoxicated, I can call someone else.”

“No, there’s no need. I’m the designated driver. I can be there in 30 minutes, is that ok?”

Your friends booed you until you agreed to pay for the next two rounds. 

When you arrived it was nearly 3 am and he was already in his usual perfect suit.

“Nice outfit” he said the minute you got inside, eyeing up and down your mini black dress and heels.

“Thanks. Likewise.” You made a mock reverence with a smirk, earning a soft smile on his lips.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I always carry some essentials,” you pointed at your backpack, “just in case.” 

“Well if there’s anything you can use from either mine or Jack’s closet, please take it.” He said as he walked to the door.

“Thanks, sir. If I’m ever in need of a Gucci tie and a spiderman shirt I won’t hesitate.” Your tease didn’t go unnoticed since the edges of his lips curved upwards.

“It was a gift” he quickly justified, smiling.

“Of course” you kept your smug face.

“From a friend.” He was clearly amused by the exchange.

“I need one of those.” You closed your arms on your chest. 

“I can introduce him to you.” 

“Is he single?” 

“Not to you.” 

You gasped in mock surprise, “what does that mean?”

“Sweet dreams.” And with a smile he closed the door.

***

You and Jack were having dinner in your pajamas, you’ve made Mac and Cheese, Jack’s favorite. It was your last night special before his father came back from a trip and would have to go back to regular, healthy dinners.

“Oh, sweetie you’re so sleepy already!” He hadn’t finished his food and he was already falling asleep on the table.

“Can I have some juice?” He asked you, blinking.

“Of course sweetie.” You stood up to grab the bottle of juice from the counter but you didn’t realize Jack was running just behind you, so when you turned back to fill his glass, he crashed against you, throwing juice all over your pajamas.

“I’m sorry!” He screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll get cleaned up in a minute.” 

You sent him to bed after he drank his juice, cleaned the kitchen and headed to the master bedroom to take a shower.

Every time you showered in your boss’ bathroom you took your time to satisfy your curiosity smelling his body wash, lotion, shampoo, everything. And this time wasn’t the exception.

Since this was the last night of his trip you had no clean clothes left. So you searched through his drawers for something that could be used as pajamas.

You found an old FBI t-shirt that fitted almost like a dress, in the morning you’d put it in the washing machine as well as the sheets you’d been sleeping in. You’d only washed them on your way out, so you could smell a bit of him every night when you went to bed. Sick? Yeah, you had made your peace with it. That night you slept better than ever, the smell of his clothes relaxed you way past any expectations.

In the morning you got up at 6:30 as usual, to get Jack’s breakfast ready, so you walked to the bathroom to wash your face. When you walked back to the room still half asleep, a voice took your out of your thoughts.

“Nice shirt”

You raised your head to find your boss dropped on the still unmade bed, with half lidded eyes, scanning you, taking extra time on your exposed legs and his t-shirt.

“Good Morning, Mr. Hotchner, last night Jack spilled juice all over my pajamas and I had to borrow—“ He stood up from the bed. “I was gonna wash it along with the sheets—“ He started walking towards you, you were begging your legs to run back to bathroom but your body was numb. “I swear this won’t ever happen again nor it has happened before—“ you were stuttering, covering your mouth in shame. He finally reached you, cornering you to the wall.

“Aaron.” He finally said. “Call me Aaron.” 

His eyes were filled with determination and lust, his hands landed on the wall behind you, just two inches separating your bodies. He was towering, looking down on you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

You scanned him as well, your insides were starting to liquify at his smell. He was still in his suit pants and shirt, he had lost the blazer and tie, the first three buttons were undone, giving him a domestic look and your mouth watered at the sight.

“Understood?” He kept you trapped. 

“Understood.” You said with a knot on your throat. You swallowed, your breathing was strong and agitated, maybe he could even hear your heartbeat.

He tilted his head down to you, his eyes closed like he was focused. Although his expression was of a man in pain. When he was just a few centimeters from you, he took a deep breath and pushed himself away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was inappropriate, please forgive me.” He walked out of the room before he could finish talking.

Once you gathered enough courage, you walked out straight to the washing machine to put the sheets and tshirt.

“Good morning, boss.” You limited to say when you saw him cooking breakfast with the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t boss me, I think of me as an employer rather than a boss, wouldn’t you agree?” His tone was as serious as always. Back to normal.

“What’s the difference?”

“First off, I don’t pay your taxes. And second, I am not a real authority to you.” He was measuring your body language with the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re authority enough.” You set the machine and turned your body fully to him to show authority as well.

“I wash them every sunday” He said while cutting ham and cheese.

“I don’t wash them because I think they are dirty.”

“Then why?” He was honestly confused.

“Because I don’t think you should sleep in sheets that somebody else has slept on.”

“Do you wash them when you arrive?” He asked.

“No.”

“Why? Somebody has slept on them.” He kept preparing an omelet.

“Because I don’t care” 

“Neither do I”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to sleep in the same sheets as your kid’s nanny.” You used the m tone you use to explain things to children.

“But is it appropriate for my nanny to sleep on my sheets?” Well you weren’t ready for that knock out.

“You’re right, sir. I will bring my own from tomorrow on.” 

“I didn’t mean that.” he quickly tried to fix it. “You can use mine, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to be doubling the work.” He tilted his head, explaining.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring my own and leave your bed ready for you when you get back.” You didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Hey, about this morning, I’m sorry. I was out of the line, I don’t want to make excuses but I am really tired, and—“ this time you interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, sir.—“

“Aaron” he corrected you.

“I understand. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” You sent a subtle tease.

A devilish grin played on his face. 

“How do you want your omelet?” He asked, blushed.

“Don’t bother, I’ll have breakfast at home.” You grabbed your backpack and left.

***

It was around 10:00 pm, you were working on some other kids files when the door opened. Your legs were extended on the couch, your back leaning on the armrest and you were wearing glasses. This was not a position where you wanted to be found by your boss, even less now. In the last few days you have been avoiding him as much as possible, despite whatever your feelings were, you knew he was vulnerable and probably misinterpreting your presence.

At the end, he was still a parent for a kid you were treating and any complaint of him could take out of business really fast.

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner.” 

“Hey” He left his briefcase on the couch and headed to his son’s bedroom, as always. From the hallway he called you “Please wait, I need a word.” After he gave Jack his goodnight kiss, he came back to the couch and sat on the other end.

“How is he doing?” He took off his jacket, threw it away and started to loosen his tie. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Better, I believe. He talks about his feelings way more, that’s good.”

“Jessica comes back next week.” He completely took off his tie and now was unbuttoning the neck of his shirt.

“About that, would you like me to still treat Jack after that?” 

He raised his shoulders in answer, unbuttoning the cuffs.

“Do you think he needs to?” He asked you while he folded up the cuffs.

“It’s your son, Mr. Hotchner. This is a choice you should take, with him, of course.” 

He let himself relax on the couch, dropping his body completely.

“I have no idea.” He breathed out. He was exhausted. “How do you see him?”

“I think his trauma is far from healing, he is barely getting close to it, but he is starting to talk about it.” A light snore came from Jack’s bedroom interrupting you.

“Come closer” Your boss gestured with a hand to the space between you. You scrunch your legs to a butterfly position, causing you to be seated next to him. “Go on.” He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes and fully extended his legs from the couch to the rug beneath it. Knowing he wasn’t looking, you took your chance to stare at his face, how different he  looked relaxed in opposition to what he usually looks. Just as handsome.

“I don’t want this to sound like I want to keep him forever, although I would like to” a smile escaped the corner of his lips, “but I think it’s important that he talks to a professional. It can be me, or it can be a therapist, whoever you want, but please, please, don’t let this golden heart child become a traumatized, hurt, misunderstood adult.” Your tone reflected all the love and care you felt for this kid, and he realized. He turned his head to you with eyes opened. Took your hand and led it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re an angel.”

***

“Hello?” You answered the phone to hear your full name on the other line in the voice of your employer. “Hey, Mr. Hotchner.” He was on a work trip and would be returning this afternoon, or at least that’s what he said yesterday.

“Are you still going to the wedding?” He asked. Earlier this week you explained to him you had a very important wedding to attend and kindly asked him to be home Friday night so you’d be able to go, request that he only answered by questioning if the said wedding was your own otherwise he could not promise anything.

“Umm, I guess that’s really up to you, sir.” You heard him clear his throat through the line.

“Do you have a date?” You panicked, absolutely panicked. Your cheeks flushed and were thankful to be over the phone and not face to face. He said your name in a questioning manner to get an answer.

“Uh, no, I mean—“ you swallowed, “I do have an extra ticket but no, no date.”

“I think I can fix that, if you let me” he was teasing. Your whole body was melting over this man’s voice and Jack’s eyes looked at you with concern. “There’s someone who I think would like to go with you, if that’s okay with you…” 

“But, um, who’s gonna—“ take care of Jack? You wanted to say, but your mouth was dry and your throat was closed.

“He’s a nice looking fella, I’d say, for his age.” You could practically hear his smile. ‘You don’t have to compensate yourself, you are a work of art!’ Your mind was shouting while your heart pounded inside your chest in anticipation. “So, what do you say?”

“I would love to” you managed to say.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Due to bad weather that’s the only way I think you’ll make it to the wedding, we are flying in the morning. I think there’s a tuxedo somewhere in his closet—“ He kept baffling and you were having trouble understanding.

“Jack?” You asked, looking over your little friend. And it all made sense now.

“Yes” You could hear a small laugh, “who else would it be?” 

“Of course, I’ll get this guy handsome and ready. Thank you, sir.” You tried to brush off the disappointment, but also your expectations.

“It’s Aaron.” 

“Have a safe flight.” And you closed your phone feeling like an idiot.

***

That all along there was some invisible string

“Daddy, can I have a girlfriend?” Jack asked as you and him finished making dinner. The early arrival of your boss that night had taken you by surprise and had no other option but to ask him to ‘help’ but he only leaned against the counter, rolling up his sleeves while you two cooked.

“Mmm” Aaron looked at the kid analyzing him, “why do you want to have a girlfriend?” 

Jack shrugged.

“He asked me that earlier today and I said that was something he should ask his father.” You explained.

“I think you should have a girlfriend whenever you meet a girl who you want her to be your girlfriend. Or a boy, doesn’t matter.” 

Jack seemed to think about his father’s answer for a minute, then he looked up to you.

“I want you to be my girlfriend!” He smiled and you could not help but laugh. You lifted him, sitting him on the counter next to his dad.

“I can’t be your girlfriend, I’m too old for you.”

“Buddy, rule number one, you gotta ask her if she already has a boyfriend.” Aaron leaned to say near Jack’s ear, smiling at you.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jack asked you.

“Or girlfriend.” His father instructed.

“Or girlfriend?” 

You laughed, “no.”

“Then you can be my daddy’s girlfriend!” His smile grew wider while his father blushed.

“Jack” He tried to stop him, laughing.

“He thinks you’re pretty.”

“You little traitor!” He lifted the kid and threw him on his shoulder, Jack’s laugh filled the house as his father faked-wrestled him, taking him to the couch. A few minutes later, Aaron returned, flushed and with a thin layer of sweat on his face, “these kids uh? Say the craziest of things.”

You bit your lower lip to hide your smile.

***

The final day came.

You said your goodbyes to Jack after a whole month of being his best friend. He cried, of course, so did you. You promised to visit his aunt Jessica once a week to play together, you promised him to be friends forever. You hugged him till he fell asleep in your arms, while his dad observed in silence.

You left him on his bed, kissed his forehead and walked out holding your own tears.

“Thank you” He said while he walked you to your car.

“Anytime, and really, if you ever need any help with that little guy, please call me. I adore him.”

“I know. And it’s mutual, I see.” He smiled.

“Yeah, I guess we were kinda meant to meet.” You joked. “Did you think about whether or not I will keep on treating him?” You asked, leaning on your car’s capo to make some time. He took a deep breath, so you knew it was bad news. You were already nodding before he said a thing.

“I think therapy would be better, he just loves you too much.” 

“No, I agree.” You looked down to hide your disappointment. “Well, thank you, Mr. Hotchner–”

“Wait.” He turned the alarm of his car off, opened the passenger door and took out a gift bag that then handed to you. “I got you something, for, well, all the help.”

“Oh” you smiled, “you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”  You grabbed it shyly.

“Actually, I didn’t” A half smile adorned his face.

You opened the bag to find the FBI shirt you had worn as pajamas that one time. A full smile formed on your lips.

“Thank you, I love it.” When you raised your sight to him, he was beaming.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” You blushed at the comment.

“Thank you.” 

He opened the door of your car and you walked towards it.

“If you’re not treating my kid anymore, can I ask you out sometime?” He asked while still holding the door for you. You blushed and smiled at the question.

“Sir, I–” 

“Aaron.” He corrected you yet again.

“Would love to, Aaron .” You said his name, like an experiment on your mouth.

“Will you add me to your list of perverts?” He teased.

“That is completely up to you” You teased back.

“I take the challenge.” 

You got inside the car and he closed the door sending you a cheeky wink.

Tying you to me

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 9/?

Hello, hello! Real life has been busy, but finally I've been able to sit down and write! *Edit: added some more details and dialogue. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 10)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 3263

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

It's been three weeks since you saw Wade or Logan.

Which you are happy about.

But your body definitely isn’t.

Your joints are aching constantly. Some days it feels like you’ve been thrown into a wall multiple times, not breaking or bruising anything or anywhere, but leaving you sore and hurting like a bitch.

There are also the headaches (something that edges close to a migraine at some points) that have no apparent reason behind them, that leave you grumpy and in a foul mood.

Well, there’s no apparent reason that you want to think about.

You only throw in the towel the day after a particular bad headache that had actually turned into a full migraine.

You had spent all day curled up in bed, for once not happy about the big windows in your apartment. You had thought about curling up in the bathroom with the lights off and heated floor on, but there was no way that would have been comfortable with your aching body. The heat might have been nice, but not the hard tile.

So, you bite the bullet, and go to their apartment. It doesn’t matter that you’ve only been there once, finding your way there is easy.

You are tempted to drive there, but with your aching body and head you don’t trust yourself behind any wheel or handlebars. 

So the subway and walking it is. That’s not pleasant either, but at least you are not a threat to others. And it’s not like you can teleport. You only stumble once on the way, muttering an apology to the guy you bump into. He sends you a nasty look, but it turns less harsh as he takes in your state, and he mutters a “don’t worry about it” back. 

You hadn’t looked too closely in the mirror that morning, but with the way you are feeling, there’s no way you look your best.

It takes you a good amount of time, but you finally knock at their front door, trying not to sway on your feet. They really should look into doing something with the main entrance to the building, you had managed to slip inside again even in your state. There’s some shuffling behind the door, a muffled “coming” barely reaching your ears. 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever reaction you are about to get.

Wade, wearing black sweatpants and a pink hello kitty t-shirt, opens the door, freezing with his mouth open as if he was about to say something. His control on the bond to you slips for a moment, you feel the utter confusion before it goes back to its muted state. You snort out a laugh, trying not to wince when that of course, with your luck, pulls on something that hurts; you’re not even sure what.

“Can I come in?”

“You are not our Chinese food.” You expect some sort of joke to follow, but there’s none, just Wade looking you up and down, “You look like shit pookie.” Is what you get instead, making you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I am fucking aware. Which is why I am here.” It should be annoying how you can fucking feel your shoulders lighten as you stand there, just looking at each other, but all you can feel is relief. 

You swallow, throat dry. “So, can I come in?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Wade opens the door wider, stepping to the side to let you in. You slowly do so, looking around. You have already been here, but it has been about two months. 

The door clicks shut behind you. Wade doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on your back as you look over the place.

There’s a couch, a few lounge chairs, a tv. There’s also of course the dining room table that you got stitched up on, chairs surrounding it, several of them having clothes thrown over the backrest. It’s a little messy, but looks mostly clean, except for some weird stains on the floor you do your best to avoid as you step just a little closer to the lounge chairs and couch. You are tempted to sit down, but stop as Logan appears from somewhere further in the apartment. He’s wearing a grey flannel and jeans, looking down at his feet as he walks, chastising the ugly as sin dog as it runs around his legs, but as he looks up, he freezes mid-step.

“Was about to yell that we got company, peanut.” Wade says quietly, calm behind your back as you and Logan stare at each other.

“Uh, yeah, I can see that.” A beat of silence where no one says anything. 

Then the dog, Mary-something or other, (you think), barks loudly, once, before running over to you. You look down at her as she stands on her hind legs, pawing at your pants. That seems to break Wade out of whatever state he was frozen in, as he scoops her up, and starts talking. 

“Good to know we weren't the only ones hurting, for a bit there we almost thought this was some very elaborate prank, or a super shitty version of one. Like Punked, just with writing instead of TV cameras. You held out for a long time, and you didn’t even have another soulmate to lean on. Or, oh! Foursome? Or fourway if you wanna be clean about it.” You lick your lips, taking a deep breath, unsure of what to feel. You want to be annoyed, but there’s no annoyance to be found.

“No.”

“Good to know! Now I’m imagining a fourth though, fun to think about! Who though? Cable? Colossus? Buck? Well, I’ve touched all of them before and got nothing, so unlikely. Who do you think the author would throw in? Maybe Spidey? Andrew Garfield version, hopefully. His hair is almost as great as peanut’s.” You glance over at Logan, tuning out Wade for a moment. There’s a barely there frown on his face as he looks you up and down, taking in the state of you. He looks a lot better than you, normal even, and so does Wade.

“-hurting too. Well, for me more than usual. Wait, does this mean cuddle sessions on the couch?” Wade lets out an excited gasp, and for a moment your mind zeros in on the “more than usual” comment, but Wade just keeps going. “Omg, I’m already imagining it, the greatest cuddle pile to ever exist in this universe! Soft blankets, TV going, some scented candles to really set the mood.” He winks, you scowl. 

You take a few more steps so you can plop down on a lounge chair with a groan, leaning back with your legs spread, hands in your own hair, and close your eyes. There’s a spike of something through your bond that’s gone too quick for you to recognise, but you pay it no mind as you massage your scalp. You are not sure if it’s helping, or if it’s the effects of your body finally being in the same room as your soulmates. All you care about is that your persistent headache is slowly fading, your head hurting less by the second.

“You know, touching not from just yourself would also help.” You swear you hear a wink in Wade’s voice; you are sure if your eyes were open you would have seen it.

“Touch me and I will cut your fingers off.”

“Are you even armed?” Footsteps next to you, and then you get a few pokes by a single finger on the side of your thigh before it connects with a hidden knife sheath.

“What are you doing?” Logan asks from behind you.

“Checking if he’s actually armed, I didn't think putting my hand down his pants would have gone well.” You hum, you should make good on your threat, but find that you can’t be bothered right now, too relieved by the tension in your body easing by the second.

“Would have been your whole arm instead. The close proximity should be enough to make me feel and look less like shit.” You rub your temple, opening your eyes to glance up at Wade who is still standing close, while Logan makes his way over to the couch.

“And what if it isn’t?” Logan asks as he sits down, tilting his head to the side as he takes you in. You roll your shoulders, noting to yourself how they already feel looser, more relaxed, even if it’s only been minutes.

Fucking soulmates.

“We’ll jump off that bridge if we get to it.” Wade laughs, but no one gets to say anything else before they are stopped by the doorbell. This turns out to be the earlier mentioned chinese food. You close your eyes when the smell of it makes your nausea return. You dig your hands into the armrest of the lounge chair.

“Well, we weren’t planning on a dinner guest, but we always order enough food for half an army, since we gotta stay big strong boys, so if you want some there’s plenty to go around. And I’m not just talking about food.” Yet another wink you can hear. You shake your head.

“I’ll hurl, so no thanks.” 

“Hurtful pookie.”

“The food dumbass.” You bring the sleeve of your jacket up to your nose, breathing in the familiar scent of your laundry detergent to focus on something else. You get a few breaths in before there’s a weight in your lap, making you open your eyes and look down. The round eyes of Mary look up at you, her tongue hanging out of her mouth.

“Awwww, she must really like you. She’ll normally beg for food even though she knows she can’t have any. Even if she’s technically indestructible, she will get an upset stomach and shit everywhere if she eats some human foods.” You blink at Wade, who has taken a seat next to Logan and spread out a frankly ridiculous amount of food on the living room table. 

“Indestructible?” Your voice comes out a little muffled from behind your sleeve, but Wade seems to understand you just fine, grinning.

“Ohhh, is it exposition time?” Apparently answering his own question, Wade launches into the story of how they met, how they got Mary Puppins, and apparently saved the universe.

The story is told with a lot of words and gestures, mostly by Wade, though Logan fills in bits and pieces here and there, and sometimes protests when there’s part where Wade is apparently “painting a fucking rosy picture with a lot less guts”.

As Wade talks the nausea slowly dissolves, so you move from holding your sleeve in front of your nose to petting Mary. She doesn’t have much fur, and is still ugly as sin, but she is already growing on you in a weird way. You can see why Wade instantly fell in love, but also why Logan didn’t, at least according to the story Wade tells. 

“-and that’s how this hunk of a man came to live with me and Al.” Wade lets you digest all that they have told as he takes a few big bites of the now cold noodles in front of him. Logan takes a sip of his beer that he had gotten at some point, eyes flicking between you and Wade.

It’s an insane story, and you’re not sure how much of it you believe, but there’s a part that’s missing.

“When did you touch each other?”

“Oh, multiple times. Want me to tell the Honda part all over again? I assure you, it was just as juicy and could have been a lot juicer if Di-”

“No, I mean, when did you realize you were soulmates?”

“Oh! When we got back to this place, and I handed Logan some spare clothes that he could shower.” You tilt your head, then you realise why it happened that late.

“Oh, gloves.”

“Yup! All that touching and handholding, and it was all with gloves. Though his disintegrated alongside his shirt with the ripper, showing off that glorious hairy and sweaty chest and abs, I was still wearing mine. No-one wanted that freak-show.” Logan elbows Wade as your mind goes elsewhere for a moment.

You can’t help it, you imagine it for a fleeting second, glancing over Wade and Logan, the latter of whom tilts his head just the teeniest bit to the side.

“I didn’t take my gloves off until the safety of home, so we had a nice bonding time in the shitty bathroom. Freaked out Mr. Growly over here, he doesn’t have soulmates in his universe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I want to live in your universe.” Logan scoffs, taking a drink of his beer.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Wait, if you don’t have soulmates, how….?”

“We figured it must have been all that sexy hand holding, our particles getting mixed by the time ripper, and Madonna.”

“What does Mad- You know what, doesn’t matter.” Your shoulders are high, trying to tense, but being closer to your soulmates Wade and Logan are making them more relaxed. It’s an odd combo, making it feel like your shoulders are slowly rolling up and down.

“So you got the kitten claws and kitten ears in your hair, and you got super healing with a side of skin disease.”

“Hardy har, don’t bully me I’ll cum. But something like that, just with a much deeper and so, so tragic backstory. But there has been enough exposition for today, don't you think?”

“Sure, right, whatever. So the two of you saved the fucking universe and got each other in the process, fucking fabulous.” You scrub your hands over your face, before combing through your hair a few times. “Where in the fuck do I fit in in this mess.” You mostly mumble it to yourself, trying to make sense of it all.

“I don’t know, but if you let us, we could figure it out together. Like some weird sort of buddy cop movie, but in an ACAB way.” You snort behind your hands, not being able to help yourself. Wade’s humor has already grown on you.

“Come on, what you’re doing now is just making it fucking worse for yourself, even if you don’t like it.” Logan supplies.

“Yeah no shit, I feel the same way I look.”

“Hot as shit.” Wade winks at you, you roll your eyes.

“Just shit.” 

“Agree to disagree, pookie.” A few moments of silence, where you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling, take a few deep breaths, and try to not concentrate on how your bonds are practically vibrating with excitement even in their muted states. 

“Soooooo, how are we going to do this?” Wade is, of course, the one to break the silence. 

“Do what?”

“Start of this beautiful journey of loveeee and self healing?” Wade wiggles in his seat, pushing his shoulder into Logan, who rolls his eyes at his antics, but throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Fuck if I know.” A few beats where you try to think, now that you can focus on something else other than pain and nausea. “Regular-ish meetings would probably be good. Try to keep the side-effects, but also the contact, minimal.”

“Hurtful pookie.” Wade says again, but Logan talks before you can respond to him.

“Let’s start with once a week, and if that’s not enough, we’ll try more.” He suggests.

“Feels like I’m starting a god damn drug trial or some bullshit.”

“Trial of love pookie.” You groan as Logan snorts. Wade claps his hands together. “Well, consider this the start of many wonderful nights to come! Wanna watch a movie? Al is still out who the fuck knows where doing fuck knows what (probably coke) for a while, so we got the place to ourselves” You shrug. Might as well, if you are going to be forced to spend time with your soulmates so your body doesn't start to feel like you've been run over by a truck. 

A movie will hopefully keep your mind distracted, it’s not like you need to stare deeply into each other’s eyes, or talk about feelings, for it to work and calm down your body and mind.

Wade puts on a Barbie movie of all things, and begins to yap about the Barbie movie universe, or the BMU. Logan gets up to fetch some popcorn, which you take a few handfuls off as your stomach and body has settled for now. You pet Mary Puppins as you try to pay attention to the movie.

Thirty minutes into the movie, you are out like a light, the relief of your body making you fall asleep where you sit, Mary Puppins resting in your lap with your hand on top of her barely fur-covered head.

—---

When you wake up from your unplanned nap, it’s to your neck hurting from being at an odd angle for way too long. You have no idea what time it is, but it’s dark outside the window, the only light in the room is the rays spilling in from a lamp-post somewhere outside.

Taking stock of your body as you sit up properly, the only thing that aches is your neck and upper shoulders. A blanket that wasn’t there before falls into your lap as you move, Mary Puppins no longer occuping it. You realize that somehow, at some point during your sleep, the sofa, which apparently is a pullout, had been transformed into a bed. 

Which Wade and Logan are currently sleeping on, with a dog bed next to it where Mary Puppins is curled up.

How they had managed to do that without waking you, you don’t know. 

You must have been really exhausted, even more so than you realized.

You rub both your hands over your face, moving one to your neck to knead at the sore muscle there. You bite your lip to keep in the groan that threatens to slip out, glancing at the bed to make sure neither man wakes.

And then you keep looking.

Logan is on his back, one arm around Wade, whose head rests on his chest. Their legs are intertwined, both of them snoring quietly. They are both wearing shirts, though Logan’s have ridden up to show a hairy happy trail, which disappears underneath the edge of the blanket that covers their lower halves.

They both look surprisingly soft.

You shake your head as soon as that thought appears, banishing it to the darkness of the void. Where in the world did that come from?

That’s not a question you can answer, at least not with something that you will like, so instead you focus your energy on getting up from the chair as quietly as possible.

It must fail somehow though, because as you put the blanket down in the chair and stand up fully, there’s a soft call of your name.

Looking over to the pullout, Logan’s head is raised from the pillow. He’s looking at you, in the limited light it’s hard to tell his expression, but you don’t think he’s scowling.  

You think that’s about to change though.

“See you in a week Logan.” You whisper, and take the few steps needed towards the front door, opening it, and then closing it behind you with the softest click you can manage. 

This time you don’t run, even as much as your brain is screaming for you to do so. 

In the opposite direction of where you are actually going.

(Part 10)

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

This fulfills both my BuckTommy agenda and my Chimney and Tommy are besties agenda. It's Fluffebruary Day Eleven: Double Date! Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary, and you can read this on AO3 over here.

It’s Howie who suggests he and Tommy take their Buckleys out together, and Tommy is happy to go along with it. He and Howie have been occasionally meeting up for a beer or coffee ever since the cruise ship rescue, and they’re currently sitting next to a playground while Jee-Yun goes down the same slide over and over. She lands about four feet from them and waves every time until she runs back to carefully climb the steps back up.

“What are you thinking?” Tommy asks, swirling the last of his coffee in its paper cup to mix it before taking a swig.

“LA County Fair is coming up. You ever go?”

Tommy snorts softly and nods. “Yeah, with Ben.”

“Yeah, fuck that, we’re making new memories,” Howie says, making a face. He’d heard about Tommy’s last serious relationship in all its toxic glory after he’d cornered Tommy in a CVS to ask why the hell he’d been ducking Howie since his and Evan’s (thankfully temporary, then current) break-up. “Just do not tell my daughter, because we’re taking her in a couple weeks and she’s gotta think it’s the first time or she’ll look at me with big, sad eyes.”

“I’ll take it to my grave,” Tommy vows solemnly, and Howie claps him on the shoulder.

They settle back and watch Jee-Yun, happily taking compliments from a couple of other parents and nannies on how sweet their daughter is.

“Yep, we love her, she’s our little angel,” Howie says, putting an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and squeezing.

“Absolutely,” Tommy agrees readily, squeezing Howie’s knee. “Been that way since the day we brought her home.”

“Uncle Tommy!” she shouts, running full-tilt toward them and catching herself on his knees. “Swing?”

“Swing,” he confirms, scooping her up and messily kissing her cheek as she squeals with laughter. “Let’s see if we can get you to go all the way around in a big circle.”

Howie jumps to his feet. “Let’s not do that.”

Tommy turns his own big, sad eyes on Howie as he backs toward the playground. “But Da-ad.”

“Tommaso Gianni, you better not break my daughter.”

Jee-Yun gasps and looks at Tommy. “Uh-oh.”

“First and middle name? I know,” he says gravely. “Okay, we’ll carefully swing.”

She pouts and throws her arms around Tommy’s neck. “Oka-ay.”

He happily pushes her on the swing until Maddie shows up with Evan, both of them having had lunch with their parents. Tommy bites back a grin when he sees the confusion on the faces of the people who’d approached him and Howie as Maddie greets her husband with a kiss.

Evan walks over and waves. “Hey, guys!”

“Uncle Buck!” Jee-Yun shrieks, and Tommy barely has time to catch the chains of the swing to stop it before she launches herself off of it to run to Evan’s waiting arms. He picks her up and kisses her cheeks before settling her on his hip.

He’s listening to her recap about the caterpillar she found when they’d arrived and asking her questions about what it looked like and is in the middle of telling her what kind of moth it’ll probably turn into as he reaches Tommy.

“Hey,” he says, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. “We swinging?”

“Yep, but we’ve been restricted to safe swinging,” Tommy says, and Evan makes a face. “Right? Howie doesn’t know that this girl’s ready to fly.”

“Alright,” Evan says to a captivated Jee-Yun, sitting on the swing. “Here’s how we’re going to do this. You’re gonna hold on real right, okay? And then Uncle Tommy is gonna push as hard as he can.”

She nods and wraps her arms around Evan, and he holds the chain of the swing with one hand and wraps his other arm around her. When he’s settled in, he backs up until he’s almost standing up straight.

“Alright, launching in five, four, three, two, one!”

With that, he pushes off, and Tommy grins when she shrieks with laughter. He pushes them carefully, not wanting to risk Evan losing his grip, but Evan’s pumping his legs to build up a little more height.

“So are you guys poly or—”

The question catches him off-guard, and he looks sheepishly at the nanny who’d been talking to him and Howie earlier.

“No, that’s my boyfriend’s brother-in-law,” he explains. “We were, uh, just messing with people.”

She snorts and shifts the toddler she’s carrying to her other hip. “You guys are going to be the talk of the playground for a couple days. Please don’t clear things up with anyone else, I live for this kind of thing.”

“Uncle Tommy is slacking!” Evan calls over his shoulder.

“Uncle Evan can chill,” Tommy says, stepping back into position.

When they’re ready to hop off, Evan dramatically “jumps” as the swing is coming to a stop, and Maddie comes over to offer her daughter a bag of pretzel chips and some water.

“What’s this I hear about a double date?” she asks, plucking two pretzel chips out of the bag and handing one to each of them.

“Yep,” Tommy says, popping the snack into his mouth. “Tomorrow, actually. Details to follow.”

He gives a meaningful glance down to Jee-Yun, who’s looking up at them as she sips her water. Later, when they’re in Evan’s Jeep and away from little ears, Tommy asks him how he feels about the fair.

“Oh, man, I am so winning you a bear,” Evan says, grinning.

“Uh, I think I’m going to be winning a bear for you.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I’m one half of the organizing party, it’s my responsibility—”

“To buy me a funnel cake and hold my hand on—actually, no, no ferris wheel.”

Tommy shudders. “Yeah, nothing that, uh, leaves the ground.”

They bicker about who’s responsible for winning stuffed animals for who all the way back to the loft.

–

His last trip to the fair really had been a disaster. Ben had complained about the price of food, Tommy had ignored every attempt at initiating conversation about them attending Ben’s high school reunion, and they’d ended the night in silence and with headaches.

This time, Maddie is six months pregnant and devouring every bit of fair food she can get her hands on, Howie has had three different face painting artists have a go at him and now looks like Spider-Man/Darth Maul/a butterfly depending on which third of his face you’re looking at, and Evan is carrying a stuffed puppy under one arm and has a weird monkey puppet looped around his neck. Tommy has a pink bear the size of Jee-Yun under his arm, and he feels like he’s going to be sick if he eats anything else that’s been fried.

“Alright, funhouse, funhouse, funhouse,” Evan chants.

“Absolutely not,” Maddie says around a fried Oreo. “But you guys enjoy yourselves.”

They hand off their stuffed prizes to Maddie and Howie and run into the funhouse. It’s very old and mostly full of spinning platforms and moving walkways and some mirrors, and Evan has them stop and take a picture in every single one. After, they spot the haunted house and manage to entice Howie and Maddie into joining them on that one because it involves sitting down.

It’s so much goddamn fun. Howie and Tommy hang back while Maddie and Evan try to do a game that involves rubber ducks, both of them sipping on overpriced beer.

“You know, Maddie told me they never went to a fair when they were kids,” Howie says. “Danny was too sick, then everything after. Isn’t that wild?”

Tommy knows he means that it’s something else and nods. “Means we should probably take them every year to make up for it.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

They clink their plastic cups together and exchange grins.

“State fair up in Sac when the kids are old enough,” Howie decides. “Or if we can get a babysitter for the weekend.”

“I know a cheap pilot.”

“Oh, don’t call yourself that, honey,” Howie coos, pinching his cheek.

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend,” Evan says, pressing a small, squishy dinosaur against Tommy’s chest. “Your move, Kinard.”

Maddie hands a Minion dressed like a pirate to Howie. “Meet your son.”

“Howard, Jr,” he sighs, petting its goggled eye happily. “Who wants to go scare the shit out of the person running that thing where you swing a hammer to hit a bell? I’m pretty sure they’ll cry when they see these two muscle-bound freaks.”

By the end of the night, they’re tired and all leaning against each other and carrying more stuffed animals than any four adults should ever own. The big, floppy elephant that Evan is hauling is Tommy’s personal favorite. He also has a tote bag over each shoulder with crafts, trinkets, snacks, and random spice and tea blends from vendors.

“We should do a Ren Faire,” Evan suggests.

“Oh, my god, Jee as a little squire or a princess,” Maddie whines, burying her face in her stuffed shark. “Honey, please.”

“Yeah, alright,” Howie says, leaning in to kiss her hair. She’s already got grease paint smudged on it and her face from him, so she’d stopped batting him away hours ago.

They get to Howie and Maddie’s car, since paying for parking twice had sounded like a terrible idea, and they get a ride back to Tommy’s house.

“We’re the fucking kings of double dates,” Howie says, reaching back to bump Tommy’s fist before they get out of the car. “But maybe just dinner and a movie next time.”

“Go big or go home, Han.” He swoops in for a kiss to Maddie’s cheek and climbs out of the back seat, joining Evan in gathering their prizes from the back of the car. “Alright, let’s get them settled into the guest room.”

They arrange their prizes on the bed and Tommy takes a picture of the frankly ridiculous army they amassed, though there’s one more soldier on his side than Evan’s thanks to that game where you shoot water into a hole to win a horse race. They’d been so close to winning a bear as big as Maddie, but he’s a little glad they didn’t. He doesn’t even know where he’s going to keep all of these and imagines the toy drive will be getting a sizable stuffed toy donation once he lets their friends’ kids pick out a favorite to adopt.

The elephant and bear are staying with them, though.

[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.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I'll Cry

Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You wash Marc's hair.

A/N: For the anon that sent this ask.

Warnings: Marc showering, swearing, a little innuendo, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 743

Marc grumbled as the warm water hit his back, the pressure was never quite right in Steven’s fucking awful shower. 

Not that he would ever tell him that, Steven would give him an earful and then rant about how ‘if Marc cared so much, he should do something about it.’ And, in all honesty, Marc just couldn’t be bothered. 

As he thought about it he almost tricked himself into thinking Steven was awake, so accurate was his mental impression. And this distraction was enough for him to drop the shampoo bottle. 

It slid out of his grasp, seemingly in slow motion, and while he did manage to grab the end of it with his other hand, it quickly slipped free and smashed against the shower floor. 

The sound was loud and god awful. Marc swore loudly when he released the cap had shattered in half on impact. 

You knock on the bathroom door, “Marc, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- shit!” He nearly lost his balance as he leaned down to pick up the bottle, having purposefully forgone putting the mat down because he couldn’t be bothered. 

You throw the door open in a panic and Marc freezes, staring at you for a second with wide eyes and clutching the titled wall. 

He gives you a bashful grin and nods his chin towards the shampoo. “I dropped the bottle.” 

You chuckle, “I thought you’d hurt yourself.” 

“Just my pride,” he shrugs, standing. “Shampoo’s seen better days though.” He picks it up and holds it out to show you. “You thought I’d hurt myself?” 

You nod. 

“Sorry,” he swallows a little shyly. Only Marc could feel self conscious about causing a fuss while bare ass naked. Not that you hadn’t seen him without clothes plenty of times before. 

“Why are you sorry?” You tut playfully and give his cheek a kiss. “Come, sit down.” 

“Huh?” He stares at you with his large brown eyes. 

“Sit that gorgeous ass down, before you fall down.” You pause. “And why don’t you have the bath mat down?” 

He shrugs sheepishly, but turns and sits down. “I forgot.” He says quietly and you hum in a very ‘I don’t believe a word you’re saying’ way.

You gently take the shampoo bottle out of his hands, he hadn’t thought to put it down, and squeeze some into your palm before you begin to work it through his hair. 

“You don’t have to…” He shivers, his eyes closing.

After a few moments, his shoulders slump a little, tension easing out of his muscles as you run your fingers along his scalp. 

His head lolls a little, and for a second you think he’s fallen asleep. You lean a little to the side and see the small, sweet smile on his face. He looks so peaceful in that moment, content in a way he doesn’t usually let himself be. 

You kiss his temple before you wash the suds out of his hair, careful to keep the soap away from his eyes. 

He stays sitting obediently, soft and pliant in your hands. That is until you open your conditioner. 

He breathes in deeply, “That’s yours? Mines-”

“Yours is awful,” you kiss the wet top of his head, his curls slicked back under the weight of the water. “I don’t think it even counts as a conditioner.”

He snorts. “It’s cheap.” He says it like that’s a positive.

“Using washing up liquid to clean your hair is cheap Marc, but I wouldn’t recommend or do that.” 

“Hmmm, washing up liquid you say.” He giggles, his shoulder bouncing a little as he revels in teasing you. 

“Don’t even.”

“I could use the lemon one, you like that one.” 

“Jake would never let you.” You laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think I could convince him… Steven would kick my ass though.” He lets out a content sigh as you work in the conditioner. There’s a small pause before he speaks again, “Yours is expensive, you shouldn’t be wasting it on me.” 

“Don’t make me cry, Spector.” A line you used sparingly, but always hit home when said sincerely. 

He shuts his mouth quickly and smiles sadly, his chest hurting from how much you care. “At least I’ll smell like you.” 

“I would say that’s more of a negative than anything.” You tease.

“Don’t make me cry.” He takes hold of one of your hands, guiding you so that he can press a kiss to your wrist. 

Thank you for reading! Taglist 1:

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[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?”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Batter Up!

Written for round 1 of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Punk AU

Rated: T

Words: 2,222 [also on AO3]

Tags: Battle of the bands; Punk!Steve; Flirting; Sexual tension

The crowd is still roaring as they make their way off the stage, hundreds and hundreds of voices mingling with the rush of his own blood in Eddie’s ears. 

“And that concludes our semi-finals, people,” the host’s voice bellows through the venue. “The big finale of our battle of the bands will be fought tomorrow, between Corroded Coffin and Batter Up.” 

“Fuck yeah,” he hollers, taking a flying leap down the last two steps and landing piggyback on Jeff's shoulders. He yelps in surprise and tries to throw him off, but Eddie holds on one-handed, punching at the air with the other. “Excellent job, gentlemen. One more battle until victory and that sweet, sweet prize money. Will we kill it or will we kill it?” 

“We'll kill it,” Frank rumbles, grabbing him by the scruff of his battle vest and hoisting him clean in the air. “If you don't break our guitarist's back before tomorrow night, you hyperactive rodeo clown.” 

Eddie tackles him. Frank catches him in a headlock and proceeds to give him a noogie. By the time Eddie manages to elbow him in the kidneys and free himself, his hair is about twice its usual volume. 

“Not to piss on your parade,” Gareth says before they can lunge at each other again. “But we haven't won this thing yet. Have you heard Batter Up play? They're pretty damn good.” 

“I don't need to hear them play,” Eddie claims, trying to wiggle his fingers into the pocket of his skinny jeans to retrieve the hair tie he stashed there earlier. “There's no way in hell we're losing to that punk rock shit.” 

Gareth scowls. “All I'm saying is you could at least make an effort to get to know our competitors. Get an idea of what we'll be up against.”

“Oh, c'mon,” Jeff says, throwing an arm around his shoulder and giving Eddie and Frank a slow wink. “You're just jealous because their drummer is more popular with the ladies than you.” 

Gareth's face grows stony. 

“Harrington,” he spits. “That guy is such a fucking show-off. He isn't even that good, everyone is just obsessed with his stupid hair and the way he twirls his drumsticks like they're-” 

“Woah, Gare,” Eddie snickers, finally giving up his quest for the elusive hair tie. He must've lost it on stage. “Does someone have a crush?” 

Gareth punches him in the arm. “Fuck off, I don't. If you can't take this seriously-” 

“Eddie! Eddie, over here!”

A familiar, curly-haired, basecap-wearing face is bopping up and down in the crowd, just outside the barrier that separates the backstage area from the venue proper.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Eddie grins. “My fans await me.” 

*

“That was fantastic,” Dustin shouts over the din of the venue. His face is flushed and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He probably gave himself whiplash from all the headbanging he did earlier. “The other guys didn't stand a chance.”

“Yeah well, thanks for telling me what I already knew,” Eddie says, but he can’t help returning his wide, excited grin. 

“Seriously though,” Will says. He’s not as sweaty as Dustin, but his usual, unfortunate bowl cut is uncharacteristically disheveled. “You were really good. Even Steve said so, and he's hard to impress, usually.” 

Eddie just barely manages to suppress the incoming eye roll. Here they fucking go again. 

Steve. Steve who went to school with Will's older brother and Steve who has a car and drives the kids places and Steve who lets them use his pool in the summer. Steve who has Opinions on music now, apparently. Capital O. 

“Is he now?” is what he says. “If he thinks I'm so great, why doesn't he tell me himself?” 

Dustin waves him off impatiently. 

“I sent him to get us drinks. Wonder what's taking him so long. It's a hundred degrees in here, and-” 

“There you are,” bellows a voice, and then the crowd of bystanders scatters apart. It’s that or catch an elbow to the ribs. “I thought I told you little shitheads to wait for me over- … Oh, hey. You're the frontman of Corroded Coffin. Munson, right?” 

“Uh,” Eddie says, at the same time that the kids surge forward to rip the assorted sugary drinks from the newcomer's arms like a horde of starved animals, leaving him only with a single bottle of beer. “Yeah. Eddie. You can call me Eddie.” 

It may not sound very eloquent, he thinks, but at least it's not what his stupid, tiny lizard brain is trying to convince his mouth to blurt out, which is that this hottie could call him anything he wants. 

“Eddie?” The stranger arches one eyebrow - one perfectly shaped, aristocratic eyebrow sporting a single, silver barbell piercing - before he whirls on Dustin. “Wait a sec. This is Eddie? Eddie from the Dungeon club thingie? Eddie who likes metal? When were you planning on telling me this?” 

Dustin takes an unimpressed slurp from his can. 

“I did tell you. I said he'd also be here, remember?” 

Hottie huffs, running an annoyed hand through his hair. Even disheveled and damp from the heat of the location, it's still stupidly pretty. The electric-blue-dye-job sort of pretty. The sides of his head have been shaved, leaving the rest of it tumbling into his face in a messy mohawk that looks casual, but probably took forever to style.

Jesus. 

Eddie tucks nervously at his own sweaty curls, but the part of them that's not currently defying gravity is glued to his neck. 

“You said he'd be around,” Hottie is telling Dustin. “Not that he'd be competing. It didn't occur to you that I might wanna know so that I wouldn’t make a complete ass of myself?” 

A tendon on his neck twitches in annoyance. There's a tattoo right over it. A tiny bird perched in a thicket of roses, thorny vines and blood red blossoms disappearing into his ripped shirt. Eddie finds himself wondering how far down his shoulder and arm they continue. 

That train of thought comes to a screeching halt when Dustin groans and rolls his eyes. 

“Goddamnit, Steve, don't be so dramatic. You act like he's a fucking rock star instead of-” 

“Wait,” Eddie blurts. They both turn to face him with matching looks of confusion, and automatically, his hand starts tugging on his hair again. “Hold on a second. You're Steve? Steve with the swimming pool and the fancy German car and the villa in Loch Nora?” 

Dustin mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, which might or might not contain the words stupid dorks and listening skills and turns to talk to Mike instead. Steve sips on his beer and shrugs, a little defensive.

“Well, it's my dad's villa to be precise. And his pool. And also his car, if we're being honest. But yeah, I'm Steve. Is that a problem?” 

“Problem? What? Nah,” Eddie says. His hand migrates to his mouth. He needs to stuff a knuckle or three between his teeth to stop his frantic babbling, but his rings have become tangled in his curls. “You're cool, man. I mean, I dunno if you're cool, I literally just met you, except these little goblins here won't shut up about you, it's just …” 

He trails off with a helpless shrug. It ends up a little jerky because his hand is still stuck in his hair, so he pretends to be pulling it into a ponytail instead.

Steve watches him fiddle and smiles, a slow and amused thing. His lower lip is pierced as well. A simple silver ring that glints in the low light of the venue. Eddie does absolutely not want to sink his teeth into it and pull, because that would be crazy and inappropriate and also probably painful, so yeah, he’s not gonna do that. 

Unless Steve is into crazy and inappropriate and painful.

“It's just that you were expecting someone a little different?”

“A little different?” Eddie cackles, a bit surprised, a bit unhinged. “More like a lot different. Like … less tattoos and piercings and more polo shirts and knit sweaters.” 

Steve throws his head back and laughs. He has a nice laugh, Eddie thinks. Loud and deep and unashamed, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Something glints in his mouth - something small and round and distinctly metallic, and, yup, tongue piercing. 

Eddie is in so much trouble. 

“Yeah, I moved away from those a while ago,” Steve says, gesturing offhandedly at the entirety of him. There’s a lot of ripped denim and leather involved. Also studs. “I like this look a lot better.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees dumbly. “Me too. I mean … absolutely. It’s a killer look.”

“You too, though,” Steve says. His eyes rake over Eddie’s own skin-tight jeans, the cut-off shirt he’s wearing under his battle vest. Linger on his exposed midriff for just a second too long to pass as casual. “You were incredible up there, you know that?” 

Which, rude, how dare he hit him with compliments like that out of nowhere?

“Um, thanks,” Eddie says. His hair is rapidly descending into bird’s nest status. He gives it a violent pull, and his trapped hand finally comes loose. So does about a fistful of sweaty curls. “Ouch, fuck me.” 

Steve’s smile goes a little sharper. 

“Allow me,” he says, and then he’s pressing his half-finished bottle of beer into Eddie’s hands so that he can pull something from his back pocket as he steps around him. Eddie is about to ask what the hell he’s trying to do, but then he feels a pair of large, nimble hands slip into his hair and human speech leaves him. 

“Metal isn’t really my kind of genre, y’know?” Steve says conversationally. His breath ghosts over the shell of Eddie’s flushed ears as he gathers his hair at the base of his neck. Then he twists. Eddie is very grateful for the noise of the venue for swallowing the pathetic little squeak that comes out of his mouth. “I gotta give it to you though, you’ve got talent. I’m looking forward to the finale tomorrow. Here we go, all done.”

He slaps Eddie’s ass, all jovially, like a final sign-off on a job well done. This time, the ensuing noise isn’t quite low enough to be drowned out by the crowd. Eddie stumbles forward a step and whirls, mouth aghast, but Steve just grins and snatches the beer bottle from his hands again. 

“I’ll need that back,” he says around a swig, gesturing offhandedly at Eddie’s head. Eddie’s hand flies to his hair to find it wrapped into a neat, twisted updo, secured with something long and thin and distinctly wooden. A drumstick? “You can return it before the gig tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says dumbly. “Sure. I, um … I should go back to my band.” 

The kids are already lost in their usual squabbles again, so they don't pay him any mind as he starts weaving his way back towards the backstage area, but he can feel Steve's eyes burning into the back of his very exposed neck. 

And speaking of burning eyes … Gareth is glaring at him like he's trying to reduce him to a crisp, Eddie-shaped piece of charcoal with the power of his mind, and Frank and Jeff don't look too happy either.

“Careful there,” Gareth hisses the moment Eddie is close enough to hear him. “Or you might slip.”

Eddie blinks at him. “Come again?”

“On your own slime trail,” Gareth says. “Y’know, the one you left from creaming your pants just now.”

Eddie barks a surprised laugh.

“Ew, Gare, gross,” he says, “But also funny, I gotta give you that.” 

He reaches out a hand to slap Gareth’s shoulder good-naturedly. Gareth doesn’t laugh. Instead, he punches him. Again. And this time, he means it. 

“Ow, you little shithead,” Eddie yelps. “What the hell was that for?”

“You utter fucking asshole,” Gareth growls, struggling against Frank’s hold as he pulls him back. “I have a crush on Harrington? Well, isn’t that hilarious? You were two seconds away from jumping his bones just now.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie blurts. “Harrington? I have no idea what you’re talking about, that was just Steve. He’s with the kids, and-”

Gareth groans. “Oh my God, can you try and not think with your dick for two seconds here? You think Harrington is his first name or what?” 

Realization trickles in slowly, but it does. 

“What the hell?” Eddie mutters. “You don't mean-” 

He turns. Dustin is pulling on Steve's arm, yelling at him about something Eddie doesn't catch over the distance, but Steve is paying him no mind. Their eyes meet. 

Steve raises a hand and wiggles his fingers. His mouth forms three words, soundless and so slow that Eddie can read them off his lips. 

See you tomorrow. 

Eddie stands corrected. He's not in trouble.

Trouble is way too tame a word for what he's in. 

“C’mon,” he mutters, forcibly prying his eyes off Steve and his stupidly handsome, stupidly smug face. “Let's go. We have a finale to win tomorrow.” 

“That's what I've been saying,” Gareth grumbles as he trails after him. “Glad you're finally starting to take this- … Is that his fucking drumstick in your hair?” 

Eddie has a feeling he may not survive the next twenty-four hours. 

Meanwhile:

Dustin: What the hell? Were you flirting with Eddie just now?

Steve: I was upping my chances, actually. But yeah, let's call it flirting.

More Steddie Bingo

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

speaking my truth…

bychance shippers who ship it as a crack ship, i have nothing against y’all. you do you. you have free will after all. to each their own. ship and let ship.

but uh.

what in the world made y’all think your ship will actually sail. like. i hate to sound like a milkvan but its NOT happening, alright? and if it does that’s just really, really, REALLY poor writing.

first of all, why would you think that will ‘not possible’ byers, will ‘but you make ME feel like I’M not a mistake at all, like I’M better for being different’ byers, will ‘the wise’ byers… the nerdy gay kid who’s been bullied and abused for his queerness all his life… who’s been hopelessly in love with mike for YEARS… would just— rip the band-aid off and go for CHANCE, of all people? The jock, the bully, a guy FOUR YEARS OLDER THAN HIM??

And why would CHANCE fall in love with Will???

And why would the duffers introduce bychance in the last fucking season?????

And to y’all who want bychance to happen for the sake of jealous mike… uhm. let’s not 😀

seriously guys, we don’t need a SECOND love triangle in s5!!! i fucking hope the duffers will focus on byler throughout the whole season. this is the season mike and will are getting together y’all. this isn’t a fanfic on ao3 with all the most common tropes and clichés, this is stranger things 5 and byler is finally fucking happening and y’all want to throw all of their development out the window for BYCHANCE??

and for y’all who want bychance to happen instead of byler… because apparently mike doesn’t deserve will blah blah blah will deserves better blah blah blah… idek what to say to that. like. I could make ten posts consisting of the same amount of words that the Bible has EACH on the topic of byler and why it should happen, HAS to happen… and y’all still wouldn’t get it probably. what are yall even doing reading this post. what are yall doing on the byler tag bro.

but if we ignore the fact that byler must be and IS endgame for a sec, and we go with the narrative of will finding someone else to be with… FIRST OF ALL, why would his new bf be introduced in the last season after he’s spent the whole fucking show pining amd longing for mike?? SECOND OF ALL, anyone but fucking CHANCE, istgggggggg. If yall want Will to get together with someone other than Mike, anyone but Chance. like. HOW DO YALL SEE THE APPEAL?? IN FUCKING TWEAKINV I DONT. UNDERSTAND. YOU GUYS.

But uh. Yeah anyone who ships bychance as a crackship… it’s not my cup of tea, crackships aren’t in general, but I respect you and i respect the ship. Honestly all my reasoning for why bychance doesn’t make any sense doesn’t apply to it if it’s a crackships. Crackships are meant to make no sense, after all. It’s just the ppl who seriously ship it that baffle me