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xx-like-a-villian-xx · 9 months ago

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I'd Love To Watch

You’re forced to share a room with Noah and he wonders what book you’re reading.

This one is for all my dark romance reading babes, stay slay 🥀

My ao3 is HERE

Also let me know if you want to be tagged in anything upcoming posts, (I have so many WIPs)

CW: one bed trope (ugh my fave), mentions of dark romance, fingering, Noah is a MUNCH, squirting, forced proximity (let me know if I need to add any more)

18+ MDNI | Noah Sebastian x Reader

“Are you kidding me?” You groan, staring at the second suitcase in the bedroom that you called dibs on when you arrived at the Airbnb. “Matt, who put their shit in my room?” You call out to your best friend and tour manager who walks towards you, a smug smirk on his face.

”Well Noah kept saying he would take the couch but there’s a California King in there so I told him he should just bunk in with you tonight.” He leans against the doorframe, grinning. “Call it team building.”

”Team building?” You scoff, exasperated.

All you want is one night to yourself without being stuck in a bus full of sweaty guys and Matt thinks it's funny to let the man you’ve been trying to avoid all tour share your room.

Noah doesn’t like you, it’s been clear since day one. Every time he talks to you he’s so patronising and cocky it makes your blood boil but it’s not like you can say much. You’re just their merch girl after all, replaceable. If it wasn’t for Matt you wouldn’t even have the opportunity so you keep your mouth closed and stay out of Noah’s way unless it’s important.

“Does Noah know that we’re sharing?” You fold your arms over your chest, staring at your best friend.

Matt chuckles. “More than aware, he actually seemed fine with it.” Your eyebrow raises in surprise and he laughs. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You watch Matt retreat to his room and get to work pulling your pyjamas out from your suitcase, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for what you now know is going to be a hell of a long night.

While brushing your teeth you hear someone shuffle into the bedroom and you groan internally. Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, you gather your discarded clothes from the day and take a deep breath before opening the en-suite door.

Noah is lying spread eagle on the bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts with no top, scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you put your things back into your suitcase. You roll your eyes, grabbing your book to sit in the window seat across from the bed for a while, quietly reading to yourself. The silence is thick and you can hear his heavy breathing, distracting you from your book.

Your eyes flick from the dark romance novel to the man on the bed, eyes trailing over the expanses of ink that cover his toned skin and you feel heat pooling in your core.

”Anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” His voice breaks you out of your trance and your eyes flick back to the words on the page.

You scoff. “I wasn’t staring, you just breathe really loud and it’s pissing me off.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart.”

The sound of movement reaches your ears but you daren’t look at him, lifting the book higher to hide your red face. Suddenly the novel is snatched from your hands and you scramble to grab it back from him.

”Heartless Heathens?” He hums, holding the book out of your reach as he reads the blurb then flicks through a couple of pages, eyes widening. “Jesus, Y/N. I didn’t realise you were into this kinky shit.”

Your face is tomato red, burning hot as you try to wrestle the book from his hands.

“Noah give me my book back!”

All he does is laugh, eyes flicking back and forth as he reads the page I had bookmarked. “Oh my god! ‘Does that tight pussy hurt when my fat cock stretches it out like this?’ Wow…”

His dark eyes meet yours and you squeeze them shut out of embarrassment, hiding your face with your hands.

”You like that shit, huh?” You can hear the amusement in his voice as steps forward, throwing the book down on the window seat. You want the ground to swallow you up when you feel him staring down at you.

You huff, removing your hands from your face. “Loads of people do, it’s just a book.”

“I mean, do you like that stuff? Guys talking to you like that in bed? Asking you if it hurts when they stretch you out on their cock?”

You laugh, he’s joking right? You look up at him and your mouth goes dry when you see his dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.

”I don’t know,” you shrug. “I haven’t been with anyone for a couple of years, I don’t really have the time.”

Noah looks taken aback at your words and his lips turn up into a smirk. “A pretty girl like you? Surely you have guys begging for a chance in every state we visit.”

You chortle, crossing your arms. “Unlike most guys, I don’t need sex.”

He scoffs, picking the book back up. “So you just read this casually?”

”Most of the time.”

”And the rest of the time?”

The hot flush returns to your cheeks, reaching the tips of your ears. “That’s none of your business.”

He starts to flick through the pages again, humming as he reads. “Can I take a guess?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, go ahead.” You throw yourself down onto the bed, sitting against the headboard as he paces, reading.

“I think you like this Corvin guy most, I can imagine you getting all hot and bothered when you read his parts and you can’t help but find yourself fingerfucking yourself in your bunk when everyone is asleep.” His head tilts when he stops to look at you, his eyes searching for the telltale signs of your arousal, grinning when he sees your thighs clench together. “Am I correct?”

You shake your head in disbelief. What’s his game and why is he trying to get under your skin over some book. Your underwear feels damp from the wetness that is pooling at your core from his words and you have to stop yourself from lunging at him, to either punch him or kiss him…you’re unsure which one would be more satisfying.

”C’mon Y/N, tell me.” He sits next to you, pointing at a section where the main character is riding Corvin. “Is this what you get off to?”

You feel all too hot and bothered with him sitting next to you with his shirt off, tattooed skin taunting you as he tries to coerce the secrets of your alone time out of you.

”If I wasn’t in here right now is that what you’d be doing? Getting off over your little dark romance book?”

”What’s your deal Noah? Why do you want to know about all this?” You sit up straighter and he lounges back, eyeing you humorously.

He shrugs. “It’s just cute that you read this horny stuff. I never took you as the type to get riled up by it, is all.”

”You’d be surprised.” You mumble and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

”You read worse?”

”Oh shut up, Noah. It’s just dumb fiction, why are we even still talking about this?”

He turns to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes burning into the side of your head. “Because I can tell how hot and bothered you are right now and it’s kind of sexy, I must admit.”

You gulp at his words, staring straight ahead in a conscious effort not to look at him or all of your resolve might falter.

”So tell me, were you so pissed about having to share this room because you wanted some special alone time tonight with your little smut novel?”

You can feel his smirk and the tension in the room thickens, turning into a storm cloud of lust.

”You can still do it, you know.”

Your eyes finally dart to his smug face and your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

He shrugs casually. “You can still get yourself off, I could read to you if you want?”

Your swallow thickly, your core throbbing at his words. “No, that’s weird.”

Noah chuckles. “Masturbation isn’t we-“

”I fucking know that! What’s weird is you’re my boss and you’re offering to read to me while I make myself cum. Do you hear yourself?”

You can’t lie to yourself, the offer is almost too tempting. It’s not fair that the most attractive man you know is basically offering to help you get your rocks off but he hates you right? He’s always so moody and weird around you. Why is he being like this?

He sits up, scooting closer so your shoulders are touching and he leans close to your ear, his breath tickling the skin of your cheek. “Or I could tell you every wicked little fantasy I’ve had about you since you waltzed into the studio with Matt all those years back.’

Your eyebrows raise and you turn to him, his mouth just inches from yours. “You fantasise about me?”

He laughs, a smug sound that makes you want to punch him. “Oh yeah, my favourite is the one where I get to bend you over and rip apart those fishnets you love to wear, the ones with the lace flowers on.” His eyes darken as he reminisces over the lewd thoughts and your mind wanders.

How would it feel to have his hands all over you, tearing away those expensive tights that you adore? How would it feel to have him buried to the hilt inside you as he pushes your head into whatever surface he can find? Fuck its all too much.

”Noah, we shouldn’t talk about this stuff.” You try to reason with yourself but your resolve quickly disappears when his long inked finger trails up the bare skin of your thigh, stopping at the hem of your silky black pyjama shorts.

“Why? We’re both adults.” He smiles almost innocently.

”Because you don’t like me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Since when? Didn’t I just tell you that I literally think about how I want to bend you over?”

You roll your eyes. “You literally talk to me like shit the majority of the time.”

”I like watching you squirm.” His smile is cocky and it only sends more electricity to your core because he’s right, he does make you squirm and you like it too.

A lust filled silence lingers in the air as he stares into your eyes, a smirk plastered on his lips.

”So do you still want to get yourself off, I’d love to watch.” He cocks an eyebrow and there it is, the last of your resolve leaving out the window.

”Fine.”

He’s like a kid in a candy shop when he sits up, watching you lie down on the bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you close your eyes, trying to pretend he isn’t there. You slide the silk shorts down your legs, leaving the black lace thong on and your hand travels over the soft fabric, running over the damp patch that is only getting bigger.

You gasp when you slide your hand between the fabric, fingers slipping between your slick folds, easily finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that's been begging to be touched since you walked out of the bathroom to find Noah sprawled out shirtless on the bed. Oh how you wanted to just climb on top of him, to sink down on his cock like you owned him.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips when you circle your clit, slowly teasing yourself to the images of Noah’s cock buried deep inside your cunt. You feel him shift next to you to get a better look at your movements, how your fingers move under the dark lace of your panties. You hear him take a shaky breath and it sends shockwaves to your sensitive core.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is deep, coarse in your ear and you whine out a confirmation, moving your fingers faster over your clit. “God, you don’t know how good you sound. Do you like it when I talk to you?”

”Y-yes.” You sigh and he chuckles.

”Such a good girl.” He whispers, breath tickling your ear. “Do you want me to tell you what to do, huh? Do you want to be good for me and remove your underwear so I can see how you touch that pretty little pussy? God, I bet it’s so perfect.”

You whimper, using your spare hand to push the lace down your thighs, kicking them off as you toy with yourself. Noah leans forward, a hand landing on your thigh to pull your legs further apart and a feral groan leaves his throat when you spread yourself open for him to see just how wet you are, fingers covered in wet slick.

”Oh fuck, you look so good sweetheart. Show me how you bury those pretty fingers in there.”

You push two fingers into your core, the wet sound reaching your ears. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. You hear Noah’s breathing quicken as he watches you fuck yourself with your fingers, soft moans leaving your bitten lips.

”Doing so fucking well for me.” The praise feels like heaven when it meets your ears and you speed up, curling your fingers upwards. “Fuck, what I would do to bury my own fingers inside you.”

”Please.” You whine, opening your eyes to look at him, your breath coming out in pants when his lust blown eyes meet yours.

“Please what?” He smirks, tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear as you find your clit again, rubbing your soaked fingers over the sensitive bud.

“I need your fingers inside me, please.” You’re so fucking needy and you can tell how much he gets off on it by how his smirk grows into a cruel grin and he holds his fingers against your plump lips.

”Are you gonna suck them for me? Get them nice and wet like the good little slut you are?” Your eyes roll back at his words and he gasps when your tongue swirls around the calloused pads of his fingers, soaking them with your saliva.

He pushes two long fingers into your warm mouth and you hollow your cheeks around them, staring up at him with innocent eyes that make his aching cock strain against his shorts. He pulls his fingers out with a pop and trails them down the valley of your clothed chest, down your navel to where your own fingers are still toying with your clit. Your eyes follow and your hand moves, giving him full access to where you need him most.

”You gonna watch me fuck you with my fingers huh?” He smiles sweetly, sliding his fingers up and down your drenched folds teasingly.

You nod, leaning up on your elbows to watch his slender fingers disappear between your folds, rubbing tight circles around your clit and you gasp his name, your mouth falling open at the immense pleasure. He chuckles, sliding them to your entrance to gather the wetness that pools there, moving back to your clit to play with it all too slowly.

”Please Noah.” You whine and he tuts.

”Be patient, I’ll get there. I want a better look.”

He moves to lie between your legs, pushing your legs further apart to get a good look at your glistening cunt. You can feel his breath hot against you and you could just cum right there without him even touching you, especially with how he looks up at you through those long lashes, eyes black and predatory like he wants to eat you whole.

“You’ve got such a perfect pussy, fuck.” He groans, pushes his long middle finger in, the dark ink disappearing inch by inch inside your cunt and you moan louder than expected, your hand flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet. “Fuck, it feels so good, so soft.”

A second finger joins the first and he slowly curls them, finding that spot that leaves you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back, your head lolling back on your shoulders. His spare hand grips your inner thigh with a bruising hold and you're sure there will be bruises there tomorrow but you don’t mind, it feels like heaven.

”My mouth is so close to your pussy I can practically taste you.” He growls and your hips buck, pushing his fingers even deeper inside you. He chuckles darkly. “Do you want me to taste you?”

You sob, nodding enthusiastically.

”Use your words, pretty girl.” He hums, kissing your pelvic bone.

”Please taste me.”

He hums, his hot tongue dragging over your folds before his lips close around your clit, leaving you gobsmacked from how fucking good his tongue feels against you with his fingers fucking into you.

You’re close, you can feel that tightness building in your lower abdomen, so fucking close. His fingers curl faster, his tongue lapping over your clit like you’re the last water source on Earth and you’re falling. Your legs shake, a feral groan leaving your lips as your orgasm rips through your body like a fucking tornado. His fingers only move faster as his lips leave your sensitive clit and you're tipping over the edge again just as quickly, gushing around his fingers and the bed sheets below.

”Fuck, good girl!” He grins, lapping your sweet nectar from your thighs. “Think you’ve got another?”

You have no time to protest, he rises to slide between your thighs, fingers still buried deep inside your cunt as he stares down at you, curling them fast exactly where he knows he can drag another orgasm from you. His free hand covers your mouth when you cum again, screaming into his palm, soaking the front of his shorts where his leaking cock strains against them.

”Good fucking girl, well done!” He kisses your forehead, pulling his drenched hand away from your sensitive core to suck his fingers clean.

You stare at him in bewilderment when he smiles down at you. You’re in shock at how much you just came for a man you thought hated you half an hour ago.

”I think I need to catch you reading more.” He chuckles.

”Shut the fuck up.” You roll your eyes, pulling him into a searing kiss.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“So you two didn’t kill each other last night?” Matt smirks when you make your way downstairs in the morning, wearing one of Noah’s shirts with him freshly showered following behind you.

Folio storms past, looking a little worse for wear. “I would’ve preferred it if they did, I need to bleach my ears.” He groans, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

You blush bright red, throwing a grape at the drummer and Noah wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into his lap.

”Guess my plan worked then.” Matt chuckles, popping a grape in his mouth with a grin.

#noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #bad omens band #bad omens #bad omens fic #bad omens cult #band fic #fanfiction

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hairstevington · 6 months ago

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call me when you get this

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are best friends, but even the best of friends have secrets.

WC: 3K

Warnings: Story told through voicemails, mild angst, coming out to each other, secret feelings, friends to lovers, kissing, swearing, light angst very brief, references to Robin and Gareth, drunk shenangians, idiots in love, set in 1991 but it doesn't matter too much, no mention of the Upside Down stuff

A/N: I have like three other WIP's happening and zero time but this idea was given to me by the beloved @tinytalkingtina in the discord and then I couldn't get it out of my head. Ao3 link here for those interested!

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 12:52am

GARETH hi yes I know it’s late but HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE ALBUM YET? I need all of your thoughts immediately. Like, all of them. Every thought. Dude, my head is spinning. Ohhh, man. Kurt is a fuckin’ legend. Woooow. Okay, I could talk about this shit for like three hours but I don’t want to run out your tape so just call me back when you get this and then talk to me about it for three hours. Can I come over a little early tomorrow? Yeah, I’m gonna come over a little early tomorrow. Maybe a lot early. Alright, catch ya then.

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 3:40pm

Uhh, ha. Hey Steve. Thiiiis is Eddie, obviously. I, uh, I just realized I called you in the middle of the night last night on accident, and - uhh, sorry about that. It was just - ah, screw it. You know what I am. Byeeeeee-

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 7:30pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eds, how many times do I have to tell you to change your answering machine message? What if, like, the president calls? Okay, maybe not the president. But an employer or something. Or, like, what if you give the girl of your dreams your number and she calls you and hears THAT? Food for thought. Uhh, anyway, it’s fine. I wasn’t even home when you called me. Robin was, though, and so you’ll probably hear her wrath next time you come over for movie night. Good luck with that. Oh, wait. You’re at a show tonight, right? Damn. I swear I’ll make the next one. Okay, bye, dickhead.

Wednesday, September 25th, 1991, 1:12pm

“You have reached Steve Harrington. Figured I should say that in case whoever is calling me thinks they’re calling someone else. Anyway, I’m busy right now so I’ll call you back. Bye!”

Ha, ha. You are so funny, Harrington. You ever think about being a stand-up comedian? Jesus, and you say I’M the dramatic one. Uhh, the show last night went well, by the way. Not that you were THERE. Seriously, what kind of friend even are you? I’m hurt, Steve. I’m hurt. Anyway, see you tomorrow for movie night. I get to pick. It’s only fair, right?

Thursday, September 27th, 1991, 4pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

You’re not picking the goddamn movie. No way. Last time you did that we got scarred for life. Also, um. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not about me and your shows. I didn’t realize you - uhh, you’re probably joking. Forget I said anything, and see you tonight. I’m at work right now, so I’m gonna rent some backup options just in case.

Sunday, September 30th, 1991, 2pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dustin says you were being a total dick last night. Good. That shrimp deserves to be humbled every once in a while. Your answering machine message still sucks, by the way, and yeah I’m gonna tell you every time.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:21pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steve. My guy. I can’t believe you make fun of me for my bullshit message all the time and now you’ve created and advertised THAT abomination?? I’m - wow. I forgot why I even called.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:23pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Okay, I remember now. I know you said you have that date tomorrow with Heidi or Melissa or Samantha or whoever is currently obsessed with you, but I really do want you at the show if you can make it. You can bring her, if you want. Actually, it might be a good test. If she hates metal, she fails. I only want the best suitors for you, Steve Harrington. Be there or I’ll be REALLY annoying about it forever.

Tuesday, October 2nd, 1991, 11:45pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Hey, it’s Steve. So, uh - I saw your show tonight. You’re probably not home yet, but I don’t know where you are. Cuz like, I tried to find you after your set but you disappeared. I hope everything’s okay. You sounded great, by the way. I mean, you all did. Remember me when you’re playing at the Garden? Oh also, I heard like three women talk about how badly they wanted you, so…I dunno, just figured you’d like to hear that. Hey, maybe you got with one of them and that’s why you’re not answering. In that case, hope you’re having fun? Okay, now it’s weird. Bye, Eds.

Wednesday, October 3rd, 12:54am

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steeeeeeeeeeeve. You absolute buffoon. You beautiful, oblivious man. Why’dya think I wanted you there’so badly t’night, Steve? T’wasn’t for the girls. Ha, girls. Yeah, okay. I may have had several alcoholic beverages, Steve-o, but you’re still the dumbass. Cuz you’d have to be an absolute idiot t’think I have any interest in those women. ‘Specially yours. Your women, I mean. Sandyyyyy. Ugh, she was perfect for you, Harrington. Juuuust perfect. So perfect I didn’t wanna stick around to see any more of it. I hope you two have beautiful children. Name one after me, will you? Uhhhh I think I might puke. So, I’m gonna go, but - but do you get what I’m saying? Do you - do you get it? Tell me you get it. Steve, I - Oh, hey Gareth. Do you wanna talk to Steve? Wait why are you - Dude, I’m FINE. I’m handling it! Stop! Gareth, don’t hang up the phone, I haven’t -!

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 9:05am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dude, did you fucking break into our apartment last night? Robin and I came home this morning and found a broken lock and some shitty note we could barely read next to the answering machine, and - what the fuck, man? You wiped the damn thing clean. Just - call me back, okay? Jesus.

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 11:36am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eddie, come on. We really need to talk. I’m not - I’m not mad, honest to God. Call me back, as soon as you get this. Got it?

Thursday, October 4th, 1991, 3:47pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

It’s movie night, but I’m assuming you won’t be here considering you’ve pulled your magic disappearing act. Thanks for that, by the way. You know you really piss me off sometimes? All the time, actually. I’m getting real tired of you constantly poking fun at me, and then you pull this breaking and entering shit and just take off? Just like that? We’ve been friends for years, Eds. You and me. But you never want to just be serious, not once in your goddamn life, and I’m over it. So, uh, thanks for that, I guess. I dunno what I did.

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:12pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

Huh. You know what? I kind of miss the old message you had. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m impossible to please, yada yada yada, and now I’m doing the avoiding with humor thing again. Shit. Uhh, hi. Listen, I’m sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. Really, really fucking sorry, if you can believe it. I was just, like, mad embarrassed, and I didn’t wanna - uh, can we meet up soon? Alone? Like, without Robin even? I know that’s - like, unheard of these days, but I figure maybe you’d make an exception for me. Or maybe you won’t. Just let me know, yeah?

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:30pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

See, I would just hop on over to your place to talk but the thing is, I’m a total chickenshit and it’s not like I did super well the last time I showed up to your place unannounced, so…Uhh, while we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about your lock. If you haven’t replaced it yet, I will. I’ll at least pay you back. In my defense, that thing was like two seconds from falling off anyway. But still. Anyway, I know you always spend Sundays at home, soooo…hellooooo? Come on. At least pick up the phone and tell me to fuck off. I know you’re listening. At least - I hope you are, anyway. Just pick up, man. I - I really gotta talk to you.

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:37pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

So, quick update, I called Henderson. He confirmed you are at home, which means you are DEFINITELY listening, and either you’re trying to punish me or a part of you still finds my piece of shit ass charming somehow. Look, I know I fucked up, but - but I can explain. Shit. I mean, I’m not good with words or anything and I’m a total asshole but I - just, please. Pick up. Pick uuuuup. Come on. Now you’re just being a dick. Ha. Figures, I’m apologizing and calling you a dick in the same message. Dude. Seriously. Your tape is gonna run out of space and then what? You stop hearing from me? I’ll find other ways to annoy you, promise. This is a threat. Steve. Steeeeve. Pick up pick up pick up pick upppp -

“Will you just shut the hell up already?”

Eddie dropped the phone and heard it clack against the floor. He would have recognized that voice anywhere.

He turned around and there he was.

“Steve, what are you -?”

“You would just be yapping on that damn answering machine my whole drive here,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why I expected any less. And, thanks to you, we had all the space in the world for you to take up, so -”

“H-how did you get in here?” Eddie stuttered.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What? You think you’re the only one who’s not afraid of breaking and entering?”

They hadn’t seen each other in five days. Hadn’t even talked, aside from a few voicemails. And those never told the whole story.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie began.

“Yeah, you should be,” Steve replied, taking a step closer to Eddie in the kitchen.

Eddie winced, his heart racing a million miles a minute. He just had to get all of the words out, while he still could. While Steve was listening.

“I left you this really stupid voicemail,” Eddie explained. “That night, after the show. I was drunk off my ass, and - and Gareth told me I’d said shit I shouldn’t have said, and then I panicked, and the two of us went to your apartment and I - well, you know the rest.” He slumped down into the chair at the dining room table, putting his head in his hands. “Which is all just so dumb. And I didn’t wanna deal with the aftermath, so…”

“So you stopped talking to me?” Steve said, taking another step closer. “Because you thought that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back in our friendship?”

Eddie shook his head. “I dunno, I -”

“You’ve done some real weird shit over the years, Munson,” Steve continued. “Sneaking into my apartment doesn’t even make the top three.”

Eddie buried his face in his hair. No amount of boyish charm would get him out of this one. Jesus H. Christ.

He sighed. “Okay, so I overreacted, what else is new?”

“I heard the voicemail, dickhead.”

Eddie’s heart went from breakneck speeds to stopping entirely.

“What?”

Steve sat down in the other seat at the table. “I heard the voicemail. It was 1am, again, so yeah I was at home.”

“I thought you would have been with Sandy,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, Sandy was - she’s great and all, but she isn’t - she’s not -”

“So you heard the voicemail, but you weren’t home when I showed up,” Eddie noted.

“Right,” Steve said. “Because I was headed to your place.”

“What?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I just - I didn’t understand why you never told me you were queer. Like, you know I don’t care about that. You know about Robin…”

As Steve talked, Eddie realized that Steve only heard half of what that voicemail was trying to express. So, it was time for Eddie Munson to face the music.

“I didn’t tell you I’m gay because I knew that once I did, you’d figure out the rest of it,” Eddie blurted out.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “The rest of it?”

Eddie groaned. “Oh, God. See, drunk me had the right idea saying this kind of shit over an answering machine. Christ, I’m so bad at this, but I’m just gonna say it, because if I don’t I think I’ll lose my shot with you and I - I can’t deal with that. So, here we go.” He squeezed his eyes shut and powered through. “Steve, I - ha, shit. I love you, dude. I’m - I’m IN love with you. I have been since, like, forever.” He opened his eyes, but kept them fixed on their feet against the linoleum kitchen floor. “Which is, uhh, a lot, I know. But it’s the truth. So if there’s any chance -”

“Oh, my God,” Steve interrupted. His voice wasn’t angry, or scared, or anything like that. It was soft and understanding.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Wait, what are you thinking?” He looked up to see Steve staring off into the distance before meeting his gaze.

“I’m thinking,” Steve replied. “That I owe Robin twenty bucks.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and felt his heart skip back into rhythm. “You do?”

Steve nodded with a slight smile. At some point, his hand had ended up on Eddie’s knee. “Yeah, I didn’t believe her. Told her no way, not possible.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel about this reaction. It wasn’t the worst possible response, but it certainly wasn’t Oh, Eddie! How I’ve longed for you all this time! Take me now!

A middleground, if you will.

“Oookay,” Eddie said. “Well, I don’t really know what to say now.”

“I’m queer too, ya know,” Steve continued.

"Wait, really?" Eddie balked. "Steve Harrington, ladies man?"

Steve chuckled. "Uh, yeah. Turns out, not so much," he said. "I feel like I’m pretty open about it. Guys, girls, whatever -”

“Yeah, but we all do that,” Eddie reasoned. “Me, you, and Robin all talking about how hot everyone is on our movie nights. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Except that it totally does,” Steve countered. “Because, like, what do we all have in common?"

Eddie thought about it, and he didn’t have any other defenses.

“O-okay, so you’re queer too,” Eddie said. “And the other thing I said?”

Steve took a deep breath and looked Eddie directly in his frightened eyes.

“Eds, obviously I love you too,” Steve admitted at last. “Come on, seriously? After all I’ve put up with? I’ve been waiting around for like five days for you to call, like some lovesick puppy, and the moment I heard your voice I drove here instead of picking up the phone like a normal person. I’ve got it so bad for you that Robin is sick of it, and honestly, I’m sick of it too, because I hate having feelings. It blows, dude. I swear to God, if you try to bolt again when things get tough -”

Eddie lunged forward and cut Steve’s words off with a kiss. Their first kiss, even if it didn’t feel that way. Eddie had cupped Steve’s cheek in the past while he teased him. Steve had curled his fingers in Eddie’s hair in the past the night Robin taught him how to braid. Eddie and Steve had all kinds of physical contact in various ways over the years, and it was as if all of that was just practice for this.

Eddie broke away from Steve’s lips purely out of necessity, because he needed to catch his breath. “Okay, woah,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Woah.”

Everything changed after that. But also, nothing changed at all.

Tuesday, October 16th, 1991, 4:12pm

“Hey, this is Eddie Munson’s phone. Leave a message and I’ll call ya back.”

Hi, Eds. Okay, I was wrong. This new message you have is, like, super boring. Anyway, I’ll see you at the show tonight, Rockstar. Love you.

I did have a taglist way back when but the tagging system is super annoying on tumblr, so please reblog this if you liked it and follow me or my Ao3 for other works! Masterlist is the pinned post on my page for those interested. Thanks for reading!

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #writing #st fanfic

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bellisima-writes · 3 days ago

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Some Rebellious GO Fanfic Recs

Hey there fandom fam,

It’s been an absolute wretched couple of days. I had expected many different outcomes to Tuesday, but the decisiveness with which my country elected a convicted criminal to its highest office left me shocked and numb.

And I know we all don’t come here for politics and real life. We come here to escape. But if you’re like me, and you have this itching need to fight, to organize, to lift up the vulnerable and protect those most at risk, then it’s hard to be here and escape right now.

And that sucks.

But this is and will remain a fanwork blog, and so I offer you some solace - here are some GO fanfics that focus on fighting. On breaking a broken system and protecting humanity, no matter the cost. Because, as much as we love Aziraphale and Crowley, that’s what the original work was about. Love and connection and humanity as an act of rebellion, and we sure do need those themes right now.

So if you’re angry and in the mood for some more plot/action based fics, with a flaming sword and maybe a dash of BAMF Aziraphale, I got you.

I am going to start with my own here, because I've not found one as outrightly rebellious as this yet in my own reading.

The Last Angel by me - (E, 162K) A canon-divergent AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are never assigned to Earth, Hell wins Armageddon and Angels are all but extinct. The story follows Crowley, the Grand Inquisitor of Hell, and Aziraphale, the last Angel alive, as he is captured and brought to Hell to face his execution. But, Hell hath no fury like an Aziraphale scorned...

So, was he really captured, or does Aziraphale have a plan to seek revenge on the beings responsible for destroying everyone he ever knew? And how will the way the Grand Inquisitor makes him feel affect his plans?

Tether by @gingiekittycat - (E, 45K) - a post Season 2 story in which Aziraphale is summoned back to Earth by Crowley for reasons he doesn't understand. This one has all of the sexy goodness you come to expect from a gingikittykat work, with a heartwarming take down of Heaven's Second Coming plans.

What are you doing here by @alphacentaurinebula - (E, 68K) sexy and popular season 3 speculation fic that encompasses both the humor of the source material shockingly well while also providing a rebellious and on brand end to the conflict between Heaven and Hell. Because sides don't matter, working together matters, and this story delivers that theme beautifully.

The Beginning of the End (Again) by @addledmongoose - (M, 79K) a post Season 2 story where Crowley and Aziraphale work to convince Jesus to not go forth with the final judgment. This one stands out for its take on Aziraphale as a guardian angel, fierce, protective, and an ending where he shows his true colors and fights for everything he loves. BAMF Aziraphale in the best way.

Echo by @snae-b - (E, 52K) a story of waking up to find an invisible hand controlling your life, and fighting back to break it and create a new world for everyone.

And a current WIP that's not complete, but the last chapter left me with chills and I am SO excited to see how it will end - And I Did by @di-42 - a Season 3 speculation fic that has Aziraphale as Supreme Archangel in Heaven and Crowley as Grand Duke of Hell. The story is rich and complex, and the cast of characters (both favorites from the show and book as well as new additions) are wonderful. There are two chapters left and I can't wait to see how it all turns out!

Please add on to this list with your own works and favorite rebellious fics!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #bellisimas fanfic roundup #good omens fanfic recs #rebellious fics #break the wheel

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ww2yaoi · 8 days ago

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Unfortunately, I don’t have anything official to post for @webgottweek because I’ve been sick (and unprepared), but here’s a scene from my still yet untitled webgott wip for the day 6 prompt: haircut. Enjoy!

Joe makes good on his offer to cut David’s hair a few days later. They take their leave after dinner while most of the guys are downstairs playing cards. Joe drags David’s desk chair from their room into the bathroom and sets it up in front of the sink. He lays out his comb and scissors as David watches from the doorway with his arms crossed, not entirely thrilled to be parting with his mop. He only agreed because Joe seemed so adamant about doing something nice for him, and the last thing David wants is to deny him the chance to feel useful, especially now that the war is over and most of the company is stuck in limbo.

“Not too short, okay?” David says as Joe pushes him down into the chair.

“Jesus Christ, Web,” Joe says, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “All the officers trust me with their hair, why can’t you?”

“Yeah, right, like you’d give Captain Speirs a bad haircut,” David says as Joe wraps a towel around his neck. “You know I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Would you shut up? I’m not going to give you a bad haircut. I wouldn’t risk my reputation like that.” Joe takes a drag of his cigarette then ashes it in a tray on the back of the toilet. “Now lean back.”

David huffs, but does as he’s told, tipping his head back into the sink. Joe runs the lukewarm water, drenches David’s head, then lathers his hair with soap. Admittedly, it feels good. The last time David washed his hair was over a week ago, seeing as their billet has limited showers and insufficient hot water to facilitate so many men bathing daily. Usually, David just jumps in the lake and lets it wash away the sweat and grime from drills and training exercises. He’ll probably never be as dirty as he was in Normandy or Holland ever again, and he thanks God for that.

Joe massages his fingers into David’s scalp and David nearly groans. Joe must see the contentment on David’s face because he smirks.

“Feels good, right?”

“Yes,” David says flatly.

Joe runs his fingers through David’s hair from root to tip, then rinses out the soap. The act is oddly intimate, Joe hovering over him, touching his head and maneuvering it from side to side, using his hands so deftly. David is completely at his mercy. He wonders if Joe washes the hair of every man that asks him for a trim, if the officers get to see Joe like this, get to feel his fingers on their scalps. David suddenly feels jealous, possessive, but he knows the feeling makes no sense, that Joe is just doing a job for extra pocket money.

Joe uses a spare towel to ring most of the water out of David’s hair, then beckons him to stand up. He moves the chair away from the sink so he has enough room to walk around it, then gets David to sit back down again. He proceeds to comb David’s hair, gently working out the knots and parting it where the strands naturally fall.

“Not too short,” David reminds Joe as he grabs his scissors.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joe says. “I’m only taking an inch off.”

David listens to the snip, snip, snip of the scissors as Joe begins cutting his hair, starting at the back, and the sound is unexpectedly relaxing, almost enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. He watches as the trimmings fall to the floor like dark feathers, interrupting the white tiles below. Joe alternates between combing his hair, measuring the sections with his fingers, and trimming them down. He works quickly and quietly, gently ushering David’s head back and forth and to the side wherever he needs it to go.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” David asks.

“My dad was a barber,” Joe explains as he moves around the chair to face David and work on the front ends of his hair. “I used to help him at the shop on weekends, sweeping up clippings, answering the phone, cleaning windows, that sort of thing. I would watch him and learned that way until eventually he let me practice on him, with mixed results.”

Joe smiles, seemingly at the memory. David likes listening to Joe talk about his family. His voice has a softer quality to it when he does it. David probably sounds the opposite when discussing his parents or his siblings. Usually when he speaks of them, he’s pissed off about something they said or did.

“Then when I dropped out of school as a teenager I would do odd jobs, including cutting hair,” Joe continues. “I got pretty good at it.”

“Wait, you dropped out of school?” David asks.

He tries not to sound too dismayed, but his face must betray him. Joe gives him a skeptical look.

“Does that offend your very being, Harvard?”

“No,” David insists. “I’m just shocked, is all. You’re so—”

The word ‘smart’ dries up in David’s mouth. Joe is looking right at him as he measures the front pieces of his hair to ensure the length is even. His eyebrows are raised.

“I just didn’t expect it,” David says.

“Yeah, well, there were a lot of mouths to feed in my house growing up,” Joe says. “I would’ve rathered my sisters stay in school than me.” Joe makes a few more cuts around David’s head. “What does your dad do?”

“Uh, he’s a businessman,” David says.

“Yeah? That’s vague. What kind of businessman?”

“I don’t know.” David tries to stifle the resentment in his voice. “He’s the vice president of a trade company. It’s one of those jobs where half of his time is spent going out to lunch.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal,” Joe says, setting down his scissors.

“It’s a nothing kind of job,” David admits. “At least cutting hair you’re doing something. Dealing with a bunch of sales projections and ass-kissers all day doesn’t do anyone any good, unless you’re some self-satisfied prick in a suit.”

Joe snickers. “Jesus, Web. What are you, a Stalinist?”

“No, I just think there are better things to do with your life.”

Joe grabs a towel and runs it over David’s hair to finish drying it. “So what do you want to do with your life? If we ever get out of here?”

“I don’t know,” David says. “Write.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice.”

Joe tosses the towel aside and grabs a bottle of something off the back of the toilet.

“What is that?” David asks.

“Hair oil,” Joe says.

“You’ve been carting hair oil around war-torn Europe?”

Joe smirks. “Only the best for my customers.”

He unscrews the cap, dabs some into the center of his palm, sets the bottle aside, then warms the oil up in his hands. It smells strong and musky, and David is reminded of the other night, of the oil that coated his cock and Joe’s fingers and his thighs. They have yet to fuck like that again. Their days have been so filled with training and drills that they’re both too exhausted by night’s end to do anything but fall asleep in the same bed.

At the same time, David thinks there must be some other reason. It must be because when they fucked on David’s birthday, it was his first time with a man. Admitting that must have put Joe off, made him believe he’ll turn out to be some lovelorn kid who will just grow attached. Or maybe, Joe is waiting for him to make the next move. Maybe Joe thinks he’s too chickenshit to do it.

Joe stoops down to eye level and passes his hands through David’s new haircut, adjusting a strand here and a strand there. David just stares at Joe as he focuses intently on his styling, combing David’s curls back with his fingers, following the waves as they naturally form. He brushes a stray hair behind David’s ear then smiles.

“Can I see it?” David asks.

“Not yet.” Joe reaches out and runs his thumb along David’s jaw. “Do you want me to shave you? You’re looking pretty stubbly.”

“I shaved this morning,” David says.

“Come on, Web. You’re the kind of guy that gets five o’clock shadow at noon,” Joe says. “Your haircut won’t look as good if I don’t shave you.”

“I can handle you with scissors around my head but I don’t know how I feel about you wielding a razor near my throat,” David deadpans.

“Oh, please. I’m a professional.” Joe straightens. “Let me get my shaving kit.”

He opens the bathroom door and slips out into the hallway. David is tempted to look at himself in the mirror while Joe is gone but unfortunately agrees that the end product will look better if he shaves. Joe returns a minute later anyway. He unrolls his kit on the toilet lid, takes the shaving brush, soaps it up and lathers the lower half of David’s face. Joe is even closer now than he was when he was cutting David’s hair, and he’s looking at him, really looking at him.

“You’re getting tan,” Joe says as he reaches for his razor.

“I like the sun,” David replies.

“Why the hell do you live on the upper East Coast then?”

David shrugs. “Victim of circumstance.”

Joe chuckles. He wipes down the blade of the straight razor with a towel.

“I’ve always wanted to move somewhere warm,” David confesses. “Like Florida or California.”

Joe’s eyes flicker at that. The change in his expression is nearly imperceptible, but something like curiosity, or maybe even recognition, passes over his face. It fades in an instant, then Joe is hovering the razor above David’s cheekbone.

“Okay, don’t move, unless you want me to cut you.”

David sits as still as possible as Joe glides the razor over his cheeks and down the immediate curve of his neck, pulling his skin taut with his thumb, then wiping the soap and stubble off the blade with the towel. If David was at Joe’s mercy before, he’s completely vulnerable now. Their conversation gets put on hold as Joe works the razor over David’s skin. His hands are very steady, which is at least reassuring. As far as David can tell, Joe has always had steady hands, along with an obedient trigger finger. At least, obedient to himself. He’s a much better shot than David ever was, and David can understand why. He’s precise.

Joe finishes shaving David with one last swipe over the ball of his jaw, and David feels like he can breathe full and deep again. Joe goes to the sink to wet the towel, then returns to wipe the remaining soap from David’s cheeks.

“Wait,” Joe says. He removes the other towel from David’s shoulders and fixes his hair one more time. “Okay, you can look now.”

David gets up from the chair and turns to face the mirror. His reflection greets him like a stranger he once saw on the street but swears he’s met before in a dream. He recognizes himself, obviously, but he looks more youthful, yet without being young somehow. He’s molted his old skin, the skin that became mottled and toughened by the war, and settled into a new one. He has colour in his cheeks for once, which look impossibly smooth, and his hair is maybe the most well-groomed he’s ever seen it, at least since the war started. Shorter, yes, but shiny and expertly coiffed into a wave off his forehead. David stares at himself. He feels clean, fresh, but most of all, he feels meticulously cared for.

“Well, do you like it?” Joe asks.

“Yeah, Joe, I do,” David says, turning to him and smiling. “I really like it. Thank you.”

Joe returns his grin and winks. “I knew you would, you nonbeliever,” he says. “You look like Carey fucking Grant.”

David laughs. “Do I?”

“Well, not really, but your hair does.” Joe looks down at all the clippings on the floor. “I need to find a broom.”

“I think there’s a broom closet in the hallway,” David says. “I’ll go check.”

He slips out of the bathroom and walks down to the end of the hall, opening a thin door beside the stairs. Thankfully, there’s a broom and dustpan inside, propped up against the wall. David grabs them both just as footsteps echo up the stairwell. Luz appears at the top, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Ayy, Web. Looking spiffy,” he says. “What is this, the fucking Ritz?”

“Joe cut my hair,” David explains, fighting back a smile.

“Yeah, I can see that. Lookin’ good, kid.” Luz claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll have to get him to do me next.”

Luz disappears into his room a few doors over and David returns to the bathroom. Joe is sitting on the toilet lid and smoking the cigarette he ashed earlier. They clean up, collecting the clippings from the floor and throwing them in the dustbin. Joe gathers his tools and his shaving kit and they head back to their room, David carrying the chair.

David returns it to his desk then flops down on the bed, suddenly feeling very tired. He’s afraid to ruin his hair, but his head is too heavy to keep off the pillow. He closes his eyes and a few minutes later, he feels the mattress sink as Joe lies down beside him.

David cracks open an eye and sees that Joe is facing his direction, his head resting on the adjacent pillow, just looking at him in the lamplight.

“Inspecting your handiwork?” David asks.

Joe nods. “A little bit.”

“I feel like we should be going out somewhere,” David muses. “To a jazz club or something.”

“You like jazz clubs?”

“Not particularly. I just feel like it’s a waste. If I fall asleep I’m going to mess up my hair, and I’ll have to shave again in the morning.”

“Don’t be vain, Web,” Joe says.

“It’s not vanity. I want people to see your work.”

Joe laughs through his nose. “Well, I see it.”

“You and Luz.”

“Luz?”

“He saw me in the hallway. He said I looked spiffy.”

“And that ain’t enough for you?”

“Shut up.”

A beat passes, then Joe reaches out and strokes David’s cheek, his thumb tracing the smooth, clean-shaven line of his jaw back and forth, back and forth.

“My sisters would be obsessed with you.”

David smirks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, they would want to have your babies,” Joe says. “Except that you’re a goy.”

“Ugh.” David makes a face. “I don’t want to think about your sisters that way.”

Joe laughs and the sound cuts through the quiet. David ignores him, too disturbed by the concept. He nuzzles further into Joe’s warm palm, feeling himself being pulled towards sleep. He wants to kiss Joe, but he doubts he has the energy to start anything right now. Instead, he shuts his eyes, his body growing heavier and heavier. Joe’s hand migrates to his hair, fixing it even as he verges on unconsciousness. He brushes a loose strand from David’s forehead, smoothes his sideburns down with his fingertips. David is nearly asleep when he hears it.

“Gut aussehend,” Joe mutters. “If only they knew, Web. If only they knew.”

#will I ever finish this and release it… who is to say…#it’s my first attempt at their dynamic (you can probably tell) so I’m ambivalent #nonetheless hope you enjoyed! wish I could’ve contributed more but I was dying #webgott

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pedrospatch · 7 months ago

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wip wednesday

thank you for the tags angels 🤍 @mrsmando @honeyedmiller @mermaidgirl30 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @thelightsandtheroses

here are snippets of some of the many wips i am actively working on. or trying to anyway.

the gold room - dbf!joel x stripper!reader

“Jesus Christ.” Joel stares at you, using every last ounce of strength he has in his entire body not to let his gaze wander past your chin. He’s trying not to look at the way your skintight, neon pink dress hugs every soft, heavenly curve of your body, how the matching rhinestone garter shimmers around your deliciously plush thigh. “Is it even legal for you to be fuckin’ workin’ here?” Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms and shift your weight from one seven inch heel to the other. “You can dance at eighteen,” you inform him. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m twenty one, Mr. Miller. So with all due respect, chill the fuck out, okay?” “You went to college—“ “College is fucking expensive,” you interject with a shrug. “The job market is shit and I don’t plan on drowning in my student debt for the next ten years. Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Don’t stand there and judge me. Don’t act like what I do is so terrible when you have been paying good fucking money for girls like me to dance for you and sit in your lap all night long.” “That’s fuckin’ different. None of those girls are my best friend’s daughter.”

flutter - post outbreak! joel x pregnant!reader

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the stove, you crack a couple eggs into another, knowing the kid was on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast. “Morning!” Ellie pipes, the plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you. “Ellie,” you warn, walking over to the table. “Don’t—” “You’re bigger!” With a playful glare, you set her plate down along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks, you little jerk,” you say, feigning offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.” “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she starts to sputter. “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach—you didn’t look like this yesterday. You look great, just different.” She’s lucky your raging hormones decided to take the morning off.

chapter 10 for a safe haven

*this is just a short short snippet because it’s being heavily edited rn so i can post it soon!

He peels off his clothes, being careful not to further agitate his sore, inured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you sitting in bed under the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home.”

np tags! 🤍 @sugarcoated-lame @ozarkthedog @amanitacowboy @sp00kymulderr @ilovepedro @ezrasbirdie and anyone else who’d like to share their wips!

#wip wednesday

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