#Steve Condos

[mythigal1966]

Tap (1989): Challenge Scene (720p)

[evilhorse]

Legion of Super-Heroes #59

[canonbydeduction]

In the end, there wasn’t much left of Steve Harrington. No will, of course (because what nineteen year old would write one, even if he knew he was bones walking) but then again, no relatives showed up to sweep it all away.

So when the last of the red was draining from the sky, a ragged collection of teens (but no Robin, never again, because how would there ever be a world with Robin but no Steve) let themselves in with a spare key. Slipped into a hand years ago, one of countless moments. They didn’t glance at the rest of the house, because Steve may have finally filled it with people and joy, but he could never make it his. They climbed the stairs in silence, exhaustion and grief, and pulled open the door.

“God, that plaid’s still awful,” said Nancy, cracking into the silence. And it felt wrong, to be laughing in the room of a dead man, but they could do nothing else.

Taking sobering breaths, wiping tears from eyes and cheeks (joy and sadness and unidentifiable bittersweetness) they begin to spread throughout. Dustin unearthed the spare nailbat from beneath the bed and held it close, heedless of the nails. A high school diploma, a second sailor’s uniform (“for Robin?” “Yeah. For Robin.”), an album full of photos of the kids. But in the end there was a pile on the bed that seemed so so small to be all that was left of a person.

And they piled into the beemer, more people than it was ever supposed to hold, for one last time. And a house in Loch Nora lost the last bit of its light.

[leascorner]

j.b.b. | Secret Santa

Summary: Natasha rigs the Secret Santa because she knows Bucky has a crush on one of his colleagues

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x colleague!f!reader

Warnings: Use of Y/N and feminine pronoums, a few mentions of food, mention of christmas and gifts, two idiots in love

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is the 2nd Xmas OS of the series. My favourite so far. Please do share and like if you enjoyed it, it means a lot!

2024 Christmas Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Secret Santa.

Bucky hated it. He didn’t understand that concept. Buying a gift for someone – needless to say, a coworker that he didn’t know personally – only by obligation. He wondered who had thought of this first and how it had become a so-called tradition. He would have rather like to go to the restaurant, share a drink with the team and be done with it. No, now, he had to choose a piece of paper to select for whom he was going to think about what to give them. Like it wasn’t already pure torture to think about what to buy for his own friends and family.

He had tried his best to leave the room every time Natasha had showed up with her glass filled of all those tiny bits of paper. It was all before she took the matter in her own hands and decided to confront him up right outside his condo at the compound. It was up to three pieces of paper that Natasha had reordered in a particular order after she had showed up at his doorstep.

Bucky could see the ambush from a mile away. She wanted him to pick a particular piece of paper, the one right in front of him. His mind raced through a million of possibilities yet, he couldn’t see why she would act suspiciously. This was just a stupid Secret Santa, one of the too many that would be organized around the world that year. There was no reason for her to trap him. No reason at all…

Still, he couldn’t get himself to pick up the paper directly in front of him. He was smarter than this, he thought; he wouldn’t fall into whatever trap she had lay for him. He rather selected the one piece right at the back; just because it felt like the most rational thing to do. As his hand went to get the paper, he couldn’t help but notice the sly smile that appeared on Natasha’s face. He tried to change his take for the middle piece – the one he had thought she wanted him to select in the first place – but she playfully slapped his hand away.

“You touched it, it’s yours.”

The redhead winked at him as she handed her the tiny bit of paper. A lightning of dread struck Bucky as he understood he had indeed felt into a trap. Unfolding the white paper with his thumbs, his heart missed a beat when he read the name written on it. No doubt now why Natasha had done this on purpose.

It was all because of… Y/N.

Y/N was a Stark employee. She worked on Branner’s team in another wing of the compound and their paths would have never crossed if it wasn’t for Nathasha. Bucky was not sure how it started however, for a while now, the redhead had been teaching a self-defence course every Tuesday night for the Stark Industries employees. Bucky, Steve and Clint had come to help a couple of times and one of those nights was when he was paired with Y/N for an exercise. He spent the night teaching her how to get rid of an attacker if they got their neck from behind.

Afterwards, he seemed to meet her again everywhere: in front of the compound, at Tony’s gala or even at some other Natasha’s courses. They immediately took off. Y/N was doing most of the talking and he liked to hear her voice. They talked mostly about books. She lent him some of the most recent New York Times best sellers and he found for her his favourite’s volumes of poetry – some of the ones that he wouldn’t admit to Steve he had read, back in the days.

Before they met, Bucky had never seen her in the Avengers’ wing, yet Y/N seemed to go more and more to that side of the compound. She went to have a quick break, exchange a book with Bucky or put a cake she had cooked in the kitchen. And this, of course, had not escaped to Natasha’s sharp eyes. Ever since, she had made it her aim of the year to get them together – or at least to get Bucky to confess to Y/N what she thought was his undying love for her.

Bucky could not lie; he indeed found her attractive, both inside and out. Yet, he knew he was just a friend for her. And even if she had the same feeling as him, he was not sure if he wanted to be in a relationship right now… He had a long list of reasons as to why not. He was just accustoming to this life back in the United States. He was gone for long periods of times, working with the Shield on breaking down Hydra. And most importantly, he was risking his life for a living.

He sighed and crumpled the paper in between his fingers, conceding that Natasha had won and that now, he just had to find a gift for Y/N.

A week before the Stark Industries Christmas party – the event at which they would exchange gifts, Bucky was still thinking about what he would buy for Y/N. He had already spent all his free time looking for the perfect gift, but nothing seemed good enough for her. The first thing he had thought about was books. He knew she would always like one however, he didn’t want to buy her some random books. No… he was looking for something a bit more personal. Something that would put stars in her eyes and that would show her how much he appreciated her. Even only as a friend.

Only one week to go before the party and he started to feel a bit panicked. He had even considered asking Natasha for help – this was how stressed he was. However, he quickly made up his mind as he knew she would have liked that a little too much and she would have never let him live it down.

So, when he woke up that morning, he had decided that today was the day. He would finish that report for Steve, and he would search all the Internet for a gift. He would not leave his desk until he had found something.

Three hours later, a headache was slowly crawling right behind the bone of his forehead, and he couldn’t think straight anymore. When he looked up from his laptop screen, he realized he had skipped lunch and that his stomach was rumbling. He would take a break and when he would get back, he would definitely decide on what to buy.

Arriving at the Avengers compound’s kitchen to pick up something to eat, Bucky stopped on the doorstep. Y/N was facing back, making herself what Bucky guessed was a tea. Ever since he randomly took the paper with her name, he had tried to avoid her. Not that it was hard, she was locked in one of Banner’s lab most of the time these days and he was also busy working with Steve on the mission they planned early in the next year. It was not that he did not want to see her. He just felt like anyone could see on his face that he was literally petrified by the idea of offering her something that she wouldn’t like. And he also was pretty sure he couldn’t keep a personal secret even to save his life.

Now that she was slowly turning to the other side, he had no other way than to speak to her. He also knew it would be suspicious if he continued avoiding her for too long.

“Hey Y/N,” he said before going straight to the fridge. Too busy examining its content, he didn’t realise she didn’t respond and only look back to her when she let out a cry, startled to see him there. She had her earphones on that she was now taking off after the original surprise of seeing him.

“Sorry, I hadn’t realised,” he stuttered while pointing to his own ears. He mentally faced palm himself for acting like an idiot. He hadn’t realized that she was wearing workout clothes and probably was just back from a run around the block, just like she did sometimes.

“No worries,” she smiled, “I know I’m not supposed to be here, I’m just picking up a tea and I’ll be gone.”

He waved it off; none of them minded that she used the kitchen – it was made to be used after all. “Good run?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Wouldn’t run a marathon, but it clears your head, you know?” Bucky didn’t know, but he could imagine the feeling, his own demons always pretty much present in his own head. They stayed silent for a bit, each of them trying to find a subject for discussion.

Eventually, the fridge beeped loudly, complaining its door had been opened for too long. Bucky leaned forwards to grab some random ingredients to make himself a sandwich while Y/N grabbed her cup of tea and the Tupperware in front of her before making her way out.

“Hey Bucky,” Y/N said just as she was about to leave the kitchen. “I know that we are not supposed to tell who we got for the secret Santa and everything… but would you like to go to the city this weekend? I’ve got some ideas, and I could really help a man’s opinion.” Bucky’s lack of respond made her continue: “I mean, if you’d like. And I could always help you pick up a gift for your Secret Santa as well.” Her cheeks heated up as she realized what she had implied so she was fast to mumble: “If you haven’t already, of course.”

Through he knew this wasn’t a good idea – how could he buy her a gift while she was here – Bucky did the only thing he could do right now – he nodded.

It went without saying that Bucky did not find a gift for Y/N that afternoon. Instead, he spent it imagining the worst scenario about their trip to the city. He couldn’t believe he had accepted and while he thought of excuses not to go, he agreed that it would be a little too suspicious. Once again, he could only resign himself to going on with the flow. After all, it could be a good thing, who else better than Y/N could tell him what she would like…

This was how he ended up picking up Y/N on an early Saturday morning and driving to the city. She had suggested going to a mall and while the idea to visit one on the last weekend before Christmas was not very appealing, he still didn’t have any idea of what he would buy for her. So, he could only agree.

Y/N took advantage of the drive to go through a playlist of the 2000’s songs and educate Bucky on all the most iconic songs. Obviously, Bucky didn’t know any of them, but they had a good laugh when he pointed out a couple of ambiguous lyrics and Y/N realized what they actually meant for the first time.

“Alright so for whom are you looking for?” Bucky asked after they entered the mall. Y/N looked back to him with a startled expression, as if she didn’t expect to have to tell him it seems. “I can keep a secret,” he assured her in return, and she shook her head with a smile.

“Let’s say… My secret Santa is a man,” Bucky nodded, he did know that much, “In his late twenties. Not fond of technologies. Amateur of arts. Doesn’t like attention. Dresses casual, more practical than fashion.”

He laughed, imaging she was talking about Steve and his infamous combination of Jean-T-shirt-Jacket. “Any gift ideas you were thinking of?”

“I was thinking about an accessory. Not something cheap though. An accessory that would go with everything, be of good quality and last a lifetime. Something…” she thought, “Timeless. You know… like a belt or else,” she shrugged.

Bucky nodded, a serious look on his face. He had heard a small weakness in her voice as she was explaining what she was looking for. She was anxious about picking this gift. She wanted to select the right thing. She wanted this present to be impactful. And he was going to help her figuring it out.

“I think the best option is to have a look at what we have here and then we can take it from there. What do you think?”

Y/N nodded, and they happily made their way through the mall. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people at this early time in the morning. They did a couple of menswear shops, asking the sales assistant for advice and inspecting whatever they were suggesting. None of them found something promising.

After the sixth shop, Y/N seemed on the verge of giving up, while Bucky had made it his mission to help her find something. The truth was, if she found something, he was hoping she would forget they were also here for him to find a gift. So, Bucky bribed her by promising her a sandwich before he entered the seventh store.

This one was a vintage store, not a thrift store but a store proposing clothes and accessories inspired by second half of the twentieth century. Y/N went on to ask they showed them the belts they had. The saleswoman happily obliged and got back to them with a dozen of accessories. They ruled out the cowboys’ ones and were left with only four. All black or navy blue. All tanned leather. They would all go with a casual jean or a more formal outfit. Their differences resided only in the details. A most subtle buckle. A few inches larger. A different seam. A different texture.

Y/N stared at them frowning, a small wrinkle in between her brow. Even now, she wasn’t sure which one to pick out. If she was listening to herself, she would probably buy them all. One never had too many belts, did they? Bucky detailed the expression on her face and could help to think she looked cute.

“If this is for the person I think it is,” he didn’t want to say Steve, even if he had no doubt it was him. After all this was supposed to be a secret, “I would go for this one.”

“What about this one?” Y/N pointed out the navy one.

“I personally like it better, but I don’t think he would.”

“You’re sure?” Y/N asked, still chewing on her lower lip.

“One hundred percent,” Bucky acquiesced.

Y/N took all four belts and went to the cashier to pay. Bucky listened from one ear as Y/N and the saleswoman chitchat for a bit. He had a look about what other clothes they had in display and made a mental note to go back sometimes for a bit of shopping for himself.

A couple of minutes later, Y/N was back at her side with a bag containing her gift in a nice white wrapping.

“Thank you so much for your help!”

Y/N gave Bucky a hug with one arm – the one that wasn’t holding the bag – and she seemed to put all her gratitude. When she pulled back, the line between her eyebrows had disappeared and she looked relived, totally pleased with herself.

“Lunch?” Bucky asked.

Just like he had promised, they got a sandwich, a lemonade and sat for a bit. They talked for a while; and for once, about something other than books. They discussed work and somewhat bet on whom was going to offer a gift to whom. When they lifted their head from their sandwich – or their lack of – to be precise, the mall was now teeming with people doing their last-minute shopping. Y/N grimaced and stated her dislike of the crowd, to which Bucky could only agree. How would she be happy to get home after they were done. Bucky then understood under the lines that she had indeed not forget about helping him find a gift for his own Secret Santa.

“So, now,” she talked as she brushed her hands on her pants after having thrown away their sandwiches packaging.  “What about you? What are we looking for?”

“I have no idea,” instead of lying, he had decided to be honest at least. “Not that I don’t know the person, I just… don’t know what to get them.”

“Man, woman?”

Bucky was grateful she did not ask him directly who it was. “Woman,” he indicated.

Thinking, Y/N had a look around her as if the shops around were going to give her the solution to all her problems.

“Books?” She suggested, looking back at him. Bucky could help but grimaced; he had already ruled out this option himself. She had already a quite impressive collection of books and while she would like this, it would be way too easy to offer her one.

“Alright, no books then.” She looked around some more, and her eyes landed on a jewellery’s shop. “A jewel, maybe?”

Bucky’s face went blank. He had not thought of this, but it suddenly felt like it was a lot. Who would buy you jewel for a silly Secret Santa? Not a coworker, he was sure of it. It would be too obvious, and besides, he would be offering it in front of everyone. If he were to do that, he was sure Natasha would call him out in front of everyone and he would rather not.

“No worries, doesn’t have to be an engagement ring!” She laughed and God, what a nice sound to hear, he thought. Her playfully making fun of him didn’t ease the restlessness in his stomach though.

“Could be simple earrings or a brooch. What do you think?”

That, Bucky thought was a good idea. Something discreet and that she could wear with everything, yet something that would emphasize her natural beauty. It seems like the best idea he had never had. So, they made their way to the first jewellery’s shop and were quick to make their way out of it. It had too much gold and their jewelleries were too big, too flashy, not her type at all.

They tried a second one where everything seemed so cheap that Y/N wondered out loud if people were really buying from there – once again, Bucky could only agree. They tried a third one in which the salesman immediately took them for a couple. Their cheeks went hot as if they were teenagers caught making out under the bleachers of the gymnasium. After they had denied, they separated to inspect the displays.

Bucky looked over a couple of display cases. When he saw that hair jewellery, he knew it was exactly what he was looking for. A piece discreet, she could use to have their hair up when she was doing experiments in the lab. A jewel she would also be able to wear for a more festive occasion. The only problem was that Y/N was only a couple of meters away and he had no ideas how he would be able to buy it without her knowing it…

“Found something you like?”

Bucky jumped, not having seen Y/N coming back to his level. She had already had a look at the other side of the shop, but nothing had quite caught her eyes. Bucky mumbled something about a pair of earrings he had seen. They were simple, a simple loop, quite small and in a silver. Truth be told, he only thought they were okay, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options anyway.

Y/N examined them through the Plexiglas and Bucky fiddled with his fingers, obviously anxiously waiting for her opinion.

“Lovely,” was all she said.

“You’re not convinced,” Bucky retorted, a bit bitter.

“No, no,” she shook her head and pointed at her ears. He then realized she didn’t have her ears pierced.  “Couldn’t wear them personally as you can see. But these are really lovely, Bucky. Simple and would still go with everything. It’s a good choice.”

Keen to be done with it, Bucky called after the salesman and let him he would buy those ones. He specifically asked for a receipt ticket, in case the person didn’t like them – after all you never knew, he said. In reality, he was already planning to go back before the party and exchange them.

Y/N flashed him the biggest smile when Bucky had retrieved his purchase, and they made their way back to the car. As a gentleman, Bucky opened the car door for her and his cheeks got as hot as hers when she thanked him.

“Thank you as well, for everything! I don’t know how I would have done without you.” Indeed, he would have never found her gift had she not dragged him in this jewellery’s shop.

“Next time, I suggest we do it earlier in December though. The crowd was a nightmare in there.”

Bucky watched as his coworkers, one-by-one, exchanged gifts. There were the most banalities. Some teas. A book. A new cup. A travel-sized bottle of perfume. It only made him more anxious. His own gift sat on his lap seemed to weight a ton. Was this really a good idea? Finally, he blamed himself for not having bought this Christmas novel that was recommended by all bookshops in town. At least, he would have been sure Y/N would have liked it…

Bucky was so lost in his thought that he did not realize right away that it was now Steve opening the gift he had received. A small black box that looked way too small for a belt to fit in it. He frowned as Steve discovered a small iPod Nano and got up to give Tony a hug.

He instantly searched for Y/N, whom he found sat a couple of seats from him. She caught his eyes as if she had been waiting for him to look up at her. Her lips twist into a strange, somewhat nervous smile that Bucky couldn’t quite comprehend. Frowning, he watched as she took the package in front of her before getting up.

Heart racing, he watched as she made her way to him. Only realising what he thought was really happening as she handed him the white package with a sly smile. He unwrapped the package knew exactly what this was in it. Just to think that he thought he had helped to pick out his own present.

To his surprise, he discovered another belt in the box, the one he had really liked that day.

“I asked the saleswoman to get the one you liked when you weren’t watching,” Y/N explained, cheeks definitely as hot as his.

Bucky had to clear his throat. He felt all kinds of emotions looking at the belt in his hands. It was a lot of them, none that he could identify. It created a storm inside of him, though it wasn’t one of those storms that would destroy everything in its path. No… It was a good storm. One of those that had hotness embracing you, making you fell love. And he simply couldn’t believe it. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry that I- well, I kind of lied to you. I just wanted to get you something- something nice.”

“I know,” he said, taking the package on his lap. “I did too.”

“Me?” Y/N asked as if she couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, you.”

She laughed as she opened it and saw that instead of cute earrings there was a hair jewellery in it. Of course, he didn’t offer her the earrings, she wouldn’t be able to wear them.

She looked back to him with incomprehension in her eyes.

“I went back to exchange it,” Bucky explained, chuckling nervously of this whole situation and coincidence. “Do you like it?”

“Yes! It’s beautiful. Thank you so much!”

Y/N kissed his cheek and hugged him. Her embrace was like the storm actually surrendering him this time. Around them, everyone continued to exchange gifts, but Bucky couldn’t care. They probably had never been this close. His nose was in her hair, and he could smell the perfume of her shampoo. He never wanted to let go.

On the other side of the table, he saw Natasha winked at him. The enormous smile on her face made him think it was indeed not a coincidence that Y/N also draw his name, but at this moment, he couldn’t care less. He had everything he needed.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve’s parents send him on a gap year after high school in hopes that it’ll get him ready to apply to colleges and become a proper adult. They let him choose any of their three vacation homes so he chooses their condo in Paris.

He’s expected to find a job and himself.

The bakery down the block from the condo is owned by two old men who don’t wanna open anymore because they like sleeping in and sipping on their coffee on their balcony. Steve is happy to take over.

Especially when he sees the guy who works at the wine store across the road.

He’s in by 8 every morning, waving to the people coming in and out of the bookshop next to him and the bike repair shop next to them. His smile is contagious, and Steve often finds himself completely distracted by it even if he’s helping customers.

His long hair is always down when he gets there, but by the time Steve sees him leave in the afternoon, it’s pulled up and he has a sweaty sheen across his skin.

Steve decides to visit on his day off, maybe grab a bottle of wine even though he hates every wine he’s ever had to sip on at family functions.

But the man isn’t there when he stops by, or at least not at the counter. An older man is there, wrapping a bottle in paper for a customer who seems like they visit often.

It’s a small store, no bigger than the bakery, so it’s not like the guy could be hiding somewhere.

“Looking for something?” The older man asks as he walks around the counter towards Steve with a smile.

“Oh. Um.”

“You’re lookin’ for Ed right?” The old man’s smile turned into a smirk. “Ed! Customer!”

The man Steve had been seeing every morning and afternoon was suddenly rushing from the back of the store, clipboard in hand, hair sticking to his neck and forehead.

“Hi! What can I help you with?”

Steve could think of quite a few things he could help him with, but it probably wasn’t appropriate to say in front of someone else in his place of work.

“Sorry. Do you need me to speak French?” The man, Ed, asked in flawless French.

“No,” Steve assured. “I work in the bakery across the street. Just wanted to come by and say hi.”

Ed’s brows furrowed as he turned to the older guy who was already back at the counter trying to look busy.

“Does David need a bottle for something? He usually has Wayne pick his pairings.”

Steve shook his head. “No, not that I know of. I’ve just…um. Well, this is actually weirder now that I’m here. So I think I’ll go. Sorry to waste your time!”

Steve turned to go, but a hand grabbed his arm, tugging him back.

“Are you always this awkward?” Ed asked. Steve looked up from his feet to see him smiling. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Steve.”

“Steve. How about you come taste our sample bottle for the day? Maybe it’ll take the edge off,” Eddie offered, gesturing towards a side table that had an open bottle of wine and small sample glasses. “You like rosé?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Turns out Steve didn’t mind rosé that much, but maybe that was the company. The flavor was a bit less bitter than he was used to, going down much smoother without leaving a burning sensation on his tongue.

And later, after Eddie had talked to him for nearly an hour about himself and the store and his uncle who took him in and worked for him, Steve leaned in and got a taste of the rosé on Eddie’s tongue.

Steve decided he liked wine more than he thought.

[beomcoups]

F.U.C.K.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ex!bf Seungcheol x fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, small fluff, lovers to exes au, 18+

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You've been on and off forever and you couldn't leave him alone if you tried. You have an itch only Seungcheol can scratch.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, oral, missionary, riding, praise, dirty talk, creampie, clit stim, multiple orgasms, a bit of overstimulation, Coups is a lover boi, angsty feelings about the relationship

𝐀𝐍: Thank youuuuu @hobeemin & @wongyuseokie for reading this for me and Beezy you are the best hype woman ever <3. Also thank you @aaagustd for making this sexy ass banner 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: 💿 F.U.C.K- Victoria Monet, Dirty Dancer- Orion Sun, Idea 686- Jayla Darden, Strings- iyla, Behind- Woodz, Forgive Me- Chloe x Halle, Art- Tyla, I Could Imagine- Alina Baraz, Good& Plenty- Alex Isley, Masego and Jack Dine, Skin Tight- Ravyn Lenae Steve Lacy, Idea 683- Jayla Darden, Body and Soul- Emotional Oranges and Biig Piig, Butterflies- Tyla, Between Us- Alina Baraz, Nasty- Tinashe, Under The Moon - Alex Isley, Jack Dine (spotify)

It’s complicated. Your Facebook relationship status has been that way for over a year. If someone asked, you wouldn’t know how to define your relationship with Seungcheol. You can’t say you’re just friends when the love is still there, but you can’t stay together longer to just work. Something happens, and you argue and split up. Months, sometimes years, can go by, and you feel like you’ve finally moved on, but all he has to do is call, or you have an itch that needs scratching, and there he is, ready to make it go away.

He stands there in front of you, his dark hair clipped and trimmed perfectly, highlighting the handsome features on his face: his dark, round eyes, high cheekbones, and plump pink lips. He comes dressed in a simple white tee and sweats, with an overnight bag in hand, as he knows he is staying the night. Seungcheol smirked as he walked in, placing a small kiss on your temple. 

“Well, hello to you too,” you say, shutting the door behind you. You watch him take off his shoes, walk into your living room, and admire the view of the city through your picture windows. You just moved into your high-rise condo a couple of months ago, and your job promotion allows you to level up in life and enjoy nice things for once. Your place looks straight out of a movie, with your tastes added. Your favorite color is blue, and you included it in your decor. 

“You kept the couch?” Seungcheol points at the royal blue sectional sofa with matching gold-trimmed throw pillows you bought from your favorite thrift store. “Yes,” you say proudly. “That couch is my pride and joy. We’ve been through a lot together.” Memories about the many times you spent together on the couch, clothed and unclothed, cloud your mind. He chuckles as you sashay to the kitchen, grabbing a bottled water. You offer him one, and he shakes his head, returning his attention to the city's shining lights. He’s been in your life for five years, meeting at a grocery store with both of your hands on the last bag of cherries. He relented, letting you have them in exchange for your number. You didn’t give it to him, hoping that you would see him again. At the time, you just moved to the city, and if you were meant to meet again, you would give him your number. A couple of weeks later, you did when you went to a birthday dinner with your former roommate. His eyes twinkled when you exchanged glances, and you felt like it was fate.  “You did it,” he felicitates you. “You did everything we talked about doing all those years ago. I’m proud of you.”

You would have late nights with him in your shitty old apartment, eating Chinese takeout in bed and talking about your hopes for the future. Seungcheol wanted to have it all: a nice house, cars, and riches beyond his dreams. All you wanted was a good life. You grew up poor, raised by a single mom who worked two jobs to ensure you had a roof over your head. You understood each other in that way, and it worked between you two for a while… until it didn’t.

“You got your high rise before me,” you appear beside him. “What does it feel like, being the top broker in your firm?”

“It’s nice,” he nods. “It keeps me busy.”

You knew that all too well. One of the reasons you broke up was time. His work felt more important than maintaining a relationship with you. You swear if someone called in the middle of the night, he would answer in a heartbeat. It’s not like you aren’t busy; you work on Wall Street. But you still made time to be with him at all important events and when it mattered most. The energy wasn’t reciprocated.

“I see nothing has changed,” you say, taking a swig of your water.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I think I am ready for it, though.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah. There is no point in having all of this if there is no one to share it with, right?”

You didn’t have to say anything back because he was right. What is the point of working hard, making more money than your parents could ever dream of, traveling, and having life experiences without having someone to share them with? It also incredibly frustrates you. Why did it take five years for him to get to this point? The back and forth, blocking each other on all accounts. Was it worth it?

You two are silent, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance. His fingers slip in between yours, pulling you closer to him. Just being near him makes your heart skip several beats. No one like him can melt you just by his touch and presence. Yes, he can irritate you to no end, but he also makes your soul smile.

“I missed you,” he says, gazing at you. 

“I know.” 

You kiss him, the magic stirring in your chest as he returns your feelings; sparks all around you two like fireworks. Your hands explore him fervently, pulling off his shirt and throwing it on your couch. He unhooks your bra, helping you out of your shirt and exposing your breasts. He bites his lip as he palms his growing bulge, the very thought of his lips all over you making you hot.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. 

You take his hand and guide him to your bedroom, climbing over your king-size bed. He follows you closely, his index finger sliding up your thigh. It feels electric, having him touch you again after so long. You have tried moving on, going on dates, and having one-night stands here and there. But deep down, those people weren’t him. Seungcheol knows your body, what makes you tick, your boundaries, and what drives you crazy. It’s exhausting trying to find that chemistry with someone else. Too bad you can’t just make it work. 

He slides your shorts and panties off with one hand, your naked body being illuminated by the moonlight. He notices your sheets, trying to hold it in before succumbing to a belly laugh. 

“Cherry sheets? Really?” He says in between breathes.

“Come on now,” you chuckle. “You know I love my little house on the prairie sheets.” “I swear you were born in the wrong generation,” Seungcheol expresses, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah, maybe,” you muse over his words. “I’m glad I met you in this lifetime, though.” He admires you, his thumb caressing your cheek before he kisses you again. This time, it’s more heartfelt, your bodies hungry for another as each minute passes. His hand travels down to your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart and slowly entering a digit into your wet core. Seungcheol licks his lips, watching your eyes roll back as you unravel his arms. “Shit,” you moan. “Keep doing it just like that.”

“I’m going to do more than that,” he whispers in your ear. 

Seungcheol was already great with his fingers, slipping one more in you as his tongue played in circles on your neck, your sweet-smelling perfume intoxicating to him. He loves the way your brows furrow when he goes deep, your mind focused on nothing else but cumming all over his hand. You play with your clit, drunk on the pleasure he’s giving you, with your wetness pooling onto your sheets. You two are connected in a way, in your own little bubble surrounded by ecstasy.

“Fuck baby,” you pant as pressure builds up in your stomach. “I’m almost there.” He pulls his fingers out of you quickly, snapping you out of your zone, and you whimper in protest. He aggressively pulls down his pants and briefs, revealing his hardened cock already leaking with precum. He slides down to your entrance, his face nose deep in between your legs before he dives in; his tongue attacks your sweet nectar. Sensational couldn't even begin to describe how you feel. He eats you with an enthusiasm that almost makes you laugh despite the deep pleasure he brings you. “You taste better than I remembered,” he mouths. “Cum for me.”

Your body is at its brink, ready to fall, when Seungcheol slips his fingers in, working together with his tongue to make sure you hit that pool of ecstasy. Your hands grip his hair, and your orgasm hits you like cool water on a warm day. You feel him smirk against your thigh, leaving you with lasting, small kisses before lifting his face and revealing your essence on the lower half. You cover your mouth to hold back your giggles, and he rolls his eyes, leaning over and kissing your lips. “I’m not sorry,” you breathe. “You knew what you were doing.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he smirks. “Especially when I’m going to make you do it again.”

Seungcheol lifts your leg, pulling himself back as he rubs his throbbing dick against your entrance. Your eyes grow wide as he taps your sensitive, swollen clit, a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says as if reading your thoughts. “I’m going to start slow.” “You don’t want me to blo—” you start to protest. “No, I’ve waited long enough,” his deep and velvety voice serves as a warning. FUCK.

He enters you inch by inch, stretching you out the way you like, your fingers already gripping the sheets. You look at him through a hazy daze, his focus on burying himself deep inside of you, bringing you a deep satisfaction. You enjoy watching his Adam’s apple shift when he moans, his voice barely audible while he dives into you. You remember the first time you slept together; he had your legs over his shoulder, fucking you long and deep on top of your blue couch at your old place. You both didn’t intend for it to happen that way; you were caught up in the highs of seeing a band you both enjoy, and one thing led to another. His dick is long with a bit of a curve, fitting perfectly like your pussy was molded and made for him. No one has even come close. 

“Give it to me,” you breathe. “Please, I need you bad.” Seungcheol loves it when you beg for it, and he obliges, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. Maybe it’s because you love him, but he is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The way his hips roll as he snaps into you, watching him come in and out of you with your wetness coating him, turns you on. Your hands grasp his face, your thumb slipping into his mouth as he fucks you silly. You can barely form words in your head, let alone say anything else but “fuck” and “make me cum”. He fucks you in a way that makes you have wet dreams and leaves you with a puddle in your sheets. If he were a Greek god, he would be Eros, the god of love and sex. That’s how bad he has you. “Turn over,” you grit your teeth. You lean up and flip him over, his throbbing cock still inside you as you are on top of him. You let your body take over, riding him while his hands are placed firmly on your breasts. You set the pace, and he follows, a harmonious rhythm between the two of you, your senses heightened to another level. You are on this incredible high, sliding on his shaft while you vigorously play with your clit, ready to cum. “Did you miss this?  He teases you as he grinds harder into you. “Did you miss sitting on this dick until you cum?” You nod fervently, your hand still playing with your clit, and you are ready to explode. 

“Fuck,” he grits his teeth. “I’m close. Let’s come together like we always do.” You erupt, screaming his name while he sloppily pumps into you, his hair sweaty and his succulent lips red from biting. He leans up and kisses you hard, your moans and words of praise swallowed and digested. Whatever you were going to say, he felt it more, your hearts beating in unison powered by your feelings for each other. He talks you through it, helping you come down from your high before he releases his own, spilling into you until he is completely spent. You’ve been on birth control for years, and Seungcheol is the only person you’ve let hit without a condom. It just feels so right with him. You roll off of him, collapsing on your pillow as you try and catch your breath. His breathing is relaxed, and when you gaze at him, his eyes are closed, already half asleep. You attempt to get out of bed, but he grabs your arm, pulling you close to him. 

“Stay,” he kisses your shoulder. “I sleep better when you’re with me.” 

You can’t deny him when he is in this state, pulling on your heartstrings like that. 

“Fine, you win,” you say without much effort. 

Glancing at the time, it’s after 12, and fatigue finally hits you at least. Snuggling into him, you fall into a deep sleep, but not before admitting that you still love him and would do anything for him. 

The sunlight is not kind as it peers through your windows and wakes you up a little after 9. You had forgotten to draw the curtains before you fell asleep, but you didn’t have much energy left after the night you had. You woke him up after three, sucking his cock until he exploded down your throat, and he returned the favor by eating you out until you were ripe from overstimulation. You made such a mess that you had to change your sheets and listen to him teasing you about your “old lady” sheets. Whatever, you liked them.

You rolled over, and Seungcheol was already awake, scrolling through his phone. He notices you and kisses your forehead before removing your blanket and smacking your ass.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, leaning back against the headboard.

You chuckle as you get out of bed, grab your silk robe, and walk into the bathroom. You feel sore; last night’s shenanigans are indeed catching up with you. You just want to lay in bed and relax, but you have this nagging feeling in your stomach. You could brush it off and deal with it later, but knowing you, you will overthink, turning it into something it's not. You have to know how he feels.

Finishing up in the bathroom, you leave to find him setting orange juice on your nightstand with a couple of ibuprofen. He is only dressed in his sweats and nothing underneath, your center aching for him despite the tenderness you feel.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, reading your look. You have never had a good poker face.

You sit down on the bed, take your two pills, and wash them down with orange juice. You allow yourself to get your thoughts in order. You're unsure what to say, but you know the conversation needs to be had.

“What are we doing?” you blurt out. “I love you, and you never stopped loving me. Why can’t we just get it right?”

The silence is too deafening for your liking. It would be like you to tear the band-aid off first thing in the morning. But you hate being in the dark, not knowing what the future will hold. You’re not saying that you have to jump the broom, but you have to know if there’s any chance he feels the same way you do.

“I-I-m sorry,” you shake your head. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you first thing in the morning. Forget I said anything.” 

You attempt to leave the room before Seungcheol catches your arm and motions for you to sit down. Grudgingly, you do, sitting on your ottoman and facing him. “You didn’t even give me a chance to respond,” he complains. “You can’t always assume how I feel is something bad. Give me a chance.” You nod, knowing deep down he is right. “You are right,” He admits. “I love you, and this song and dance we’ve been doing for years is tired. I came to you last night because I missed you and I need you. You’re the only one in my life who has always kept it straight with me, even when you get on my nerves.” You smirk at his comment, knowing it’s true. “But we have also been apart for a long time, and as much as I want to jump back into our usual routine, I recognize we have grown up a bit and need to get to know each other as our different selves.” You nod slowly, mulling over his words, unsure what to say. “I also don’t want to see anyone else,” he breathes. “You are the only person I want to see, to do this with.” He points at the sheets, and you roll your eyes. It would be like him to somehow bridge it back to sex. 

“So…” your voice trails off. “What are we then? We are more than friends but not together? I don’t understand.” “I want to be with you,” he grabs your hands. “If we fight and storm off to our houses, I’d rather it be that then we break up and don’t talk for months at a time. I hate that.” You nod, finally understanding what he is saying. He is scared of the future, just like you are. But in this life, you would rather go through it with him than anyone else. You have too much time and feelings just to throw it away. “Maybe we can try talking to someone about it this time around?” You say. “A therapist or something? I want to be with you, and maybe working through our issues to understand each other better sometimes is what we need.” “Yeah, I’m open to that.” He hugs you, embracing you tightly before leaving sweet kisses on your face. You are deathly ticklish, and he knows it. He moves his kisses elsewhere until you find yourself in your bed, his body towering over yours. He leaves you one more kiss on your lips before laying his head on your chest. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispers.

You look down and smile, caressing the dark stresses in his hair.

“Yeah. We will be.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone wakes you. The room tilts as you open your eyes. A dull hammering thrums in your temples. The morning light makes your brain rough as sand paper. 

Dregs of vodka stick to your dry tongue. The hangover weighs you down like an anchor. Just the thought of moving hurts. 

You reach blindly for your jittering phone. Bubbly music tinkles from the speaker. Shit. It's Barrett. What did he forget this time? 

You answer and put your clammy palm to your forehead. You squint at the ceiling then your eyes slowly round. Where the fuck are you?  

"Hey, babe. You at Wendy's?" Your husband asks. 

You gulp and peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth. This isn't Wendy's house. 

"Yep," you croak. Your eyes ping side to side. 

"Look, I'm sorry about last night. Things got heated and I know I was an ass--" 

You cough as you sit up in the strange bed. "Yeah, you were." 

"So why don't you come home and we can talk it out." 

You peer around the room and your lips curve in a frown. Where the hell would you go besides home your loyal best friend's? You scratch you scalp and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, "let me get myself together." 

"Babe. Please. I'm sorry." 

"When I get home." You hang up.  

It was a hell of fight. The minute he started yelling, you bailed. He knows better. You're not doing a ten hour day and coming home his nagging. So you left out your coffee mug. Big deal. You didn't say anything about the garbage bag he left out to be torn apart by raccoons. 

Whatever. Fighting over dishes. Not of it matters right now. 

Your clothes are on the floor. Someone's floor. Who it is is far from the point. You stand and stagger. You catch yourself on the nightstand. Your hand moves instinctively between your legs. 

You're naked and tender. Did you have sex? 

Think! You ran out with your purse. You went to Wendy's. She was up for a night out. A night to forget and body did you. First drink, second, third, then it gets blurry.  

Fuck! You didn't. You wouldn't. You're pissed at your husband but you wouldn't cheat on him. You're not that type of person. Right? 

You don't have time for that. You have to get out of here.  

You dress as you search the room. It's tidy. Half the bed is mad and the other half messed from your drunken slumber. 

You shake out your hands trying to shoo away the flurry of guilt and denial. Just get out. You'll think better with some coffee in your system.  

You push down the door handle slowly. You listen to the silence of the hall. You tiptoe out warily, checking left and right as you advance. It's a nice place. A condo. Much nicer than your cramped one bedroom. 

Not important! 

You come out into the spacious front room. It's as empry as the rest of the place. The kitchen too. The bathroom. No one. 

Your purse is by the door. Your shoes too. You grab both and let yourself out. You'd rather not face your mistake. 

No, you didn't do anything. You wouldn't. 

You hurry down the hallway to the elevators. You don't look back, just keep going. You don't think, just go. 

It isn't until you're outside the familiar cafe marquee that your let your mind settle. You enter and join the queue. Your order a black coffee and drink it at a stool by the window.  

You lean your elbows on the high table that stands inside the pane. You take a slow, savouring swig of coffee and let it trickle down your throat. You shield your face from the New York morning and put your hands over your ears. 

You can't remember anything but Wendy. Your anger had you ordering round after round, trying to drown out the bile. The thought makes your stomach lurch and you gulp thickly. 

You shake your head and groan. Your phone chirps. It's probably Barrett. Several messages from him and missed calls. All through the night. It's bad enough you betrayed him, you had him up worrying. 

No, you didn't! 

It can't have happened if you don't remember it. A generous stranger took you home so you didn't wake up on the curb. That's it. 

That's the story. Nothing happened. And you'll let Barret believe you were with Wendy. It won't make a difference. 

Your mind is set. Nothing happened. 

Nothing. Happened. 

Because you don't remember. Because you were too drunk to do that. Because you're married and it can't happen. 

You're going to finish your coffee and go home. Everything will be just like it was before... after you tell Barrett where to put that coffee mug if it's such a big deal. 

[fizzigigsimmer]

Susan ditches Neil and offers to take Billy, who starts an only fans account when Susan's shitty waitress job barely covers their rent. He's mad successful, pays for Max to go to a better school, and moves them into a new luxury condo on the beach. The neighbors are dicks because it's obvious they're "trailer trash" but Billy has the most beef with their direct neighbor Steve. Like blasting music through the walls at heinous hours, 'according to the tenant rules your balcony windows can't be open that far' petty BEEF. It all started because Steve mistook him for someone in maintenance the first week after they moved in. Billy didn't correct him and shamelessly tried to seduce him while fixing the drain in his bathroom sink.

Steve was this close to sleeping with the maintenance guy, he really was, because Billy reminds him of this guy he follows on Only Fans, but figured it would be weird creepy and unfair to use a stranger like that. Steve turned Billy down softly and that should have been that except the actual repairman calls to cancel. Billy completely fucked up Steve's pipes, and not in the sexy way. Oops

It wasn't on purpose. Billy's not a fucking plumber, and he still thinks Steve deserves a water damage bill for making dumb ass assumptions about people and not asking to see a single credential before inviting a strange man into his apartment. Now they beef. Steve thinks Billy is a rude little creep who just likes to fuck up his life for the fun of it, also Billy keeps him horny on constant. Especially after Steve realizes that the guy he's spending way too much of his allowance on via Only fans and Billy are the same person. He really wishes he didn't want him so bad or like it so much when Billy is mean to him, but he's out here making up reasons to continue their petty war just so he can jerk off to Billy's insults later.

Susan is blissfully ignorant. Or pretends to be. Max is just trying to survive the 8th grade with a brother who is essentially a famous pornstar.

[lovebugism]

vacation, cocktails, stevie in the tiniest shorts… I mean 😮‍💨

thanks for your request lovey!! — the one where steve takes you to the beach, but him in his bathing suit is the real view (established relationship, smut 18+, 2k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” Steve jokes as he passes you a cocktail. It’s a red, yellow, and blue colored drink with an orange slice wedged into the top of it. It’s about as tropical as a beachside bar can get. 

The rainbow colors match his color-blocked swim trunks, though the fabric is far more muted in hue. They make his tanned skin look that much more golden. You can’t figure out which shade is most his color, though, no matter how hard you ogle. 

Steve spent a better part of the day smiling with delight every time he caught you staring. He’d been a bit scared to wear the shorts, in truth. They were far too long to be considered a speedo but revealed more of his thighs than normal trunks did. Then he saw how much you loved them and never wanted to take them off.

“Sorry,” you murmur as you take the blended drink from him. “It’s just… It’s staring me right in the face, babe.”

“Shut up,” Steve huffs out a laugh, descending on the lounge seat next to yours.

You’ve been on vacation for four days now, playing house in his parents’ beachside condo. He wears the bliss of holiday all over him, tanned skin glittering beneath a golden hour sun. He’s almost constantly shirtless because it’s so damn hot out — which has done nothing but give you ample time to leer at his toned torso, dusted with marred scars beneath sprinkles of chestnut hair.

But it’s his thighs that get you. Those goddamn perfect thighs you want to take a bite out of and ride all at once.

No one should look so good in such a tiny pair of shorts. You think it should be a crime, really. And the worst part about all of it is Steve has virtually no idea what he’s doing to you.

He just sits there next to you and laughs at your ogling — like there's anything remotely funny about the heart palpitations he’s giving you just from looking so damn good.

“I’m so glad I got you those shorts,” you confess, mostly to yourself, before sipping at the bendy straw in your cup. The fruity slush cools your warm skin almost instantly.

“Yeah,” Steve hums with a lopsided smile. His rosy lips match the sunburn on his cheekbones. “They fit like a glove, don’t they?”

You know he’s saying that just to tease you, but you nod anyway. “Yes, they do,” you singsong quietly, chewing at the end of your straw and getting lost in your leering.

It makes Steve chuckle to himself. “Alright, babe. Keep it in your pants.”

“I’d love to get into your pants, actually.”

“You’re in rare form today, aren’t you?” Steve wonders through his laughter.

Being beachside looked good on you — being away from Hawkins looked good on you. It’s the first time he’s seen you relax in a while. Like, really relax. No monsters to hunt, no children to run after, no parents to impress. It’s just you and him and an orange sun. 

And also a bar that serves alcohol that tastes like juice that you’re currently downing like it’s nothing.

“I’m tipsy and in love,” you shrug. “Sue me.”

Steve smacks his lips against his teeth. “Nah. I’m tipsy and in love, too, so… I guess I can’t really blame you…”

His admission of love makes you smile. You’ve surely heard it a million times now, but your chest sparkles like it’s the very first.

You grow suddenly soft. “Thanks for bringing me here, Stevie…”

His sheepish grin matches your own. “Thanks for coming with me, baby.”

He reaches a hand out towards you — which you take without thinking twice.

His long fingers are warm as they engulf your own. Your arms sway in the inches of space separating the two of you, knuckles gently brushing the white sand beneath you. And even though you’re touching him, you can’t help but crave more.

“You’re so far away,” you observe with a slight pout furrowing your brows.

Steve scoffs a gentle laugh. “I’m literally holding your hand.”

“Yeah, but like…” You trail off as you try to find the words to say — how to say them without sounding pathetic. Your nose scrunches softly with your admission. “I need you…”

“Need me?” he wonders with pinched brows. 

He’s concerned at first, because he’s always concerned at first.

He’s been on the defense since 1984. It’s practically in his nature, at this point. It takes him a second to realize you don’t actually need help — that you’re not in Hawkins anymore, and there’s no reason to look over his shoulder. 

His honey eyes go wide in realization a moment later. His pink mouth falls softly agape. “Oh. Like, need me, need me?”

You hum with a distant, tipsy smile.

“Need you, need you, need you,” you repeat thrice for effect.

Despite his similar desire that blooms like a flower in his chest, he urges, “Finish your drink first, ‘kay?”

Your pout returns. “Why?”

“‘Cause it was expensive as shit, and I don’t want it going to waste,” he explains with a chuckle.

You nod in return. “Yes, sir…”

Your mouth curls around the straw again. A smile quirks your lips as you watch the boy next to you squirm in his seat — your words having a rather obvious effect on him.

You swallow down the strawberry slush, now turning into a sour lemon, and blink away a brain freeze. 

“You okay over there, Stevie?” you tease.

He nods with jutted-out lips. “Mm-hmm. Yep. Perfect.”

—————

One Tropical Rainbow Paradise cocktail later, and Steve’s leading you to his cabana.

It’s more private than a normal one. Far more lavish, too. It’s like a tiny studio apartment — made of three walls and a thick curtain in place of a door. There’s a television hung below the ceiling, a small bed pushed up against the wood, and a clawfoot tub idling on the other side. 

You figure you’ll have ample time to ride Steve in the bath later. 

Your mouth waters for a taste of him now.

It’s why you fall to your knees no more than a second after you’ve latched the curtain shut.

Steve’s eyes go wide as he watches you. He nearly stumbles backward onto the mattress behind him because the very sight of you makes his legs buckle.

“Whoa, babe— Let me put a pillow under you first—”

“I don’t care about that,” you dismiss with the shake of your head. Your fingers curl around the hem of his trunks as you blink up at him. “Just take your clothes off.”

He nods, rapid and visibly enthusiastic. 

You don’t pull his shorts all the way down, just enough to free his half-hard cock. You slip the band beneath his heavy balls and wrap his dick in your hand, wetting your palm with your tongue first to ease the friction. 

You work him slowly with your wrist and lick the pearly bead of precum from his flushed tip like it’s muscle memory to you. The rough pad of your tongue flicking over the most sensitive part of him drives him wild. A groan rumbles in his chest, muffled through his clenched jaw and teeth.

“Fuck— These trunks are really doing it for you, huh?” he teases after his fleeting senses return to him.

You blink up at him, only halfway amused. “Be careful, Stevie. I don't know if you noticed, but I have your dick in my hand.”

A crooked grin pulls at his pink lips. “Yeah… Go ahead and put your mouth on it, sweetheart,” he instructs lowly. “Maybe I’ll let you ride it after— shit.”

Your lips wrap fully around his reddening tip.

His breath catches in his throat when you lick over him like a lollipop. Your tongue dips over his drooling slit. The salty tang of him makes you moan under your breath.

Your lips abandon his cock soon after. You keep jerking him with your fist while you bring your mouth to his balls. You know he likes that best. He’s more sensitive there than most men are and spurned on by the sight of it even more so.

The sounds of your suckling and the vision of you nuzzling against his length has his orgasm creeping up his spine. 

Your mouth widens as your tongue trails up the thick vein at the underside of his cock, leading all the way to his flushed, bulbous tip.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Steve sighs, right before a whine spills from his throat. His palms are wide and warm as they settle over your temples, his fingers crawling into your hair. 

He doesn’t guide you at all — you know what he likes better than he does, really. He doesn’t pull you closer to him, either. He just holds you. He uses you like an anchor when his impending orgasm threatens to pull his head underwater.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he repeats, this time in a more firm groan. His cock jerks faintly in your mouth while he babbles. “Gonna make me come like this… So good for me, baby. Your pretty mouth is always so good for me. Just a little bit more…”

You know what he needs. He blinks, and suddenly his cock is stuffed down your throat. Both of you are barely breathing by then, equally spurned on by his rapidly approaching orgasm.

“Oh, shit, babe— fuck,” he whines, voice breaking when you swallow around him. He tilts his head to the ceiling and talks himself through his orgasm with gritted teeth. “Yeah. Gag on it— let me feel you, baby… Fuck, yes... 'S gonna make me come so hard. You’re gonna swallow it for me, yeah? Take everything I give you?”

With his cock stuffing your throat, you show him better than you can tell him. 

His cock spits several warm loads within your waiting throat. You swallow it all down without complaint — not because it tastes good exactly, but because you love having a mouthful of him.

His golden thighs tremble under your hands as your nails rake gently over his skin.

A blissful sigh trembles in his flushed chest when you pull back from him. Even though your jaw aches and your throat is sore, you find it in you to smile as you drag your finger over the dribbles of cum at the corner of your mouth. 

Steve swears he almost comes again when you lick the remnants of his pearly load off the pad of your thumb.

“What do ya say?” you find it in you to tease despite your current predicament. You’re still kneeling in front of him, blinking up at him with heavy watering eyes, saliva glistening on your chin. “Did I earn my seat, Stevie?”

Swallowing through a tight throat, he nods until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Definitely, yeah. Fuck.”

The bed creaks under his weight when he lies in the center of it. Now fully naked, his tanned skin contrasts heavily with the all-white sheets beneath him. His honey hair is wild as he leans against the fluffy pillows.

He beckons you to him with a wave of his hands.

“C’mere,” he tells you, pink tongue darting out to wet his swollen lips a second later.

You untie your bikini in record time. You rise on the mattress and swing your knee over his hip. Your glistening pussy rests just over his stomach, pretty enough to taste.

“Uh-uh,” Steve hums with the shake of his head, waving his hands again. “Come here.”

Your brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

“Closer,” he commands.

Still a bit confused, you shift further up his waist — only a few inches, though, because you’re not entirely sure what he’s asking of you. 

You don’t fully understand until his wide hands curl around the backs of your thighs. He urges you up his torso himself, forcing you to grip the headboard before you topple over completely. 

He shifts lower on the mattress until your knees are over his shoulders. His strong arms wrap around your thighs to pull you over his face, all but suffocating himself with your pussy.

His scruffy jaw scratches softly at your inner thighs — a stark contrast with the way his soft mouth suckles at your weeping cunt.

You’re practically gushing over his face the second his lips wrap around your clit.

[someforeignband]

🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday!🪱

having thoughts about eddie and steve going to visit steve’s grandmother! (im spending the week with my nanna and am having thoughts)

It starts with this nebulous idea that Steve’s parents didn’t want to take care of Francesca’s mother after her husband died, so they moved Steve’s maternal grandmother to a 65+ community in Sun City, Arizona. Just like their son, they’d much rather ship off Franny’s mother instead of dealing with her needs. So, they leave sweet Cecilia in a massive 2,900 square foot condo in the Arizona desert, all by herself.

One afternoon in march, Steve gets a call from his Nonna. She explains she has had some plumbing issues and neither Franny, nor Richard is returning her calls. She complains that there’s palm fronds in her yard, and with the state of her back, she just can’t fix all of these things on her own.

“How do you feel about a trip to Arizona?” Steve would ask Eddie, after a two-and-a-half hour long conversation with his grandmother.

Thusly, a PanAm flight to Phoenix was booked. It was Eddie’s first time on a plane. Despite his nerves prior to getting on the flight, he has a marvelous time. Eddie discovers that he loves turbulence and puts his hands up and giggles the whole time.

Steve, to Eddie’s dismay, is the exact opposite. He squeezes the armrest the entire 3.5 hour flight. He can’t stand how relaxed Eddie is, not understanding how someone like Eddie could just be so calm.

Once they land, Steve tries to brief Eddie on his Nonna’s disposition. “She’s sort of a firecracker, Eddie. Very particular about pretty much everything. I’m sorry if she’s mean to you.”

Eddie tells him not to worry about it, assures him they’ll get through the weekend.

To Steve’s delight (and Eddie’s utter surprise), Nonna takes to Eddie like a fish to water. He can talk about the Bible with her. Wayne’s been pretty devout his whole life, so when Eddie makes a comment about her dish towel with Philippians 4:6-7 printed on it, Steve knows Eddie’s going to practically be family.

Cece is ecstatic to be able to show the boy pictures of Italia and tell him stories about her upbringing. She shows him pictures of Franny, pictures of her late husband, and her collection of photos of Steve’s baptism. It keeps Cece distracted, while Steve gets to work fixing her kitchen plumbing.

Steve can’t help but grin to himself like a madman as he tinkers with her pipes, listening to his Nonna and his boyfriend volley back and forth. Sharp as whips, the both of them, and god it was nice to watch Eddie get on with someone who was blood to him.

Steve didn’t have much family that bothered to be in his life.

It was nice.

And best of all— at least for Nonna— Eddie can eat her food. Eddie can seriously put it away. Steve stops after one helping of Parmigiana di Melanzane, but Eddie has two more servings, and saves room for dessert.

“Eat up, Edoardo,” Cece pats his cheek. “Too skinny, Stephano. You starving him?”

“Never, Nonna,” Steve laughs, shaking his head, watching Eddie shovel another spoonful into his mouth, grinning at Steve across the dining room table.

Despite the fact that they’ve been seeing each other for a few months, after dancing around each other for the better part of two years—Eddie’s feeling things about Steve fixing his grandmas plumbing, doing yard work, etc. The flush in Steve’s face, hands on his hips, complaining about the state of the yard: Eddie’s never felt more in love (and other tingly, warm sensations).

Further, Eddie watches Steve and Cece scream at each other in stilted Italian as she tries to pick up a scorpion and take it outside with her bare hands. Finally, after about forty-five seconds of screaming and the scorpion trying to wiggle away, Steve takes Eddie’s boot and smacks the thing with a scared squeal. It crunches under the sole and twitches a few times before dying on the salmon colored tile, guts splattered everywhere.

“You handled that well,” Eddie muses, once the whole ordeal is over, taking a dishcloth and floor cleaner, scrubbing at the thing’s guts.

“I couldn’t let her get stung. She’s seventy-nine!” Steve says, then shudders. “I never wanna do that again.”

Later that night, Eddie sips coffee out of a lumpy clay mug, a Stephano Original, while she and Steve play rummy. Catching eyes over the table, they smile at each other, knowingly. After a while, Eddie gets tired, slinking off to the office, where Cecilia had set him up with an air mattress.

Before Steve retires to the spare bedroom that night, his Nonna pulls him aside, wrapping him in a warm hug.

“Ti voglio,” She whispers, kissing his temple, smoothing his hair back.

“I love you too,” Steve answers quietly, thrown off by the unexpected display of affection.

“And,” She pauses, scrunching her dark eyebrows together, deciding exactly what to say. “I really like that boy, Stephano.”

Steve’s chest fills with warmth, not knowing exactly if she means what he hopes she means. But at that moment, he’ll take it.

“Me, too, Nonna.” He whispers, grinning at her. “Me, too.”

TAGGING ONLY @yours-etc!!!! WRITE SOMETHING I MISS YOUR WRITING

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, use of a sex toy, praise kink, dominant!reader, submissive!Steve, smut, and NSFW.

Being pissed off at Steve, so you let him fuck you, but not in the way that he’s expecting…

He should be ashamed of himself, all 5’11 of him. With the stupid highlights in his overgrown, chocolate tresses, that new chain he wears around an even hairier chest, workouts he’s been keeping up with for over a year now, right down to every pair of pants that he owns always being tight around his crotch. His big feet, that jugular, those mossy eyes with fluttering lashes, every mole and freckle (man even has them in his ear), and his ginormous man paws. Steve Harrington is a damned sin, one that you’re going to hell for. As if that isn’t enough, girls couldn’t keep their fucking hands off him at the store, or anywhere, really.

He never flirted back, gave a smile of flattery, but kindly rebuffed. Today, however, it became your last straw. Watching him smile at a waitress who practically had her tits in his face, ignoring you entirely — you were seething by the time you got into the car. Steve’s teasing of your jealousy only made it worse in your mind. He wants to be so nice to women who want him, then he isn’t getting any of you… at all.

A devious plan forms quickly, and Steve has no clue what’s coming his way…

You’re both usually worked up from parties or nights out when it’s the weekend, so this is no different. However, you’ve got a plan in mind, and you’re ready to claim your boyfriend before he’s even able to turn the lock to his condo. Crowding his back against the door, you’re sucking, licking his chain up so that you can nose beneath it to give you room to mark him. He holds onto you tightly, grabbing your ass to grind you into his hardening cock. And when you kiss that spot at the corner of his mouth, he’s damn near kicking the door down to get you inside, and into his bed.

You’re honestly surprised that the two of you make it to his room. Clothes are torn off, Steve shredding your shirt right down the middle, ripping your bra cups to expose you, automatically grabbing greedy handfuls, your hand working his heavy cock between the two of you. You let him have his way, taking time to also work him so far up that his pupils have almost entirely encompassed his irises. But when he goes to help you onto the bed, more than ready, you shove him by his chest, watching his eyes widen as he bounces onto his back on the mattress.

“What’re you doing, honey? Fuck, get over here, please. You’ve been worked up all night, just let me take care —“

“Shut your mouth, Steve. After your flirtatious little displays and your slutty ensembles, I think I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

He starts to protest as you’re rifling through the bottom dresser drawer, pulling out lubrication and the toy that you’ve used in several instances to tease Steve, to get yourself off, and to bend him over. But never this…

“Baby, I wasn’t flirting. You know that. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He starts to raise himself, but you shake your head.

“I know this, Harrington. But you’ve got a girl so worked up lately, that she just needs to use her pretty little boyfriend to calm herself down.”

Steve’s lips quirk into a smirk as he folds his arms behind his head, plants his feet, and opens his legs, cock kicking as it slaps against his stomach, leaving a wet smear in his happy trail. Fucking jungle, all the way down his belly, covering his legs, even at the base of his monster python. You shake your head, walking back over so that he can see the toy clearly. He is expecting a show, most likely, but nothing prepares him for what happens next. You wiggle your fingers as you move beside.

“Up on your knees so we can put this on.”

His brows knit together in confusion, tongue poking at his cheek. “But, baby?” And he motions to his obviously hard shaft. “How…? What do you mean right now?”

“Safe word any time you need out. But if not, just do as I say and be good for me.”

Steve swallows rather harshly, too fucked out and horny to argue. He levels onto his knees and watches with a bemused enchantment as you adjust the harness a lot differently to your liking, before you help him into it. Once it’s secure, he’ll admit that it’s… strangely erotic. Sitting heavy above his own actual cock. You lubricate the faux shaft, bypassing his erection entirely.

It clicks in his head. He sputters over words as you knock your knees into a crawl between his spread thighs, one hand planting on his chest to push him back onto his back, straddling him, spare hand taking the dildo and beginning to jerk it off. He has no say, and zero stimulation. His brain is about to explode. He tried to convince himself that maybe you were teasing to warn, something, anything but what you’re getting in position to do.

His hands find your waist, squeezing tightly in support as you sink down the silicone, his poor cock only being stimulated by what drips from your cunt above, and the slap of your cheeks when you begin a rhythm. Steve won’t dare say a safe word, because he’s so hard watching you use the cock and not what’s attached to him — he can barely breathe. You’re spread open around the toy, cream dripping from your cunt with each crude thrust, though you give calculated movements, as to not go too hard on his dick below the attachment. You’re fucking using him, riding him like your life depends on it, and he can’t feel you, all he can do is whine, his cock starting to slap against your ass, leaking pathetically.

“Oh, honey. Baby, please fuck my cock. I’ll be so good for you from now on.”

You don’t oblige. Yet, he still doesn’t complain, despite being driven absolutely insane — as into this as you are. When you come, you feel him shiver, jaw twitching, tears at his lash line. He pets your spine as you collapse, coos you through it. “Wish I could’ve felt that. Bet it was a strong one, huh?”

You help him out of the messy toy, relaxing back onto his chest, peeking between his thighs at his swollen member, your hand drifting down to trace that vein that matches his forearm.

Maybe he’ll learn…

[fastcardotmp3]

Eddie Munson does do the whole rock star thing, but it doesn't quite go the way it did in the daydreams of a sixteen-year-old kid trying to stay awake in school.

He leaves Hawkins after the world doesn't end, gets himself out there, takes all the hurt and fear and fucked up shit and puts it into a handful of good enough songs to get himself signed.

It's not quite the genre he grew up with, not quite something any of his idols might have played, but only because it is so entirely Eddie, so influenced by where he's been and what he's seen that it kind of doesn't fit one specific influence.

It's new and it's good, is the point. Really good. And he skyrockets fast enough to give himself the spins.

He's recognizable and then he's famous and then he's too famous and too young to know what to do with it and too far from home and everyone he loves to really cope with it and it's just.

Eddie isn't built for it. Eddie hasn't even processed the fact that he was maybe supposed to die in that place, or the fact that he did watch people better than him actually die, but he's out here shooting to the top of the charts and being called the next big thing and it's too much.

It's just enough, at the end of it all, for him to self-sabotage his way out of being more than a one-hit wonder.

One big hit, a contract broken by the guys at the top with the fancy lawyers because Eddie has become the too much thing, just like always, and it's over as quick as it started.

He disappears, becomes one of those whatever happened to him? he was supposed to be the next big thing? stories that travel by word of mouth and then fade with the shift in conversation.

So what does happen to Eddie Munson?

He falls hard, he hits rock bottom, he crawls his way home to an uncle who deserved for Eddie to really make it, make him proud, have him financially set for life and get him into a real house with two stories and a garage to park the truck in, maybe even a yard for a dog.

He spirals and isolates and falls apart and stops letting himself make music at all and makes some personal choices that will probably have lasting effects on him for the rest of his life and then somewhere along the line a girl with hair like tangerines and terrible aim manages to smack him with her cane and says if I learned to walk again, so can you, asshole.

There are people in his life again after that, a reason to get out of bed and realize that he can make Wayne proud in more ways than the one he'd already fucked straight to hell.

Eddie watches a bunch of kids graduate high school and then he packs up and chases down some people who pulled him out of hell once before up in Chicago, crashes on Steve and Robin's couch until he gets himself a job painting houses and they can afford three bedrooms instead of just the two.

He cuts his hair, not short but shorter, and he gets more tattoos and itches for the guitar that sits in a case under his bed, ignores it. Itches for the pen in his hand, ignores that too.

He's still barely past his mid-20s and he still has some fucking around left to get out of his system, some finding out to accomplish doubly so, but he learns as he goes no matter whether it's forwards or backwards.

He falls in love and falls out of it, gets fired from jobs and tracks down new ones, gets into fights with his friends because they're all a little fucked up and codependent and weird but makes up with them for the same reasons.

The thing with Steve happens slowly, going from tolerating each other for the sake of knowing they'll always be on the same team to genuinely liking each other to discovering a care between the two of them that's a bit too strong to be normal about even if it still takes them a half-dozen so-called turning points to really name it and take it and keep it.

Eddie's 33 when they buy a condo together on the outskirts of Chicago two weeks after they fall into bed with each other for the first time, and he's over a decade on from being a kid who rose to the top too fast but it doesn't feel dissimilar, that sensation of a too-good thing that's bound to go wrong.

Only this time he doesn't try to sabotage it, tries the opposite, tries to hold it tightly in ways that would probably be too tight for anyone other than Steve Harrington with all his deeply intense feelings and inability to love at anything other than an eleven.

It's in the move that Steve finds a box of notebooks, snoops because it's who he is, and finds years worth of words that never made it past the tip of a pen but did, eventually, make it that far.

And it's not an easy thing, convincing Eddie that they're words worth sharing, because Eddie doesn't want it to be an easy thing. He can't let kind words shoved into his orbit by a beautiful man be enough to make it feel worth it, can't see a world where sharing his art doesn't end in another great big self-induced mess that he can't let happen when he's finally found something good.

He doesn't want to go on tour and get screamed at on stage and, besides, he's pretty sure the rest of the world doesn't want to scream for him anymore either, but then Steve has to go and remind him--

"You don't have to be the face of it. You can just be the words; you are so fucking good at being the words, Ed."

Which still isn't quite enough to be convincing, but it's a start in a solid six months of the words coming easier now that he has someone to share them with, someone to listen as Eddie plucks away at a guitar that sits out in the open now, free of dust.

It stops feeling like something shameful to hide, his music, and the thing is? It doesn't feel how it did back then either.

It's not an escape or a purge of violent energy or a distraction from everything he didn't know how to think about. Sure, it takes all of that into consideration because it takes the whole of Eddie into consideration, but more than anything it's just fun.

Like he's thirteen and still learning how to play the guitar, like it's just a hobby that never has to go anywhere, like it's just art that maybe deserves to be heard.

Everyone pitches in on ideas when they find out he's trying to come up with a pseudonym, and it's goofy and supportive and kind of the final straw in reaching out to old, burned bridges to see about any new artists looking for equally new tunes.

The first time Eddie and Steve catch familiar lyrics being sung by a new hotshot band on the radio, Eddie cries not because he's jealous or disappointed, but because it feels right.

He doesn't like being up in front of the crowds, had only ever walked across tables and made himself big and scary and loud out of self preservation, would always rather his biggest performances be for the people he knows really care.. Besides, after everything he's survived he's learned, albeit slowly, that he really likes the freedom of the quiet.

This way he still gets to say what he has to say, gets to throw his hat into the ring of an artform that he loves without selling his soul to a machine that tried to eat him alive (trust him. he knows what that feels like.)

Of course, someone is going to put 2 and 2 together eventually, the industry isn't as big as it looks and pseudonyms only pull so much weight when you went out in such a spectacularly messy and memorable fashion, but Eddie's got his condo in Chicago.

He's got the guy he shares it with in his bed.

He's got two cats and a windowsill full of plants he's going to keep alive this time, Steve, just you watch.

He's got his uncle settled in Indy these days, a small place with a small yard.

He's got music, too. Turns out even his own tendency to self-destruct couldn't take that away, huh?

It's what got him out of hell alive, after all.

[katyawriteswhump]

driving me crazy (day 1 steddie holiday drabbles/whumpcember)

for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 1 prompt 'snowfall' & @whumpcember day 1 prompt 'broken bones'.

WC: 991 Rating: T CW: prescription drug use, and slight accidental abuse of prescription drugs. Tags: No Upside-Down au, idiots to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, snuggles, minor angst, seasonal rather than xmassy. Summary: When Steve breaks his arm, Dustin persuades Eddie to give him rides to work. Eddie does not expect his icy jock-despising heart to be melted.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Eddie pulled up where Steve waited on the sidewalk, his arm swaddled in a cast and sling. Steve’s face was ashen as the skies, which spewed out the first snowfall of the season.

“Get in,” yelled Eddie, rolling down the van window.

Steve obeyed, bringing with him an icy gust. “Thanks, man. I appreciate—"

Eddie pumped up the stereo to max and accelerated off, wheels skidding in the slush.

He was helping Steve because Dustin had begged. Steve, obviously, couldn’t drive and his work-shifts at the amusement arcade were similar to Eddie’s at a bar farther up the road. Eddie would’ve refused anyhow, till he learned how Steve got hurt—confronting nasty-ass bullies who’d been hassling the out-and-proud ‘freaks’ at the arcade. Son-of-a-bitch was treading on Eddie’s turf!

“He didn’t actually lose the fight,” Dustin said. “He slipped on ice while winding up for the crit-hit.”

“It’s Harrington,” protested Eddie. “Doesn’t he have dickwad friends to drive him?”

Dustin sneered, like this was the dumbest suggestion ever. “None of us are old enough to have a licence.”

Now, Eddie peeped sidelong, wary. Steve boogied along to Aerosmith in an eerie foreshadowing of a ‘dad-dance,’ fingers drumming the dashboard.

“Cool track,” shouted Steve.

Eddie’s teeth grinded. Ugh, Harrington wanted to chat? Eddie turned down the volume eventually, because Steve’s voice was scratchy, and… he wasn’t the worst company. Eddie could genuinely believe this guy—despite his bitchiness about denim vests—might defend geeks from a cohort of a-hole jocks he used to belong to. On the ride home, Eddie found himself glancing in the rearview mirror to watch Steve giggling at his dumbass jokes. In fact, they might’ve crashed into a snowdrift, if Steve hadn’t shouted then one-handedly grabbed the wheel.

They’d been riding together a week, when Dustin called asking Eddie to fetch Steve home early. Eddie now drove Steve regularly, even when their shifts didn’t coincide. Steve tumbled into the van wearing pink earmuffs and cackling his damp-flattened hair off. Apparently, Steve had accidentally taken a double-dose of pain meds, though not enough to be in danger. Eddie didn’t ask where the earmuffs came from, silently conceding they looked cute.

Oh. Fuck.

At Steve’s condo, Eddie helped him up the stairs, studiously avoiding clasping Steve’s butt. Shame he couldn’t ogle that in the rearview mirror. Steve groped Eddie’s ass shamelessly, which was forgiven in the circumstances. He fumbled so long to find his key that Eddie almost jimmied the lock.

“Wanna stay for a beer?” asked Steve, half-tripping through the door.

“I’m driving, dude.” Eddie grabbed and steadied Steve, who slammed him with huge puppy-dog eyes, which Eddie managed to ignore. He was absorbing the mouldy walls, the frost on the fucking inside of Steve’s windows. He’d known Steve had struggled since his parents threw him out. He’d not expected this:

“Jesus, Harrington, no heater?”

“No need. I usually get toasty in my hot-tub.” Steve snorted, rolled his eyes. “It’s broken, mom.”

Eddie almost dragged him home to the trailer. Instead, he failed to fix the heater then figured he’d have that beer. Steve, mega-keen to fetch it, stumbled beside his understocked fridge, then collided face-first into Eddie.

Again.

“Ow!” Steve shifted the pressure off his cast. Eddie grunted at the strain of having dead-weight Steve in his arms. Meanwhile, Steve’s glazed eyes focussed into lasers that seemed to pierce to Eddie’s soul:

“Thanks,” mumbled Steve, as warmth blossomed between their tightly-pressed bodies. “Honestly never thought you’d help after… y’know… High School… stuff. I couldn’t have got by without you and… um… I like you?”

Steve’s teeth pinched his lower lip. Eddie mirrored him, found himself dying to kiss him, while staggering disbelievingly over the words formulating in his head:

Disturbingly, I like you too.

“You feel that?” Steve exploded into fresh giggles, destroying the moment. “Electricity, Munson. Pffffzz!”

Riiiight. He’s high as a Guns ‘n’ Roses gig. 

They collapsed onto the fold-out bed, huddling beneath a blanket and arguing over what movies they’d watch right now, if they could afford VHS players. In the morning, Eddie awoke spooning Steve. The frost inside the window was patterned like snowflakes. He smiled into Steve’s hair, despite the fact his nose and toes were kinda numb.

This time, Steve’s groan shattered the moment. “Uuuuugh, sorry ’bout yesterday. Jesus, hope I’ve still got a job. Only got hired for being the sole applicant.”

“You’ll be fine.” Even Keith admitted Steve endured the kids and noise in the arcade valiantly and was injured in the line of duty—as a kickass babysitter and bouncer. Besides, if Steve was fired, Eddie would make Keith pay.

Eddie borrowed tools from Wayne, and they fixed the heater together. Things remained awkward-ish for a day or so, before normal car-share buddying resumed. They exchanged some loaded glances, but Harrington was still Harrington. If he was into Eddie, he’d make his move, give some kinda sign.

Then Dustin dropped his latest bombshell. “It’s cool you’re still giving Steve a ride. I mean, since he’s had his cast removed.”

Huh?

Next day, Eddie asked, casually, while driving, “You still need that sling, Steve?”

Steve blushed cherry-red and came clean. He’d sold his car last week, because he was behind on rent. He’d pay Eddie for gas and more, if Eddie could keep driving him.

“I guess I lied, sorry, though my arm’s still pretty sore. It’s just… I…” Eddie drew up outside Steve’s. Steve sighed hard, turning away. “I really do like you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” Eddie reached to coax Steve back around, two fingers on Steve’s reddened cheek. Their clouded breaths mingled, and Eddie grinned like an idiot. “When you were high… Yeah, I felt that dumb crackle, too.”

The brush of their lips felt more like lightning. They made out for so long that snow grounded the van, forcing Eddie to stay the night.

And every night, till they moved somewhere better together, with a decent heater and endless shared warmth and snuggles.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

@wheneverfeasible 💚 My ST fic on AO3

[hxneyfarm]

have a little father's day blurb about complicated father-son relationships. 1k. cross posted to ao3

steve's relationship with his parents has been complicated at best his entire life but it's only after he and eddie have an apartment together in chicago that his perception of of the father-son relationship shifts.

for the past decade or so, he's watched eddie's relationship with wayne and ached a little bit. because that's the kind of father-son relationship he wishes he could have had with his dad.

it wasn't always great, especially after his dad realized steve could mostly fend for himself and started leaving him alone more and more often for longer stretches of time. but it wasn't all bad either. his dad used to take him to ball games and he taught him how to ride a bike without the training wheels. he taught him how to change the oil in his beamer and how to bullshit his way through a book report.

mostly, though, he taught steve how to be lonely.

over the past couple of years, steve has slowly been trying to repair that stilted relationship with his old man. the guy isn't going to be around forever, and if nothing else he owes it to steve to leave him with some good memories after he's gone.

father's day has always been a bit of a weird day for steve, because his dad has always kept his feelings close to the vest, so steve's never had any idea how to navigate the day around him.

he thinks about the year he was thirteen; they'd gone to a cubs game together at wrigley and his dad let him have a cup of beer with his hotdog. he thinks of the year he was sixteen, before hawkins turned itself upside down; his dad was out of town at the condo in indy for some work conference the following week and he'd sighed when steve called him to wish him well, thinking there'd been something wrong at home.

this year is going to be different, steve tells himself.

he and eddie have invited both his dad and wayne to their apartment in chicago for dinner, and his dad is going to be here. steve's already bought a card for his dad, and his mom sent him her lasagna recipe, and he splurged for a good bottle of red wine.

hopefully this year will begin to repair the distance between steve and his dad.

steve finds himself hovering over the coffee maker at the kitchen counter, staring off into space while it brews, and eddie startles him a little when he comes up behind him to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek.

'you good?'

"yeah. little nervous.'

'it'll be fine. i made him laugh at christmas last year. remember?'

steve does remember. it was a good christmas.

it took steve's parents some time to accept steve and eddie as steve and eddie, but it's been so long now that it's not something that the harringtons can just ignore. if they want to be a part of their son's life, they need to get used to eddie. and this past christmas felt like a win - the harringtons had gifted them concert tickets and a fancy toaster oven for their apartment.

that night, after the sunday chores have been done and the laundry has been folded and put away, richard and wayne show up within moments of each other. steve and eddie's beagle mix, ozzy, greets them at the door, his tail thumping against the floor as he resists jumping up to beg their visitors for pets.

dinner goes really well; richard doesn't say anything offensive about their little apartment and eddie doesn't goad him into a discussion about politics. together, the four of them reminisce about steve and eddie's childhoods around the table, their plates overflowing with noodles and red sauce. wayne tells them stories about eddie that steve's never heard before, and richard tells stories that steve had completely forgotten about.

it's giving steve hope, this father's day dinner with his dad and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's uncle-dad.

until steve and richard are at the sink washing up the dinner dishes together, and everything crashes down around them.

'you're still young,' richard says. 'there's still time.'

'for what?'

'for you to come to your senses.'

'dad...'

'no, i mean it. there's always a job waiting for you at my firm. plenty of pretty girls in administrative roles there, too.'

'dad...' steve says again.

'i'm just saying, steven. it's time to stop playing house like this and settle down.'

'i am settled. we have a good life here. i love my job at the school. i love my life. i love eddie.'

'don't you want kids of your own? he can't give you that.'

steve scoffs.

'why would i want kids of my own? i didn't exactly have the best parental role models growing up. i'd fuck a kid up, just like you and mom fucked me up. besides, i have my students. that's plenty for me.'

'we gave you everything, steven.'

'everything except your presence. i needed you guys, especially as a teenager. and you guys just... didn't give a shit. why would i want to keep that cycle going?'

the silence in the kitchen is so loud.

'it's late. you should get going. eddie's got work in the morning.'

richard sighs.

'the offer stands. the firm is always there when you're ready.'

'just go. happy father's day.'

it comes out bitter. snappy. steve doesn't apologize.

richard goes. steve stays in the kitchen and tries not to think about it. he pops open a second bottle of wine - cheap, sweet, white, the kind of wine his father would mock him for drinking if he gave him half a chance.

he feels stupid for thinking his father could change, for thinking it could ever be different. people his dad's age are so stuck in their ways that there's no getting through to them. it's not easy but it's reality.

after wayne leaves, eddie comes into the kitchen to join steve and pour himself a glass of that cheap riesling steve's been working his way through. he doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. ozzy curls up at steve's feet and the three of them sit together in a comfortable silence. eddie holds steve's hand atop the table.

at least steve isn't lonely anymore.

[lightofraye]

I had this as an ask--I think the person was going around a bit to get some folks' input, which doesn't bother me. But I decided to grab the full screenshots and point to the part that had sparked a conversation among some folks. I even had a couple of followers ask for my thoughts.

Now... this did come up in a little group chat amongst me and a few others. We all have thoughts on it.

Oh I should probably go to the part I'm talking about. My bad.

The tweeter--HanmeiCui--tried to capture all that was said during Radio Company's little BBQ dinner during AustinCon. And folks were intrigued by Number 8.

"Fans asked him what he misses most about Texas and he said, I don't? I am still here all the time. I am here now, I was here a few weeks ago and then a few weeks before that. My whole family's still here my mom and dad are in Dallas I often visit them."

HanmeiCui also added: "So I kind of… I didn't catch what he said after that but I got the idea that he thinks of himself more like commuting, instead of permanently moved out."

Given he doesn't have any property (none that we have to officially verify ourselves with public records anyway) in Austin or Texas as a whole... FBBC is... something. Sold, not sold, either way, the brewery won't be back. Maybe a small taproom to keep incompetent brother-in-law Gino busy after he ran FBBC into the ground. Ahem. Yes, there is a house on the FBBC property but... near as we can tell, no one lives there.

The Ackles sold the rest of their properties--the condo, the lake house, etc. Also sold the Colorado condo.

Near as any of us could tell... no properties in Texas.

It had been largely assumed that if Jensen did visit his parents, it was likely without Danneel in tow. So if Jensen does visit often as he indicated, he may just be staying at a hotel, a friend's guest room (Steve does have a place in Austin), or the like.

I mean, Papa Ackles is 75 now. (Oh dang, his father is just a couple of years older than mine.) I imagine Jensen would want to see his parents a bit more. And for a while, he had the free time to do so.

A lot of folks have interpreted the statements in a few ways. One was a kind of professional "He's trying to keep the ol' boy Texan persona" going. Another was "Maybe he's trying to get re-established back in Texas without the wife." A third was "Maybe he has a place in secret in Texas"!

My thoughts?

I want to believe it's number two--getting re-established in Texas without the wife. (Come on, you know I'm an anti-Danneel. Why are you reading my stuff?) He's certainly made a few decisions this past year and a half that have me poking at the game board of life and going "Hmm...."

Such as his Social Media changing from a mix of family and business to strictly work posts (and frustrating his stans in the process, heh); such as Danneel going completely radio silent on her IG (but still commenting on others, hmm); such as selling all of FBBC without a new location in place; buying a mansion across the darn country and so far away from most of his friends and family; to seemingly abandoning CMP to Danneel to destroy.

There's still a few things we're not seeing. A few things we're not aware of. I could speculate until my face turned blue. For now, I'm content to sit and wait and observe the chess board.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steve Osunsami and Sean Keane at ABC News:

During the final Mass at the All Saints Parish in Buffalo, New York, on a warm Sunday in July, the priests encouraged the few parishioners who came to take comfort in holy scripture. "For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven," the passage read.

On Earth, many parishes are accepting that it's time to sell their properties. As the person leading renewal and development for the Diocese of Buffalo, Father Bryan Zielenieski is one of many religious leaders across America who have closed houses of worship in recent years. "We essentially went to half of what we used to back in the early 2000s," he told ABC News. "We lost about 100 parishes." Zielenieski expects he'll need to shut down another 70 churches in what the Diocese is calling its "road to renewal." It's a very biblical name for the challenge facing churches: People just aren't going as much as they used to. On average, more than half of the diocese's churches today are baptizing fewer than one person a month, and 59% of them are spending more than they take in, Zielenieski noted. "It's my job and role to not just pray about the situation, but to then look at the hard data and say, where does the church need to move?" he told ABC News.

In the late 1940s, nearly 80% of Americans said they belonged to a church, synagogue, mosque or temple, according to Gallup. Today, just 45% say the same, the analytics company noted, and only 32% say that they worship God in a house of prayer once a week. In 2019, before the COVID-19 pandemic, America was losing as many as 1,000 churches a year. Some former churches are being converted for businesses or residential use. One old Methodist church in Atlanta, which was down to about 60 members when it closed, was sold to a luxury real estate developer seven years ago. Now, it's become a series of 3,000-square-foot condos. [...] "The aging of the church here, of course, is seen all over America. That makes it harder in a lot of ways. For instance, we lost five of our members last year to death," he told ABC News.

Many churches across America, regardless of denomination, are fighting to stay open to have services conducted.

Most of the churches in this situation have aging congregations, with the majority of the regular attenders/members 50 and over.