#Steve playing with dogs

[braveclementine]

Chapter 4

Warnings: Angst, Main Character Death

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

James Rupert Rhodes United States Air Force October 6, 1968 Now Protecting Us From Above

You laid your flowers down in front of the simple but clean gravestone at the Long Island National Cemetery. The flowers were a dark blue and roses.

"Hi James." You whispered, tears coming up in your eyes again. You had been a hot mess ever since you had gotten back from the HYDRA base. "I. . . I came to see you. I just wanted to tell you how much I miss you. It's like there's this huge hole missing in my heart. I just wanted. . . I wanted to tell you that I love you. So very, very much. I wanted to tell you that you deserved more than what you got. You deserved more than what I could give you."

You wiped your face and choked out, "I'm carrying your baby now. Yours and Tony's. He's really happy, I hope you're looking down from Heaven and can see how happy he is. You and I both know he always wanted to be a father."

You tears had trailed all over your face and you wiped them away from your chin and cheeks, "Sorry for being such a hot mess. I just really. . . really fucking miss you. You're supposed to. . . you're supposed to hold your child James. I want. . . I wanted you to be able to hold your child."

You hunched over on your knees, openly sobbing now as you hugged your arms around your chest. Tony knelt down from where he had been standing behind you, wrapping his arms around you.

"Let it all out." Tony whispered. You could feel his own tears sliding down his rugged cheeks. "Let it out. It helps."

And you did. You sobbed, cried, and even screamed about the unfairness of this cruel world. It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair at all, no.

When you finally settled down, you got to your feet shakily, turning, and burying your head into Tony's firm, warm chest.

Stephen crossed the graveyard, carrying two cups of hot chocolate in his hands, handing them to the two of you silently. You sniffled, eyes pink, nose red, cheeks burning red.

"Come on." Stephen said quietly, taking both yours and Tony's hands into his own. "Let's go home."

***

Elizabeth Hope Clementine Maximy July 22, 2003 To the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure -Albus Dumbledore

You stood between Clint and Loki in the fourth row at the funeral. Her parents and five brothers sobbed in the front row. Her mother rocked back and forth in her seat, clutching her arms to her chest. Her father had his head tilted back proudly, letting his red rimmed eyes leak tears. Her brothers varied from being to complete messes to being extremely stoic.

Hogun sat in his chair, head hanging as he stared at the ground. Sif sat next to him, a worried expression on her face, a hand on his shoulder. Fandral sat on the other side of him and Volstagg was next to Sif.

Minerva Elizabeth sat on Wanda's lap, as Hogun looked in no position to hold her. He didn't even look like he could hold himself together.

Vision was in his human form and his eyes were tinted red from the tears he had shedded. And they say he had no feelings because he was a robot! The audacity of people.

Pietro looked just as bad as Vision, sitting between Jessie and Katherine who were both openly crying. Katerina was curled up against Heimdall. They had still gotten married, but they had not made a ceremony of it.

You stayed behind after everyone was long gone, which was hours as her mother seemed unable to leave the gravesite. It took her father finally almost lifting her off the ground to carry her back to the car that it was just you- and Loki who stayed adamantly by your side.

You had picked up yellow roses, reminding you of her Hufflepuff side. Loki stayed back by the chairs as you approached the freshly dug grave.

"H-hey." Your voice already cracked as you knelt down in front of the grave, adding the yellow roses to the bouquets and bouquets of flowers that were there. "I just want to apologize. If. . . I'm so stupid. I should've known they were going to kill you. I should've known. . . I should've saved you. I'm so sorry. I'm the worst kind of person. I could've gotten you out, I just known I could've."

Salt water splattered onto the fresh soil. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

You heard Loki's footsteps approach, crunching over the frozen ground. He knelt behind you, pulling you into a hug. He said nothing of comfort or disregard for your words. He was simply there, a calming presence for you to cling to.

You sat there, apologizing and crying until your nose was throbbing red and your fingers were stiff with cold. Only then did Loki say anything.

"You're freezing my Queen. Come, we need to get you somewhere warm before you get. . . what is that term? Frostbitten?" Loki said, careful not to touch your skin, lest he make you colder than you already were.

You wiped your frozen tears as he led you to a coffee shop.

The two of you sat underneath a TV which was playing the news. Loki ordered two Loki Frappuccinos (Grande Green Tea Frappuccino with no classic syrup. made with sweet cream. 3 pumps brown sugar syrup. extra Carmel drizzle and mocha cookie crumble topping.)

Loki held your hand as you took in stuttering sips from your drink. His eyes flickered up to the TV and he kept them there for a moment. His attentiveness to the TV made you listen in.

". . .say that the hospital was fully aware of what they were doing, getting bonuses for each shot that they administered."

You turned around to see a red-headed news caster on the TV outside a familiar looking hospital.

"The shot in question was disguised as a DTaP shot," The news caster continued, "However, in reality, it was a shot to sterilize women. This comes after the Supreme Court had passed the newest child policy law stating that for every woman-man soulmate bond in a family, there should be a child equivalent to that. This shot was given to every female passing through the hospital as a patient, save one, Mrs. Marvel, the Avengers soulmate."

You turned back around in your seat. You gave a bitter laugh, "She always was right."

Loki turned his attention to you. "Who?"

"Elizabeth." You whispered. "Why the hell do the sweetest people have to die?"

"Do you know how Elizabeth would've answered that question?" Loki asked, a small smile on his face.

You shook your head.

Loki pulled out his phone and said, "when you're in a garden. . . which flowers do you pick?"

You looked at him as he opened up the phone, "The best ones."

He smiled, "Exactly."

You laughed though you had tears in your eyes, "Yes, this looks like something she would say."

Loki put the phone away, taking both of your hands into his. "Y/N."

You blinked. He never called you by your name.

"Y/N. This is painful. This is one of the most painful feelings you will ever go through. But you are strong. You are one of the strongest women I know, and I grew up amongst Valkyrie and Sif. This hurts now, yes. But watch. See. You will move on. You will laugh again and you will smile again. You will come to a point where all that you will feel is overflowing love. Our children's laughter will bring delight into our lives. Time moves on. This sorrow feels overwhelming now, but we continue. We put one foot in front of the other. Slowly, oh so slowly, we move forward. We don't forget, but it fills our body in a different way. I love you Y/N. I love you very much. I want you to know that. I want you to know that everyday, I am here for you."

Tears just streamed silently down your face as you stared into Loki's earnest blue eyes.

"I love you too Lokes." You whispered.

Loki smiled, squeezing your hands, and leaned back. "Now, we finish these delicious drinks that were named after me and we head home. How does that sound?"

"Actually. . . there's one more thing I want to do before we go home."

***

Loki stood silently by your side as moved slowly through the Barnes and Noble, looking for what Elizabeth had talked to you about.

*Flashback*

"I want my daughter or sons first stuffed animal to be something magical." Elizabeth whispered. It was just the two of you, sitting in the backyard by the pool. She was sitting in front of you, her legs in the actually water while you were curled up in a lawn chair, Lucy on your lap.

"Of course you do." You said with a light laugh, bouncing your leg slightly. "Let me guess, some Harry Potter magical creature?"

Elizabeth grinned over her shoulder, "You know me so well Y/N. Probably Hedwig, you know, the owl. Something he or she can cuddle with. Of course, I'll spoil them silly with all sorts of animals. But I really would like the first one to be magical. Their first one."

*End*

"Here." You said softly, picking up medium sized, extremely fluffy, owl. "This is it."

Loki took your hand, paying for the toy, before you headed home.

You headed upstairs, wondering exactly where Minerva would be.

As you walked through the house, you couldn't even tell that a bomb had gone through it. It seemed all the same as it had been before. Except in a little off room, a small shrine had been set up for Rhodey.

You found Minerva sleeping in the girls' room that Tony had set up, in a crib that was placed next to Lucy's.

You bent over Lucy first, picking her up to hug and kiss her. Her pink rabbit was still in there and you smiled, thinking of all the good memories.

Then you put her down, leaning over Minerva's crib. "Hi Minerva." You whispered, putting the owl down next to her. You giggled quietly, seeing that it was almost as big as her. Minerva's small hands pulled it to her as she snuggle into it.

You laughed a little, making sure both baby monitors were on, before you left the room, leaving the door open so that you could get in an out without any problems.

As you headed down on the first floor, you heard a scream.

You full out sprinted, joined by T'Challa and Bucky in the hallway. "What happened?" T'Challa asked.

"I don't know."

"Stay here doll." Bucky warned you and you skidded to a stop, watching them run off.

You hurried back to the children's rooms, pacing in and out of the rooms, watching over them until Steve came up to you. He looked worn out, tired, and full of sorrow.

"Steve? What happened?" You asked.

***

Hogun the Grim October 23, 949 Their Love Lives On In Death

He was buried next to Elizabeth at the request of Thor, though Sif wanted him buried in New Asgard 'where he belonged'. But Thor argued that it was obvious that Hogun was dead because of his love for Elizabeth and that he should be buried next to her. Fandral had convinced Sif, and now we were here.

The flowers that you brought were blue, laying them down at his grave. You stood by Thor's side as he talked to Hogun. Told him how much he enjoyed his comradeship over the years, how much it meant to him that Hogun stood by his side for hundreds of years. How he respected Hogun in his fighting ability and his friendship. And how he hoped that he and Elizabeth were dancing in the stars now.

Loki stood there too, a few paces away from the two of you. Thor finally put an arm around you and the three of you silently made your way back to your house.

You went to the kitchen when you got back, making a pot of tea, taking it out into the backyard.

Ginny and Buster were running around, Steve tossing balls and Frisbees for them to catch. You smiled at him, but didn't join him, sitting on one of the lawn chairs that you had by the pool, though the pool was covered up for winter.

You wrapped your blanket around you tighter. Everything seemed a little quieter now. The house seemed emptier. It was. . . peaceful in a way.

You watched Steve tackled Buster to wrangle a ball from his mouth, laughing. A smile came to your lips.

Loki was right. You would all move on eventually. 

[wormdebut]

WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

@hellion-child you did this. Inspired by this legendary post.

‘It’s not illegal to go to the dog park, just to hear hot dads say Good Girl.’

Rating: M CW: overusage of the term daddy and Eddie just being a horny bastard.

——

“You know, this is fucking insane, right?” Chrissy laughs while Eddie lounges on the park bench.

Yes. He’s aware.

He and Chrissy don’t even have a dog and yet—

“Chris. Look at all of these great pet parents, taking care of these little doggies. Look at em. Wonderful. Stunning, very normal.”

Chrissy levels him with a glare. Being on the wrong side of a Chrissy glare is a scary thing, but alas his dog park visits are worth it.

“No. Look, listen. You’ve got all of these doggy daddies taking their lovely pups out for runs and walks and what not and then daddy wraps up his run and takes the precious ones to this here dog park. Woof.”

It really was worth it to Eddie, alright? There is nothing wrong with going to a public dog park to maybe hear a hot sweaty man coo at his dog.

‘Good Boy’

‘Precious Girl’

Bark bark bark or whatever.

Would Eddie ever talk to any of them? Absolutely the fuck not, but a man could dream.

He was bummed though because none of the hot guys were out, today.

Damn.

He is busy scanning the area to see if he missed anyone, Chrissy yapping on and on about how they could just get a dog when someone slows their run to chat.

“Hi!” She says. This woman is tall, short hair messed up from running, she’s got a bright ass orange jacket on, and she is most certainly Chrissy’s type. Thats not fucking fair at all, now is it?

Chrissy’s complaining tapers off. “Hey.”

They smile at each other, and this is truly unfair, Eddie thinks. This whole dog park thing was for him and yet.

“I hope you don’t mind, but me and my best friend just moved to the area and honestly, I think you’re pretty so—I just thought I would say hi.” She hardly makes eye contact with Eddie. So it’s clear who she’s talking to.

Like recognizes like, he supposes.

He can respect the straight forwardness of it all. Chrissy is just kinda staring at her so he speaks up. “Well, I’m Eddie and this is Chrissy, and I can confidently say that she also thinks you’re pretty.”

Both woman turn to stare and him, Chrissy with big eyes and the other woman with a smirk. She speaks, “Well, it must be my lucky day.” She turns back to Chrissy, “I’m Robin.”

The two get talking and Eddie is happy for his best friend, he really is, but where are all the hot men?

He’s about ready to call it quits when he sees a fucking god, running with a ridiculously stunning dog.

Hot people own hot dogs, he supposes.

This guy is—fuck. He’s sweaty from running, and his hair is fucking gorgeous, even after activities. Thats a green flag. Eddie is just shocked.

This is the dog daddy of all dog daddies. He’s wearing tiny fucking red shorts that expose thighs for days and—

“Jesus fuckin’—see?” Eddie doesn’t even care that he is interrupting the girls conversation cause this guys is—god damn. “He could slap a collar on me and walk me like a dog.”

Chrissy balks. “Eddie. We are in the company of a new friend. Robin doesn’t deserves this.”

Eddie simply shrugs and Robin laughs, “No. I think it’s hilarious which guy caught your eye?”

Oh, he likes Robin. “I like her. Get her number—“ He smiles big at Chrissy, before gesturing towards the fucking Adonis in tiny little running shorts. “Anywhozle. That one, look at him. On my knees in a second.”

He ignores Chrissy’s eye roll, and watches as Robin takes in the guy, before busting out in a laugh. “Oh my god—Steve?”

Oh shit.

“I—do you—“ Abort mission. Abort abort.

“Oh yeah, remember that best friend I was telling you guys about?”

She is still laughing, and Chrissy joins her before handing Robin her phone.

Eddie feels like he just got bamboozled.

“Chrissy, babe, I’ll text you. Eddie? I’ll see what I can do.” She smiles at them both before running over to ‘Steve’ and his—their?— gorgeous dog.

“No wait I—“ Eddie tries but she’s already over with Steve who is listening intently to what Robin has to say.

Oh god, oh no. Oh god.

Chrissy is just laughing softly into her hand, which turns into full laughter quick because Steve turns to look at them, smiles and winks.

[morganbritton132]

It be so funny if they took Joan to soccer game and put her either in the team colour or a cheerleading outfit.

Great minds think alike because I was just thinking that we having checked in with Joan in a while so this problem is perfect.

Every Saturday for over a month now, Joan has watched the humans and Ozzy leave the house in the morning and come back hours later loud, smelly, and energized. She does not have a problem with this per se but if she had eyebrows, she’d raise one of them. She would raise the other when they’re all too tired to play with her for too long after they come back.

So, Joan makes a decision.

When the next Saturday rolls around and Steve is digging around in the drier for his jersey, she makes her case known. She whines. She meows. She gets in the way of every step. She commits a drive-by biting. She even gets in the storage closet in the hallway and knocks over the dreaded cat stroller so it falls into the hallway.

She makes it very clear. She wants to go.

Eddie coos at her, “Awe, baby, she feels left out. Let’s take her.”

“Ed, it’s hot outside,” Steve replies, gesturing to Joan. She rubs her head against his leg. “She’s gray.”

“Steve, don’t be racist.”

“I’m not being – how is that –“ Steve sputters and then rambles on about tiny bodies, and fur, and overheating in the sun, but Joan already knows she got her way. Steve can’t say no to Eddie and he can’t say no to her either. Plus, she always gets her way.

Her way is the right way.

Steve sighs and gives in, “But if she gets too hot, you have to take her home.”

As a reward for Steve and Eddie’s good decision-making, Joan helps them get ready to leave. She wiggles her way into the cabinet with the first-aid kit and pulls out bandaids. She leaves them inside Steve’s cleats. He says thank you when he finds them.

Ozzy huffs from where he’s laying in his dog bed.

Joan purrs when Steve pets her head.

Since Eddie disappeared down into his studio the moment Steve agreed to let her come, Joan continues ‘helping Steve.’ Mainly, she cleans up (eats) all the scraps of lunchmeat he drops when making sandwiches for him, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy.

Eddie immerges from the studio ten minutes before they’re supposed to leave with a hastily sewed shirt made for a cat. It’s made out of the soft material of the cheer squad t-shirts he made for the other team members’ partners. He presents it first to Steve and then holds it out to Joan like, “Ta-dah.”

Joan sniffs the fabric – it smells like Eddie – and Steve is just like, “Why did you make that?”

“Because Joan’s got to represent, Stevie. We’re a jock family now and jocks wear their team colors,” Eddie insists, grin getting bigger when Steve rolls his eyes at him. “Everybody else is wearing team colors. Even Ozzy. See.”

He gestures to the pin attached to his yellow service dog vest that says ‘#1 Steve Harrington Defender.’ It’s right next to a patch that says ‘If You Pet Me, You Are A Part Of The Problem’ which is… “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I’m solving all the world’s problems today, baby,” He grins. “Isn’t that right, Joan?”

She hisses at the shirt.

[lala-blahblah]

It is always so entertaining stepping into a fandom for the first time and realizing how very different your perception of a piece of media is compared to everyone else. For example, upon seeing Phoenix Wright for the first time I immediately thought of Steve and Joe from blues clues, and I was shocked and alarmed to learn that nobody else picked up on this energy.

Do you see the vision. Like. Him and his blue coded little girl.

[strangersteddierthings]

What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Pizza order successfully placed, Steve dials Robin's number next. He doesn't need to talk long, just... hear her voice. Maybe get some verbal support.

"Buckley residence."

"Thank God it's you," Steve sighs in relief to hear Robin's voice on the other end. There was a little bit of dread that her mom might have answered and then he'd be stuck on the phone while she tried to chat with him.

"Whoa. Was hosting the nerdfest that bad?" Robin asks, laughter in her voice.

"Uhh," Steve starts, because he's eloquent like that.

"Oh no. Was is that bad? What happened?"

He feels a flood of warmth for Robin's immediate concern. "No, no, nerdfest was fine. I, uhh, mostly I'm calling because Eddie and I are gonna, like, hang out and talk and I just- I dunno. Wanted to hear your voice, first."

"Oh. Really? Well. Here's my voice. This is you hearing it."

He laughs at that. "Thanks. It's just, I think it's gonna be, like, a bathroom floor kind of conversation, except in my living room on a couch."

"Oh! I can be there in ten if you need me."

"Nah. This is just- me needing to hear your voice, and also a warning that I might have to crawl through your window and fall apart on your bed later. Just don't know how this is going to go."

"I'm here if you need me. Are you going to talk about Freshman First Day?"

"We, uhh, already did. Mostly. There's been apologies and now we're gonna talk. Get to know each other. Play 20 questions, I guess."

Robin laughs at that. "Alright. Ask him if he's ever going to get me the sandwich he owes me from back in November."

"What?"

"You know, his whole cafeteria speech thing? Stepped right on my ham and cheese. It did make him slip and almost brain himself, and he did apologize. Told me he owed me a new sandwich. I never got it. Ask for me."

"We'll see. Okay, I'm going to go but, thank you. Love you."

"Love you, too. Window will be ajar."

Steve hangs up, then opens the fridge. He debates grabbing them beers but opts for soda. Back in the living room Steve finds Eddie sitting like a normal person on the couch, one leg bouncing relentlessly. Even with his superficial knowledge of Eddie, he can tell he's nervous. Not nervous Eddie would be perched on the back of his couch, ruining the cushions with whatever junk is on the bottom of his shoes. Probably.

"Soda?" Steve offers, plopping himself on the other end of the couch, hand outstretched for Eddie to take the beverage.

"Thanks." The bouncing of Eddie's leg pauses for a moment while he's opening and chugging half the can in one swift motion, then the bouncing starts again.

"Hey, man, relax. You didn't seem nearly as nervous when you were trying to sneakily hang out earlier."

Eddie lets out a big sigh. "Yeah, well, I didn't know you hated me then."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh, shit, no. Not what- I meant, like, past tense. Hated as in, used to hate. Not present tense."

"Ah. Well, I don't think I 'hated as in used to hate' past, like, three months into my freshman year. This is going to be the most self-absorbed shit ever, but, like, once I became popular, I couldn't be bothered to hate you. Didn't have the time to put towards that."

"Oh, of that I've no doubt. That was absolutely the read everyone who tried to interact with you got."

Steve ducks his head to hide his own embarrassment by fiddling with the can in his hands. "I thought you wanted to do, like, 20 questions or something."

"Oh. Serious? You'll do it?"

"Yeah."

"Right then. What even are the rules for 20 questions? Is it 20 questions each, or in total asked?"

"I dunno, man. I don't think people actually keep track. I think we just ask questions until we're done with talking. I guess the rules are don't lie, and if you don't want to answer a question, then don't. Pass on it, or whatever."

Eddie nods but he's still nervous, leg still bouncing. A look on his face so close to fear it makes Steve ache a little. He knows too well what far looks like on Eddie, experienced a week's worth of it.

Steve can start. Ease them into this. "Do you got a favorite color?"

Eddie shifts then. Turns sideways on the couch to lean against the armrest and face him. "Wait. One more rule. No mocking answers. You may laugh once at an answer."

"If you are about to tell me it's hot pink, I cannot follow that rule."

"It's not hot pink. Jesus. It's, uhh, brown, actually," Eddie says, rolling his can between his hands. "It used to be red but. I dunno. When I think of red, now, I think of the sky in the upside down and how that was almost the last thing I ever saw. I think of blood, and bleeding out."

And here he thought he was easing them into this with the most basic of questions. Eddie's already being vulnerable. "Follow up question, if you'll allow it. Why brown?"

"What's wrong with brown?"

"Nothing. Just thought you'd pick black or something," Steve gestures to all of Eddie.

At that, Eddie looks down at his mostly black outfit, the only part of it with any color is the DIO album art on his shirt, then back up. "Fair point. I guess brown just makes me think of home. The wooden porch, the paneling, brown dirt road that leads to the trailer. It's also, like, a good eye color. Exhibit A," He waves his hand in front of his face, batting his eyes exaggeratedly. It pulls a laugh from Steve.

"I can't argue that," Steve waves towards his face, where his own eyes have been described by many a girl as ranging from hazel to honey, but Steve just thinks of them as brown. "Your turn, man."

"You, tragically, had never heard of Ozzy before we met. What's your music of choice, and why is it the Top 40?"

"Like everybody didn't hear you singing along to I Wanna Dance With Somebody last week when it came on the radio at the Byers' Barbecue-"

"Whitney is a national treasure and I will not be slandered for knowing the words to any of her songs."

"Yeah, yeah. I guess it was just the Top 40, but really I don't have a preference. I just let other people pick the music. And, uhh, with the multiple concussions I don't listen to as much music as I used to. The migraines are brutal. It's never the music that brings on the migraine but like, it never helps, y'know?"

Eddie is nodding. "I do know. Like when you get sick and vomit, you avoid the last thing you ate, even when it turns out to be the flu and not food poisoning. Like, you know it wasn't the mango milkshake that made you throw up, but you avoid the mango flavor anyway."

There's definitely a full story in that somewhere. Maybe Steve will ask about it later. "Kinda? I don't avoid music but I don't think I've put a record or cassette in the player in months. Anyway, my turn. How'd you learn to play the guitar?"

"Wayne. He started teaching me before I live with him. Just a few chords when we'd visit every so often when I was little. Really got to learn after he took me in. I was eleven, if memory serves."

"Am I allowed to ask about your parents?" Steve interrupts.

"Yeah. Speaking of parents," Eddie's nervous again, bouncing his leg.

"It's your turn. Ask."

"I know the high school reputation. Big house, no parents. I might have even snuck over a few times to sale here when I knew a party was happening. Rich kids will pay whatever price you name, y'know? So, guess the actual question is, what's the deal there, with your parents?"

Steve would laugh except he has no memory of ever seeing Eddie at his house prior to all the fuckery that's gone down. He was too in his own head to bother with other people back then. And the real kicker? He probably bought from Eddie, at his own house, with his supposed grudge and all. God, he was such a dick. "Yeah. Lots of business trips, for them. The used to ship me off to spend a month with my grandparents when I was little, so they could take those trips. Guess once I was old enough to watch after myself, those trips started to happen whenever, instead of just over summer."

"What, they left you here alone as a kid? Even during the school year?"

Eddie sounds so scandalized it'd be funny if it wasn't so sad. Steve says, "I wouldn't say kid. I was fourteen, so, like, a teenager. But, yeah, gone a lot. More and more with each passing year. I mean, they've been back, but like, for a day or two. Mom switching out what jewelry she wanted and dad bit by bit emptying his office." He pauses with a frown, remembering now the last time he did see his parents face to face. "It was about halfway through senior year. The last time they were here. They didn't even come to my graduation."

Eddie sucks in a breath and Steve can visibly see him hold back some choice words.

"Anyway, long sob story short, I'm still just a rich kid with absent parents. They don't charge me rent or anything, but I pay to keep the lights on."

"That just adds so many more questions to my list."

"Well, it's my turn now, so. What got you into Dungeons and Dragons?"

Eddie looks surprised, and then guilty. "I've always liked fantasy. And, uhh, my Freshman First Day, the DnD booth was set up in the cafeteria, an okayish looking dragon drawn on the poster taped to the booth's edge. And, uh, I approached..."

"No one told you to fuck off?"

"I didn't tell you to fuck off."

"Might've hurt less if you had," Steve hadn't even meant that to be insulting, or insinuating, but it doesn't land. He'd been aiming for teasing and missed the mark, given the way Eddie jerks back, like he's trying to put more distance between them. "Oh, shit, Eddie, I didn't mean- I was-"

The doorbell rings out and both jump, turning to the front door like it might bite them. The bell chimes again, and it's then Steve remembers he ordered pizza. Wordlessly Steve gets up and deals with that. Pays for the pizza and gives a tip, stops in the kitchen long enough to grab some napkins, then folds himself back onto the couch, placing the pizza box on the cushions between them.

The time away from the couch, less than three minutes in total, Steve thinks, was enough to calm Eddie again, since he starts the teasing, "greasy pizza box directly onto the cushions! That'll never come out you know."

Steve shrugs and grins, flipping the box open to grab a pizza slice. "That's a problem for Future Steve."

Eddie grabs his own slice, and they just eat their first slices in silence before Steve breaks that, "I really wasn't trying to- earlier, I was trying to joke. About Freshman First Day. Not, uh, not like, pick a fight. So, if you still want to talk, I think it's your turn to ask a question. Any question. A big question."

"Alright. A big one. Who is Christopher?"

"Okay. Uh, just, give me a moment. I'll answer and I'm gonna be real honest right now with you, so just let me get through this, ok?"

Eddie nods, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Steve gathers his thoughts, and speaks. "Christopher was my cousin. His family lives in Washington, so I don't see them much. You know that 'shipped off to the grandparents' thing I told you about earlier? Christopher, and his younger siblings, Amber and Robert, also came out to visit.

"I think my grandparents loved to have us all there. My cousins were there for family time, and I was there to just... not be in my parent's way, I think, but the reason why doesn't matter. The important bit. Christopher was two years older than me, and I thought he was the coolest person in the world. I wanted to be just like him. That last summer we spent together, he told me all about the game of Dungeons and Dragons he'd played with his club at school.

"It made me want to play. I was a kid who loved fantasy, too. I had to pretend to leave that behind when I got into middle school; too afraid of disappointing my dad for still liking make believe. I didn't know at the time that making him proud was just something I'd never achieve.

"Anyway, Christopher introduced me to the game, told me the entire campaign they'd run at his school, and then sent me those books. He's the reason I was at the booth that day. If Christopher could play sports and be a nerd, maybe I could, too? But, uh, that didn't go how I planned in my head. And, then. Then," Steve stops here, a knot in his throat but his eyes dry. It's not that he doesn't still mourn the loss of Christopher, it's just that the tears have dried up long ago. "Christopher committed suicide, that year. Halfway through the school year. I think... I think even if I had joined your club, if you had let me take that flier, I would have dropped out after the funeral. I'd wanted to join so bad so that Christopher would be proud of me."

The room has lost focus, now. Steve is staring forward but he doesn't really see Eddie anymore. It's like he's fallen into his thoughts and nothing else exists anymore. "It's a bit fucked up, but being older than me, I think I looked for approval in him that I didn't find in my dad, or maybe I wanted to be him because his parents were so proud of everything he did and I wanted that. Approval. I- it's- I think I used to confuse the two. Approval and love. Maybe I still do? I dunno.

"I guess I just wrapped all that up, the need for approval, Christopher's suicide, my love for fantasy, and shoved it in the same bottle deep down that I kept my anger at you in," Steve blinks himself back into the present. Takes in Eddie's face, a mix of sad and fond, like he wants to wrap Steve in a hug. Steve would probably let him. "That wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

Eddie shakes his head no. "You don't have to apologize to me, Stevie. I get it. You wore your jockness that same way I wear The Freak. Like armor. You weren't wrong, earlier, when you said we were dumb kids who learned to lash out and hurt first, so we couldn't be hurt. I was fucking, no, I am still like that. I mean, I just lashed back out at you when all you did was point out how I'd acted to you."

"Yeah, well, life gives everyone a shit hand sometimes. I used to capitalize on that. Kick people when they were down. It's- it's humbling and, like, awful, to unpack that. I know I'm still working on it, but I didn't have to do it alone. Robin and Dustin have been there for me. Great. They call me on my bullshit and it's easier to take then, hearing it from people I know who care about me."

"Guess I better ask find someone to call me out then."

"Haven't you already?" Steve asks, gesturing to himself.

Eddie barks a laugh. "I- yeah, I guess. You sayin' you care, Harrington?"

"Of course I do, man. We wouldn't be doing this -talking about deep shit and getting pizza grease all over my couch- if I didn't."

He watches Eddie turn red, and hide behind his hair. "Could just be doing it for the kids."

"I could. Guess you'll have to trust I'm not. That I also want a do over."

Eddie shoots him a big smile, dimples on full display, and Steve's happy to let go of his grudge if it means Eddie will smile at him like that more.

-

((Looks like there's going to be one more part. Thought this would be the last one but the boys wouldn't cooperate so next part.))

[formosusiniquis]

a particular kind of girl

Steve Harrington/Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins WC: 4669 | E | Tags/Themes: Genderfluid!Steve Harrington; Lingerie; Feminine Terminology used for Steve; Smut; Dom!Carol and Steve; Sub!Tommy AO3 a very special thank you to @itcanbepalped for being my smut guidance counselor and helping me get unstuck

Carol was particular.

It was a trait Tommy really liked in her. A trait she shared with the other member of their little trio. So clearly it wasn’t something that bothered him since he’s seeking it out. She keeps her planner filled out, starting at the end of the week and making disappointed little tongue clicks every time someone -- Tommy, it was usually Tommy -- forced her to have to change it. She planned her outfits out every weekend on the phone with Stevie, an activity he’d been party to once and promptly uninvited to. She was an everything in its place kind of girl, and he loved that.

It just made giving her gifts hard.

“No.”

Stevie snorts from the floor, doesn’t even have to look up from the magazine to know it’s funny how mercilessly Tommy just got shut down.

“Babe, what? It’s a gift, I thought you could wear it tonight.”

Carol smiles his favorite smile, small and a little mean. It makes him feel high, but in a sexy way. “I know what you thought was going to happen,” she says, “but I’m not wearing that. The yellow is going to make me look like my fucking liver is failing, the triangle cups are going to make my tits look small, and wearing a thong under my dress is like asking one of your neanderthal friends to flip my skirt.”

She tears it down effortlessly as Stevie hums along with each point from the floor, leaving him a little dizzy. The gift he’d been hoping to unwrap like a sexy present later that night held in his hand still like a kid’s handmade mother’s day gift: a sweet gesture but ultimately not worth the tissue paper it’d been wrapped in.

“Don’t be sad, baby, you just got confused.”

“Confused?” His head feels like it’s a size too big for his body. Like they’ve already started pre-gaming even though they hadn’t cause Mr. and Mrs. Harrington were still in the house, wouldn’t leave to catch their flight for another hour.

“Yeah, Tom, confused,” Stevie chimes in, always happy to pick up the thread of Carol’s teasing if she was the one to start it first.

Carol’s nails are long enough that he can feel them scrape along his arm with the soft pads of her fingers. Goosebumps rise in their wakes, “It’s okay to admit you really bought this for Stevie.”

He tries to deny it, “But Steve’s-”

“A girl sometimes, it’s so hard to predict.”

Stevie was particular too. Never a hair out of place. He… She would always make sure she showed up at any event perfectly pressed and ready. Even if it was a basketball game with the guys, her shoes would be clean, laces white as the tube socks pulled up her calves. She would slip away from him and Carol sometimes in the hall, he always thought she just got tired of watching them make out, but sometimes she would come back with her hair parted different and shiny gloss on her lips. Hard to predict.

“Stevie would look glowy in that sunshine yellow,” Carol husks in his ear. “You’re just a little dense sometimes, aren’t you, baby? But you noticed how pretty Stevie’s looked this week, didn’t you?”

She sits up from the floor, lips glossy and eyes big in a way he can kind of tell now isn’t entirely natural. Maybe that special mascara stuff Carol uses before they can go out for hangover food because she can’t go out to the diner looking hungover.

“You think I’m pretty, Tommy?” Stevie asks.

He thinks he does, thinks he must. Cause he spends a lot of time looking at Stevie, at her hands and her legs and her ass.

“Yeah,” he feels breathless when he answers. Red in the face probably, the way Carol always teases him about getting when he’s hot for it and embarrassed about it.

“And it’ll be really fun,” Carol says, lips every few words as she taunts him, “at the end of the night when you get to see her tits for the first time in this pretty bra you bought her, won’t it? You’ll get to be the first boy in town to see her pretty chest.”

And he’s seen them in the locker room when they were pecs. But this is different, makes him feel nervous, palms sweaty like the first time he and Carol were going to do it.

“I don’t know Carrie, I’m not a slut. I don’t just give it out to anyone,” Stevie says, something bored on her face. A look she normally sends guys like Peterson, not Tommy. She’s supposed to like him.

“We’re different though, aren’t we Stevie,” Carol coos, sticky and fake.

“Yeah, you can see ‘em sure.”

“Little girl on girl like when I sleepover?” 

Carol with her pale hand on Stevie’s golden skin. Cupping each other’s tits, Carol's nipples were sensitive, Stevie is so good with her hands, big for a girl’s sure but dextrous. A thumb brushing over the nub even through Carol’s rosy bra -- and he’s an idiot, of course he bought this lingerie for Stevie, he knows that Carol only wears soft pinks that make her skin look dewy and flushed -- it would be enough to leave his girlfriend gasping and begging. Carrie straddling Stevie’s muscled thigh, Stevie rubbing up against Carrie’s hip, the two of them grinding -- scissoring -- against each other. Panting desperately into one another’s mouths the closer they get to release.

Would they let him watch, even if he wasn’t good enough to touch?

“Give Stevie her present, Tommy,” Carol orders.

“Stevie.” He thrusts his hand in her face, feeling less like a kid with his mom and more like one of the losers who always try to give the cheerleaders carnations at Valentine’s.

She smirks, lip pulling up at one corner, brows raised just enough to make clear that the fumbling was noticed. Stevie takes the gift from his hands, lifting herself up from the floor enough to leave lipgloss sticky kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Tommy,” she murmurs against the side of his face before disappearing into her ensuite to change with a sway of her hips.

“Why don’t you start being good right now,” Carol says, a hand rubbing up and down his thigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and fix us both a drink. You know what we like.”

Stevie and Carol are particular.

Tommy spends most of the party trailing behind them or running to get something for them.

When he gets it right he gets rewarded. Carol kisses him rough and dirty, tongue slipping into his  mouth for a second before she takes her drink. Stevie, more careful by necessity, gropes him; grabs his ass, disguises it as a locker room smack, before coming in close to pass along her thanks.

But he gets it wrong more than he gets it right. And that’s even better.

“Tommy,” Carol says, the tone she’s used with him all night the same one she uses with her dog, talking to him like he’s something sweet but dumb. “I don’t drink keg beer, remember. Go back and get me a Coors from the cooler.”

“Didn’t you watch Miller spike this with that cheap ass vodka from the plastic bottle?” Stevie asks, “I’m not drinking that. There’s still some Absolut in the freezer, splash of that in some orange juice.”

Each insult, each dig as his intelligence and ability sinks him down even further into a high he didn’t even have to pay the Freak for. He’s floating, barely thinking, just something for Stevie and Carrie to make use of. 

When he’s done playing fetch, he’s a chair. Carol beckons him closer with a wave of her hand, pushing him down onto the sofa before wiggling down into his lap, worsening and hiding a problem that had been steadily growing with each barb and errand. An ache he could feel but hoped would be taken care of if he just kept being good. It’s just them for the first time since Stevie went to change. She’s across the room, taking John Peters for a ride, pretending like she doesn’t have a pool table in her own basement that she’s basically a pro with. He’s with it enough to tell that they’re getting to the part of the game where she convinces her opponent to put some money down, one leg hiked up onto the table nearly bent in half over top of it.

“Look at her.” The music is loud enough that Carol’s speaking voice, the sultry warmth of it, is covered. “Can you see the way Stevie’s showing off the pretty panties you got her.”

And he can. Bent over the side of the table, her shirt has come untucked from the back of her pants and visible over the top is the yellow strap of her thong.

“Think she’s showing off for you? Think she’s got her ass up in the air so you can see how much she loves that special set you picked out for her? Or do you think she’s hoping someone like Johnny will see it and actually show her a good time?”

“Care,” he’s whining now, desperate and hard underneath her.

“What? Do you want me to talk about what I think she’s going to let you do to her? How sweet you’ve been and what you’ve earned? She likes giving head so much it’s probably time someone returns the favor.

“You can suck her off, see how she fills out those panties.” 

It sounds like an order and it’s overwhelming in a thousand different ways. He rests his head against her back to help hide the way he moans.

“If you do a good job maybe you can even play with her tits while I ride you.”

He’s panting, rough and hot into the back of the blouse she’s wearing, “Carrie, I can’t. I can’t.”

She shifts in his lap again and the sharp dig of her fingernails in his cheek is the only thing that keeps him from blowing his load right there. He’s dragged into eye contact, staring deep into the blue ringed black of her eyes. She’s turned on too.

“At your limit, baby?” she coos, and it’s condescending but sincere. He knows all her inflections even when he’s higher than god and dumber than dirt. “Go get Stevie and we’ll go home. First night of spring break and we’ve already got that big house to ourselves.”

She slips out of his lap, with that last tease, sending him stumbling toward Stevie with a slap to the ass. Tommy stumbles forward, shuffles his feet forward to get to his other best girl. Brain clouding over everything except for his task and what’s going to happen when they get back to Stevie’s room.

There’s money at the edge of the table, and Peters is lining up a shot when Tommy makes it over. He feels drunk, probably looks it, and when he feels like a balloon whose tether is barely being held onto he thinks it’s fine that he lets himself slump into her side. “We’re ready to head out.”

A pile of crumpled bills sits on the edge of the table. Three striped balls sit in a crooked line and the eight ball is beside the corner pocket. Stevie starts to lean her cue against the table when Peters scoffs, “You always go running when you’re called, Harrington. We’re in the middle of the game, there’s money on the table.”

Stevie rolls her eyes, and the money that the guy could have had vanishes even if he doesn’t know it yet. “I usually listen when a girl tells me she’s almost finished,” Stevie says as she waves at Carol, the bitchy little finger wave they used to do in the high school hallway to acknowledge that something has held one of them up. “That’s why I get so many. Maybe it’s why you don’t.”

“You really going to admit to fucking Hagan’s girl right in front of him.”

“If that’s what you think you heard.” Stevie says with a dismissive flick of her hair. “It’s my turn, right? I’m getting bored.”

Peters gestures toward the table, an attitude problem that Tommy clocks through the syrupy slowness his brain has settled into. He pulls his attention closer to the surface of the thick molasses sweetness it’s settled into. Keeping one eye on the way Stevie swaggers to the table and another on the growing problem that is her opponent.

With a decisive stroke, she sinks the line of balls into the side pocket, each of them rolling in one after the other like well behaved school children. She locks eyes with Peters then, ruining the game but making it clear just what mistake he made, as she sends the 8 ball tumbling into the corner pocket.

“Good game, John Boy,” she says, not bothering to look at him as she grabs the pile of bills from the edge and thumbs through each one.

Stevie doesn’t usually take victory laps, but she does like to make people sit in the consequences of their stupid choices occasionally. Doing it now means she misses the way John Peters’ face storms over and the way he menaces toward her.

Tommy doesn’t. And with his higher brain function hidden somewhere deep in a closet. Put to sleep by the way Carol and Stevie have handled him all night. He doesn’t have a chance of stopping the dumber, primal parts of him from reaching forward grabbing the other guy’s arm in a tight fisted grip before he can do something stupid like try to hit Stevie. Violence isn’t his normal go-to. When his brain hasn’t been sanded down by sweet condescension he prefers breaking the tension with a shitty joke or two. But he likes the way he can feel the bones in John’s wrist grind together in his hold. “Don’t.”

“Call off your fucking guard dog, Harrington.” There’s a waver in the plea, a tiny bit of fear that makes him feel almost as good as the obvious pleasure on Stevie’s face.

“If you weren’t being a sore loser I wouldn’t need the guard,” she muses, but Tommy knows her tells. He doesn’t let go until he sees the flick of amusement kissing her smile, right before she says, “Down boy, heel.”

Still he gives one more threatening squeeze to John’s arms before he bares his teeth and lets go. It makes Stevie laugh, which is all Tommy cares about, and the sound of it makes Carol perk up from her spot on the sofa like one of those little prairie rats at the zoo.

Time to go.

Stevie is particular. Likes things neat, tidy, contained.

It means the bed he’s sitting on is actually made. The navy comforter, soft under his palms, is pulled up to the pillows. The sheets beneath probably pulled into hospital corners.

It means she folds each piece of clothing she pulls off Carol. He stares, hungry eyes flitting between the two of them, the milky and freckled skin of Carol’s back and the spread of Stevie’s hand against it. The rosy pink bra gets flicked open with a pinch of two fingers.

“Are you watching, Tom? There’s gonna be a quiz,” Stevie asks, bringing her opposite hand up to pinch a dusky nipple he can just make out in the side profile.

“You’re, ah, confusing the metaphor,” Carrie teases, back arching to put her closer to Stevie who rewards her, bending down to soothe that pinch with a talented mouth.

“Right,” Steve agrees, pulling her mouth away from Carol’s tits long enough to send him a predatory smile. “He’s our puppy.”

He’d be embarrassed by the noise that leaves his mouth if he was thinking much at all any more.

The girls share a look, giggling in a way that makes him feel small and dumb and fantastic.

“That’s a game to play some other time.”

“Feeling impatient, Stevie.”

“Like you aren’t?” She straightens up, sliding her hand up Carol’s thigh. Moving slowly so Tommy can track every inch of creamy skin disappearing and reappearing from under her olive-toned palm. So he can see how her fingers disappear beneath Carol’s pretty purple skirt.

“Wanna guess how wet she is, baby?”

“Please,” Tommy hears himself beg.

“God, Stevie, your fingers,”  Carol moans, louder than she’s ever been with him. Turning to catch his eyes from over her shoulder, barely able to hold them open.

“You’re still dressed, baby. You wouldn’t be able to do anything if we came over.” Steie says. Her fingers working in Carrie’s pussy just a vague movement he can barely make out from under the skirt.

“Maybe he’s waiting on you, Stevie. You’re still hiding his special present.” she manages to pant out.

And she is. Carol is half-dressed, tits bare with her skirt still on, one hand clinging to Stevie’s arm. Stevie is fully dressed, arousal evident as she stares down Tommy. Even though they’re in equal states, Tommy feels stripped naked.

Bare beneath Stevie’s knowing gaze.

“That must be it,” Stevie agrees. “Can you get me undressed, baby? Can you do it before I get Carrie off?”

Stevie has a challenge on her face that Tommy is familiar with. The kind they used to share at sleepovers right before a dare, a bet. He’s been trained by years of ‘betcha can’ts’ and triple dog dares.

He tumbles off the bed, mussing the covers in his haste to get to them. Carol is close, he knows, and even though the mess makes Stevie tutt disappointedly every second is one closer to losing.

Crouched on the floor, kneeling at their feet, Tommy can hear the sound of Stevie’s fingers inside Carol. The slick, wet sound of how turned on she is louder than the quick and heavy way she’s breathing. There’s a decision he has to make now, can see in the smug curl of Stevie's lip the choice will have to be all his, what half of his present does he reveal first?

There wasn’t actually any choice. Even as he’s nose to fly with Stevie, Tommy has his hands buried in her stupid shirt. Pushing it up and revealing the trail of hair that’s disappearing into her jeans, the hint of yellow sticking out above them that he hopes he’ll get to see later.

Tommy keeps pushing. Up, up to his toes, revealing more skin as Stevie’s shirt moves up to. Up over her head, off one arm.

It dangles, caught at the elbow of the arm still bringing Carol closer and closer to the edge. Any other time it would be funny, perfect, particular Stevie at any sort of odds. But Tommy's a bit distracted.

With the shirt gone his hands can move back down. Can flirt with the soft cotton on her chest, feel the way the flowers embroidered along the cups are rough against his palms as he cups and squeezes. He relishes in the more firm give of them, more muscled than Carol’s but just as much fun to hold.

Like she can sense him thinking that, shoulder to shoulder like they are Carol turns licking a line up his arm where skin is exposed. The warning he knows to expect before she’s biting down on his cloth covered shoulder. Stevie might have brought her to climax but he’s the tool she’s using to keep herself grounded. His body throbs at the thought, his shoulder where her teeth grind and elsewhere in the places where he’s hard and aching.

Carol lets go. Kisses the spot once, twice. Gasping against his arm, hot breath causing a chill down his spine now, as Stevie pulls out.

The shirt Tommy couldn’t remove slumps down to the floor. The crumpled pile erotic in an abstract way his lit professor would want him to explain. He might have even been able to, if Stevie didn’t bring two wet fingers up to his mouth. They tap his bottom lip, sliding in any way before he can open, rough against his palate and pushing until they can curl back to flirt with his throat. Carol is heavy on his tongue, heavy against his side.

“If you don’t tell him what to do he’ll just grope you all night.” Carrie tells Stevie. She gives him a light shove just too make sure the dig lands.

“It's only the second pair he's ever touched, I thought I'd let him have a little fun.”

The bed squeaks as Carrie throws herself down on it. “Suit yourself,” she says, “I can’t come from his hands fumbling around like he’s trying to open his locker again, but you’ve always been special.”

He’s found her nipple, rubs the bud of it. 

“Oh, left 32, right 18, left 67,” Stevie moans fake as that porno he slipped out of the back room at Family Video. Just like that video, he still gets hot.

“Come over here,” Carol purrs, sweet as she can be. She pats the bed beside her and Stevie shrugs off his hands to crawl up into the bed beside her. A hand cupped around one ear, a familiar sight, his two girls whispering, giggling.

“You really think he’s earned it,” Stevie asks, loud enough for Tommy to hear on purpose. Her eyes flick up and down him as a coy smile plays on her lips.

“No,” Carol says, a matching smile on hers. “But if you let him I’ll play with you so you can actually get off.”

“Can’t find your clit so you think he won’t be able to find mine.” Tommy flashes hot under the collar of the shirt he’s still wearing. Stevie’s grin has tipped over from coy to wry, she’s the cat playing with his canary.

“Maybe I wanna have a little fun with you too, babe.”

They're beautiful together, curled into each other on their sides. Only showing off the softest angles of themselves. Soft breasts and the curve of Stevie's gorgeous ass. He would be fine, standing here like a limp dick just watching them play and tease one another. Trading spit that still tastes like house party screwdrivers and shitty beer while they use their hands and bodys to rub one another off. Panting, laughing, squealing, half of the fun in the fact that he only gets to watch and they get to decide what he sees.

He'd be fine with that. His girls are particular and they always know what's going to please them.

Stevie rolls over, shimmies and rolls her hips to work those too tight jeans down. Finally showing the way she's hot and wet and straining against the soft yellow thong he gave her. Carol is already playing with her, running two fingers around the tip.

“Try to get your pants off, Stud.” Stevie orders, “I'll let you get up close with my boobies.”

Carrie's free hand reaches over, pinches Stevie’s nipple hard enough to make her writhe. Tommy struggles harder with the zip on his pants, desperate to get them off.

“That word is disgusting,” Carol says with a sniff. Still playing with Stevie’s clit the same way Tommy has watched her play with herself, two fingers rubbing in slow circles before she drags her thumb down in a firm line. 

“Prude, you and Robin should play together.”

There's something small and devious in her smile that he decides is for Stevie to handle. He is too worried about the way the band of the bra he bought is being folded, curled carefully he assumes for him.

“If he were smarter I'd say he planned this,” Carrie says. “No underwire, that silky band.”

“We'll see how it holds up, you know I hate when people ruin my things when they're careless.”

His shirt is still on. Dick out and leaking, he'll definitely stain it. It's more important to get on the bed, to crawl up the side Carol isn't on. “Throw your leg over. Try not to act like such a virgin.” Stevie demands.

He does, straddles her chest, tucking his knees into the hollow beneath her arms. She grins when he's settled into place, reaches up to yank his shirt off before bringing both hands up to push her tits together.

He thursts once, by accident, dick slipping under the band of the bra gripped by it and the shallow channel she’s made for him. Tommy looks, locks eyes with her feeling like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Instead of chatizing, instead of lecture, she raises a brow and it says ‘just this once he can have dessert before dinner.’ Or maybe it says ‘good dog’ or ‘A+’, he’s lost track of what’s he’s supposed to be other than theirs and listening.

The hand on Carol’s side of the bed lets go. Moved down until it’s making her whine, touching her sensitive places, Stevie getting her fingers wet again too soon after the first time. And as Carol bites at Stevie’s neck and shoulder with a renewed focus on getting the other woman to cum, Stevie is getting him wet.

She takes that slick she’s gathered from Carol, mixes it with the pre he’s been leaking all night.

When she’s done she presses her tits back togheter. Tommy is still looking her in the eyes, stunned, when she spits.

It drips down the head, pools in the concave of her chest. “Be a good boy and get yourself off.”

Tommy doesn’t need to be told twice. Is barely given permission before he’s rutting against her chest. Chasing that friction, the release he’s been craving for hours. He’s been on edge for longer than he’s ever been before, he feels like some sad virgin. A two-pump chump. Like a stiff breeze could do him in. And right as he’s reaching the precipice, Stevie grabs ahold of him and pushes once again.

Tongue out, she catches him on the upward thrust. Swirls that pink, pink tongue around the head.

And he’s done for. 

He cums hard. Catching Stevie's mouth, her chin, dripping down her chest. A pearl necklace that touches the edges of those yellow, triangle cups.

Hard enough that he isn't sure he's not just dreaming of how good she looks. Cause he's pretty sure once he finally cums he blacks out.

Sometime, he’s not even sure how much later, he realizes that Stevie and Carol are talking. Tommy has been manuvered into the middle. Flat on his back, Carol is sitting high on the bed, propped up by pillows and running her fingers through his hair; her nails scratch at his scalp every few passes. Stevie is tucked in tight to his side, nose buried into his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

“All I'm saying is I thought she was hot when she had that awful perm junior year.’

“You can't call dibs on a person, that's feminism.” Stevie murmurs back, answer slow and half slurred with sleep.

“She’s your best friend. Convince her when you go pick her up from campus tomorrow.”

Stevie snorts, an ugly, ungraceful sound that usually means she's thought of something she isn't going to share. “What's in it for me?”

They both know he's awake again, they know each other too well for the girls not to. But if he wasn't sure, Carol sinking her fingers in his hair and tugging, pulling him up and baring his neck for Stevie would cinch it for him.

“I'll let you play with the puppy,” she says. “You can have him all to yourself.”

“Yeah, okay, deal.” Stevie’s smile spreads slow across her face, he can feel it against the thin skin of his ribs.

A shiver runs down his spine, fear, arousal, anticipation. He can only imagine the plans Stevie must be dreaming up for just the two of them. She is, after all, very particular.

[brat-pack-it-up-boys]

Day 304 of mourning the loss of Randel Anderson from the outsiders musical

[slowandsteddie]

A study in Steve’s hair. Kind of…

Okay. So we all know that Thanksgiving is incredibly toxic and terrible and why, right? Fantastic.

In case y’all need a reminder. Here. Someone summed it up on Quora.

The party and the older teens are gathered to celebrate surviving and being together. You can decide where the adults are, because that’s not my business.

This is just a little idea that I could not get to leave my head and I’m making it your problem.

349 words.

Cw: mentions of food, Steve’s hair being played with makes him feel floaty, Steve compares himself to a mutt and it does something for him that he can’t act on

Steve looked around his living room and realized very quickly that all of the good seats were taken. Instead of asking anyone to move, which he could have, he crossed the room and sat on the floor.

He was leaning against the couch, near Eddie’s hand with his eyes trained on the game that someone had put on because of “Thanksgiving Tradition.” It wasn’t him, but he didn’t really care to figure out who.

He had just finished the gravy, the last thing that was needed for the holiday meal, and decided that he wanted a few minutes to be mindless like everyone else before they ate.

Slowly, his head fell back against the arm of the couch and his eyes fluttered briefly. He noticed that the score was 3 to 7, but he didn’t really care much beyond that because neither team was his.

Almost instantly, a hand found its way into his hair and his eyes rolled back as Eddie played in it. He couldn’t focus on anything that anyone was saying anymore because long, slender fingers were curling in and gripping his hair so gently. The slightest tug had his neck arching slightly in an effort to get closer to the attention that he hadn’t fully realized that he was craving.

A slight tingly sensation had started where the follicles were tugged and slowly cascaded down his entire body. It left him feeling a little floaty if he were being entirely honest.

His eyes flicked up toward Eddie who wasn’t even looking at him. The other man was driving him crazy absentmindedly, the same way one would pet a dog while distracted by whatever else they were doing.

God, why did the thought of being Eddie’s mutt do something for him?

Steve looked away quickly, but didn’t say or do anything that would ruin the absolute heaven that was Eddie playing in his hair.

Just a few more minutes of this, he thought to himself. Just a few more minutes, and then he’d tell everyone that food was ready and that they should go dig in.

[potpourrifandoms]

Hell yeah I loved tactical breach wizards and your telling me I get to see cool Gracie fan art of it hell yeah

Well... I don't know if I'd go so far as to call it "cool", but I definitely have been drawing Steve and Bori a lot lately. Not in their in-game clothes (those look too hot/difficult to draw), but I mean... I gave them comfy PJs, so that's something. They can have a slumber party while holed up in a safehouse waiting for Liv to finish doing her Big Important Liv Things.

It's such a fun game, though. I did not expect the story part to punch me in the gut as much as it did!!

[blackynsupremacy]

watching the outsiders after 10+ years as an adult hits so hard, i don’t even want to finish the ending. 😭

[imsodishy]

I dunno, I think it would have been fun if Nancy had (begrudgingly) taken Steve to Pennhurst Asylum as her backup, warning him to let her do all the talking no less than five times. Only for the director to step out all, "Steven! Haven't seen you in a dog's age. How's your mother?" Because, see, well-respected in the community Mrs. Harrington is on the board of trustees, and he can King Steve finesse their way in no prob.

Just a thought.

[reuptakeinhibitor]

i love stobin working retail jobs and sharing a resume so much but consider this. steve follows robin to bloomington, indianapolis, west lafayette, wherever she decides to go and they get a little apartment. maybe they decide to go out of state but i think they stay in the midwest. then st takes a page from buffy and steve works construction while robin goes to school.

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

do you have any more thoughts about your stevebucky werewolf au? i love it very much, it holds a very special place in my heart ❤️

Original werewolf Steve

Follow up werewolf Steve

Aw, thank you! ❤️

I was having trouble thinking about what more I could add to this alternative universe that wouldn't be redundant because werewolf puppy Steve scrambles my brain so hard.

If anyone brings him up, suddenly I don't know anything. There are no words but lots of in-my-pants feelings. Nothing but big, fat, dumb puppy Steve that crawls on all-fours with his belly dragging on the ground for as long as he's still able to wobble forward. Still mobile. And even when he can move…

He's too big.

That belly is blubbery and thick and heavy. It leaves his back arching deeply. Bloated full of enough meat to satiate the ravenous wolf inside him along and bloated full of sloshy alcohol because the wolf inside Steve is obsessive, relentless, and it's been trained to crave, to ache for enough alcohol to drown in.

BUT inspiration struck ✨️✨️✨️

And as I was thinking about Steve, blubbery and wobbling, I had a new thought that scrambled my fragile little brain.

What happens when Steve fattens up from the monthly gorges?

I-

*gulp*

I have some ideas.

Unbeta'd stucky belly kink nonsense. Warnings for stuffing, weight gain, mobility issues, immobility, animal play (werewolf/puppy), etc.

Eventually, with month after month of gorges under the light of the full moon and the eyes of his indulgent lover, Steve begins to blow. up. His wolf form and his human form. Both go through rapid transformations that have nothing to do with the moon's cycle.

Steve's wolf form: his lean, all-muscle, powerful frame blooms into the body of a soft, excessive, lazy housepet. He's more of a puppy than a wolf than ever before. He gets softer and softer until even when he's bloated beyond belief with food and alcohol - taut and flushed red under his fur - his belly fits in with the rest of his frame. He starts to look fat all the time in wolf form. Bloated or not. It's unmistakable. It's not just a belly that looks like it's fake, sticking out. His legs don't ripple with muscle. Instead, they jiggle with fat. His belly hangs hugely underneath his swollen chest and forces his legs apart wider, altering how he prowls. He lumbers. It's much less intimidating and much hotter. Clumsy and uncoordinated because his hunger is so out of control. His spine is buried by not only his thick fur but his new blubber as well. Nowhere on his body is immune to the weight he packs on. His muzzle even fills out. Bucky didn't know wolves could get fat faces! His puppy-wolf has a chubby face. So cute.

Steve's human form: his lean, all-muscle, powerful frame becomes buried under layers and layers of fat. His human form fattens much faster than his wolf form; somehow, the wolf has a faster metabolism than Steve's serum-fast metabolism. His chin doubles sweetly, and his cheekbones go from model-sharp to biscuit-dough soft. Those broad shoulders round out with fat. His biceps look even fucking bigger than usual - pillowy, not hard - and strain all of his shirt sleeves, no matter how fast he sizes up, he just can't keep up. He's growing too big too quickly. Plumping up. His chest swells and swells from masculine and hard to swollen and flabby. He doesn't have pecs, he has tits. "Worst" of all, his belly explodes out. Despite how soft his gut gets, it retains the most mouth-watering round shape. It's a perfect dome. The tight, pale surface of the ball attached to him is only broken by the stretch of his belly button and his white, healed stretch marks. His ass is monstrous, as are his thighs. Jiggly. Pale. Big.

Big.

Steve gets bigger and bigger and bigger.

Until…

He's vast.

He is massive.

He is so fucking oversized and fattened that he struggles to move in his human form.

Steve is so fat that his gut and swollen tits weigh down on his plush thighs so heavily and seemingly overnight he can't, without Bucky's help, heave himself to standing. At that point, even with Bucky's help, by the time he gets to his feet, he's panting and sweating. Every breath makes him jiggle. He's red in the face and so hot. In more ways than one. All this insulation is hot and it's heavy, heavy on his cock. It's hot and humiliating. He used to run miles and miles without breaking a sweat, yet now he can't get from reclining on his fat, cushioned ass to his feet (which he hasn't been able to see for… a while) without panting and growing damp with sweat.

Oh, God.

What happened to him?

How did he get like this? 😫

How did he get like this? 🥵

He's never dreamed that he could overpower his body ever again. Not since the serum entered his veins. But. Here he is.

He's overcome his super muscles.

He's transformed his body again. He is huge.

Mammoth.

So fucking fat and soft and plush and-

So hungry.

He can't ever stop eating. He constantly has something in his mouth and much more inside his stomach. Filling him. Bloating him. Stuffing him. So fucking hungry.

It gets worse when Steve's in wolf form. His appetite increases exponentially. Steve can not control himself. He has to gorge. Feast. Glut. Devour. He feels absolutely starved in wolf form. He can't pack anything and everything into his hungry yet overfed maw fast enough. He can't swallow anything that ends up in front of his face for more than five seconds fast enough. He can't get enough.

No wonder he ballooned… 😮‍💨

But with all the fat that's piled up on his frame -

Steve can't move.

He's overpowered the serum in his veins and he's overpowered the wolf inside him.

All he can do, now that he's grown so fucking unbelievably massive, is lay on his bloated side and whimper. Desperate for food; desperate for prey to fill him deliciously.

Filling up is the only thing that stops him from complaining. It feels so good. Too bad he always needs more.

When Steve tries to roll over onto all-fours, needing so badly to hunt, he can't actually make it. He's too heavy. Too fat and clumsy. He can't get there.

Besides, if Bucky helps roll him onto all-fours, Steve can't go anywhere, anyway. He's all belly. His belly fills the space between him and the floor and more. On all fours in wolf form, he lays out on top of his gut, a little wolf attached to this obscene, huge belly.

His days of hunting are long behind him. The closest Steve gets to hunting these days are growling and snapping his teeth pathetically, non-threateningly at Bucky when Bucky teases him and doesn't push the end of the funnel straight into his mouth, instead dangling it just out of reach. What's he gonna do? He can't fucking move. He's all fat. Plush, wobbly fat. Bucky can do whatever he wants to his puppy. He can funnel endless amounts of beer and melted ice cream into him until he's lifted a few more inches off the floor from the inflation of his tanker gut. He can grab handfuls and handfuls of his fuzzy, jiggly fat. He can roll his puppy around if he likes. There are no hard edges left to his wolf. Only soft fat. Perfect to grope and admire.

Steve is a blimp. He's not a werewolf. He's pathetic. Perfectly shaped. He went from dragging his belly against the floor to his belly being the only thing resting on the floor. It's unbearably hot.

Bucky isn't sure how Steve could possibly get any bigger but… if he can, he will. Bucky will make sure he will. Human Steve and wolf Steve. Human Steve can still walk after all. That has to change, doesn't it? 😈

I hope you enjoyed ❤️

[morganbritton132]

Does Steve try to pull any pranks on Eddie for April Fools Day? I feel like we know Eddie pranks Steve for his tik tok but does Steve ever get Eddie? I don’t think Steve’s pranks would land like he intends lol. Kinda like Winston from New Girls

Oh, definitely! Steve doesn’t so much as prank Eddie as he just baffles him.

Steve has done the salted cookies. He made Eddie a cup of tea once with lemon juice instead of water. He once called Eddie over to the window multiple times to see the animal in their yard when there wasn’t an animal in their yard.

The year after they got Ozzy, Steve left to take him to the dog park and came back with a different dog. Eddie was obviously confused and asked where Ozzy was. Steve’s just like, “What are you talking about? This is Ozzy.”

“Steve, this is a Doberman.”

“Yeah? There were so many dogs there, Ed. I could barely find him. Eventually I just yelled his name and he came to me.”

“Steve, Ozzy is not a Doberman. Her collar says her name is Jewel.”

“Close enough, right?”

“Close en- You’re fucking with me. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Steve grins. “This was a good one though, yeah? Ozzy is across the street.”

This year, Steve took out a classified ad in the newspaper claiming to be a guy that’s looking to buy a canoe and he put down Eddie’s phone number. Surprisingly a lot of people in Chicago are selling canoes, so Eddie has gotten quite a few calls to Steve endless amusement.

[webshootersandwingdings]

Hero Pup 🐕 🍕 • Marvel’s Avengers

[sharks-in-boots]

that minecraf movie trailer looks genuinely repulsive to me, specifically the sheep + llama ..... the high quality textures on the cube aesthetic is so. it's bad. And of course Jack Black is there. But why is he Steve!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why