#and i wrote the majority of it in like an hour and half the other day

[aroaceleovaldez]

What is the PR disaster in question that made Rick announce TSATS? I wasn’t active in the online fandom at that point

Of course! This was awhile ago so it figures people don't remember it/aren't familiar:

Basically a couple years back (2020) the fandom had some posts circulate discussing the ways different characters in the Riordanverse were written poorly or offensively. There was a masterpost that went around tumblr but the two major points people were particularly focusing on were Piper and Samirah (particularly because Piper had featured prominently again in Trials of Apollo recently and the third MCGA book had further emphasized and discussed Samirah being Muslim, since it was supposed to take place during Ramadan). Basically each had multiple posts breaking down the ways they were depicted incorrectly or offensively. The entire fandom for a little bit was VERY intensely discussing this (and it's around this time the "RR crit" tag got very popularized on tumblr - it did exist before, but suddenly was being used VERY frequently - cause it was that wide-spread - though the discussion took over basically every side of Riordaverse social media on different platforms). People really wanted Rick to respond to these criticisms, so he did!

He made two blog posts, one about Piper and one about Samirah. He has since deleted both so the links are to archived versions. The short version: he essentially tried to justify his poor research and double-down that he hadn't written them offensively, actually, people were just being mean to him. The fandom, of course, reacted poorly to this.

[Further elaborated events under the cut since this got a bit lengthy]

(Fun fact, this all happened within a month or so of the time i posted an open letter on aphobic tropes in the Riordanverse that Rick replied to, and then he immediately followed with announcing that Reyna was intended to be ace-coded [which cause a LOT of fandom debate] before Rick dipped for a couple of weeks, and then came back to post the blog posts in response to Piper and Sam stuff. So I like to jokingly refer to this as "The time I imploded the fandom/drove Rick off of twitter." Twas I that set the house ablaze.)

Rick fully left social media after this and the LT Musical social media manager became Rick's social media manager for the time being.

So this all happened June/July of 2020. Tower of Nero would end up being published in October of 2020 and a few months after that Rick would state that he was done with the series and wouldn't be writing any more series installments involving Percy, and also that he wouldn't be writing a Nico quest following Tower of Nero as it "wasn't his place to" and encouraged the community to write their own versions of Nico's story.

The community continued to circulate the tumblr posts and discuss the topics of Rick's offensive character depictions, and this is also where we see the dramatic shift in how the fandom depicts Piper in fanwork (though in most cases it is admittedly not an improvement 😬) because of all this discussion. This is also around the time when the fandom brought Viria under scrutiny claiming that she was whitewashing Piper as part of the same discussions, through the justification that she was drawing Annabeth as having tan skin (which she does canonically), and if Annabeth has tanner skin then Piper then that's whitewashing Piper? Except they were using completely separate images of not fully rendered Piper art versus Annabeth in dramatic lighting, so it's all very awkward and poor logic, and did actually get kind of racist. A lot of people were calling it "Tannabeth Blackchase" (yeah, i know) or similar and a common sentiment you'd see repeated is "Don't draw Annabeth as having darker skin than Piper, because that's offensive/racist/whitewashing." (Note: it was not phrased "don't draw Piper as having lighter skin than Annabeth" - we also won't get into certain offensive depictions of Native Americans, but I digress). But yeah, the Annabeth stuff in all that did not age well at all.

Anyways, in October of 2021 however Rick would announce that he was co-writing The Sun And The Star - with a lot of heavy emphasis on how Mark Oshiro works as a sensitivity reader, and some false advertising from the official social media that Mark Oshiro was the first time a non-Riordan author would be collaborating on the series (disregarding the ghostwriters completely). One of the big criticisms in the breaking down of issues in Rick's writing was his lack of ever seeking a sensitivity reader, and fans claiming that a sensitivity reader could solve a lot of the problems. This was basically Rick's "look! I totally listened!!!!" (though it did little to actually improve things, based on the book) and in TSATS as well Piper gets a large cameo at the end where the text very directly addresses a lot of points made in criticism of Rick's writing of her.

We also then of course got the CoTG trilogy later, explicitly stated to be for advertising purposes for the show.

So basically, short version: Rick came under scrutiny for a lot of offensive writing within the span of two months, made some bad blog posts doubling down about it, left social media. TOA ends. Rick says he wasn't going to continue the series/write what would become TSATS. Community celebrates the end of of the franchise but also continues to discuss Rick's poor writing and the blog posts at length. Rick suddenly announces TSATS and Mark Oshiro's involvement. Everybody gets distracted from being mad. Show announcement stuff also happens and the discussions peter out.

[saltlickmp3]

song that i wrote

[soutsuji]

There's an English class on Golden Age detective fiction being offered next semester but the prerequisite for it is the intro to literary study class required for all English majors (which I haven't taken because I'm in a hard STEM major and don't have much time for electives, which means that I have to be really picky with my electives and only go for stuff I like AND doesn't have an awful workload) and also even if I did have that prereq, I wouldn't be able to take the class because it's at the same time as one of my major reqs. And also I'll be in two labs next semester and one of them is pure hell so like I literally don't have the time to take more than 13 credit hours (as tempting as it is to keep up my streak of taking 17-18 every semester even though it's been like really pretty bad for my social life and hobbies). Sigh. (Pressing my hand wistfully against the glass) maybe someday they'll offer the class again

[cyberm4n]

You've now filled my head with nothing but Alastor and Lucifer brainrot. Any other sharing thoughts you have for them? (I cannot stop thinking about them, I quite literally thought about them sharing me during my entire 8hr retail shift yesterday)

alastor and lucifer sharing you pt 3!

pt1, pt2

this was highly requested, thank you all for the love <3 im tagging anyone who asked/was fine with it last time but now you can fill out this taglist form to ensure you're tagged for future posts!

tags: @lu-ferri12 @my-anime-garden @princessdreamss @polytheatrix @reaper-of-light-12 @ambi-squirrelly @hazelfoureyes @meggletoomanyfandoms @afernandez21

cw: angst ig?? idk reader is upset cause they keep fighting, general relationship issues for a moment, smut, reader gets eaten out, there's some light praise and condescension i think, alastor has a master kink, alastor discovers he LOVES eating pussy, there's like a weird sexual tension between alastor and lucifer for the majority of this if you squint, the ending is VERY suggestive

other: not 100% happy with formatting on this but i wrote majority of it on a 6 hour flight so like. you win some you lose some. not proofread that well, i kind of ramble at times too but it's fine. 2.1k word count and half of it is formatted in a headcanon cuase, again, lazy 6 hour writing. i also don't use the bolding and coloring that much cause it'd be a lot of work.

left the ending a little open, will probably do a poll tomorrow on if people want me to take this that direction.

■ okay so sex aside i would think outwardly everyone knows you're in a relationship with lucifer at the very least

■ but it's kept lowkey with the other part of the relationship

■ which both are fine with btw

■ lucifer loves pda so he's happy, alastor isn't a fan so it's whatever

■ the public part works out because alastor would genuinely be worried about someone trying to use you to get to him

■ it's bad enough that it's known the king of hell has a new partner, but nobody knowing that if they fuck with you they're fucking with the king of hell AND the radio demon is a silent advantage

■ if anyone knows, it's charlie. but only to the extent of like the fact it's a hinge relationship, everything else she doesn't know and honestly doesn't need to know

■ she's just happy her dad seems happy and is getting along better with alastor

■ i think alastor is the kind to really start caring during the relationship vs. lucifer caring about you deeply before

■ so occasionally alastor will pull you aside, or if no one is watching will just press a quick kiss on your forehead.

■ meanwhile lucifer is always making it known he's in love with you

■ arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, everything

■ again, alastor doesn't really mind unless lucifer decides to be an ass abt it

■ look they still compete with each other sometimes they can't help it

■ then it becomes a game of how much the other can get away with before you either get upset or it's too telling

■ that's the other thing is like, the competing gets really fucking annoying to you

■ we saw them in hells greatest dad it wasn't a want to be a better dad it's just wanting to out do the other

■ and when it transfers to your relationship it gets agitating fast

moving on

■ relationship side alastor isn't as involved with that

■ but if either of them did something that upset you or like there was a lovers quarrel between you and either side it's a big deal to them

■ especially if you're only upset with one half of the hinge

■ cause like, sure, they could compete with each other and purposefully drive you apart

■ but tbh.. both of them lowkey like this arrangement much more than they thought they would

■ so they end up talking to each other about it and figuring out what to do

■ same if you're upset with both

■ not that you're upset often it's just that when you are it's usually cause they crossed a line in their little competition

■ and they hate making their girl feel like a prize to be won :(

■ whatever their solution is, they do it together.

■ show you they can get along, that they both care about you enough

■ you're in your room, a bit of a blow up happened earlier after they got into one of their arguments

■ it's not that you genuinely think theyre using you to get to the other but sometimes with the way they act it's easy to doubt

■ anyways, they both come in, it's late

■ i cry when im frustrated/upset and i think it's a pretty normal reaction, so let's just say you're crying a little

■ they're both immediately at your side, apologizing profusely

■ you've never cried like this before

■ it scares them. alot.

■ for once there's absolutely no competition, the only worry is making you feel better.

■ both sitting next to you on the couch, lucifer murmuring how much he loves you, and how he knows how much alastor cares for you

■ i hate the whole "alastor doesn't understand emotions" thing because he does. he has to, he knows how to read people well.

■ it's just he hasn't ever comforted someone

■ he doesn't know what to do when someone he cares about is upset

■ so he's glad lucifer is here, as alastor just sits at your side nodding along and gently rubbing your back

■ alastor only tunes back in when lucifer offers to give some space for the night, and a little murmur from you agrees but asks they both come to bed that night

■ given its usually only lucifer who actually sleeps in the same bed as you alastor is surprised

■ but lucifer is beckoning him out for some space.

"cmon, we'll be back in an hour yeah?" he chimes from the door, and with a squeeze of your shoulder alastor is out of the door, but he opts to walk along with lucifer. "we gotta do better" lucifer sighs as he walks, not looking over at alastor. he's not accusing alastor, he seems equally disappointed in both of them.

"for her?" alastor adds, and lucifer gives a hum of agreement. "this while ordeal has been quite... stressful as of late, no?" alastor adds, "to our own faults, yes" lucifer murmurs, giving a sigh. alastor nods, and the two men walk in silence for some time, ending up in the parlor, husk far since gone to bed. "want anything?" lucifer pulls alastor back to reality once again, he's standing behind the bar while alastor had been staring off, his mind running with thoughtd of god knows what.

"whiskey, my friend?" alastor suggests, and giving it a considerate thought lucifer pours two glasses. the silence falls over them again, just the sound of the clink of their glasses on the counter.

"so tell me, how do you do it when you pleasure her?" alastor breaks the silence, lucifers eyes dart up to him. thinking for a moment before replying "i don't really think tonight is the time for that—" lucifer says, but in a gentle tone.

"no no, in the morning." alastor says, staring down at his glass. "you two indulge often in the morning, correct?" alastor says, now his eyes uncomfortably on lucifer. Watching as the other man almost pales a little, swallowing thickly.

lucifer immediately falters, giving a sigh. "look it's not— i‐ that's not her fault–" lucifer immediately starts, assuming this is a confrontation. his eyebrows raise as alastor shakes his head. "oh please, if i had problem with it i would have done something" he says, a static crackle echoing through the room. "no, i want to know how you do it when you... when it's just about her. how can i do the same?" alastor asks, and this is even more surprising to lucifer than this whole fucking idea in the first place.

■ so lucifer of course explains some stuff to him, of course it's hard because unless he's done it before it's hard to articulate some of his "moves"

■ i mean lucifer can hardly resist going down on you everytime, he's definitely experienced but it's hard to transfer that knowledge at times

■ but he's impressed alastor even asked

■ so when they return to your room, they're a lot more calmer with each other than before.

■ that night changed a lot between them tbh

■ it's slightly awkward for both of them when everyone gets settled in the bed

■ you're on your back, lucifer on your right side and alastor on the left.

■ they're both holding you to the best of their abilities

■ lucifer gives alastors hand a squeeze before shuffling it to have a better grasp on your waist

■ you all peacefully sleep through the night, not shifting much but it's pretty comfortable

■ is the morning you're mostly cuddled into alastor, which is entirely lucifers doing

■ when you're all awake though alastor gets arguably nervous

■ but you being you, you slump over onto alastors chest, murmuring some affection to him

■ lucifer gives a nod, it's time.

■ he'd honestly probably move to get out of bed, assuming some privacy is wanted

■ but he feels a shadow wrap around his forearm, it's a light pressure

■ alastor shakes his head, mouthing a small "please"

after lucifer processes for a moment what exactly is about to go down, he's okay with that. he settles back in, his eyes on the two of you as alastor tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips. "my dear, would you mind if i tried something a little different with you?" alastor chimes, and you blink your eyes open again, still a bit sleepy as you give a nod.

he gently maneuvers you on the bed so you're laying on your back, his hands pawing at your sleep shorts and pulling them to your ankles. lucifer watches, honestly a little mezmerized by the whole ordeal. he feels proud in an odd sort of way. “I think our little doe deserves a treat, would you like that?” alastor murmurs as he spreads your thighs open. You take a shaky breath before murmuring some form of agreement, maybe even a little plea.

without further prodigy, alastors finally leans down his tongue swiping down your folds, hands grasping your hips to pull you to his face. your hands go to hold lucifers, but he shakes his head tutting at you. “ah ah, that’s not very polite princess” he chides softly, guiding your hands to alastors hair.

and alastor makes good use of the tips and information lucifer gave him, his tongue plunging into your sweet little hole as his nose bumps your clit. his eyes wander up, making eye contact with you as he eats you out so wonderfully. you tug at his hair and he practically growls in pleasure, opting to change tactics and focus his mouth on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, gently curling into your sweet spot.

and lucifer watches it all, absolutely mesmerized. he doesnt know what it is about watching this but theres something about knowing alastor is doing exactly as told to in this scenario that makes lucifer feel warm. he lets alastor steal the show, doing only minimal work. maybe hes softly cooing praises or gently reminding you to show your appreciation to the one making you feel this good.

as you get close, evident by the murmur that falls past your lips, alastors eyes snap to lucifers for a moment, and he takes a moment to think before understanding. usually when youre close alastor is all over you, telling you to be such a good girl and cum, just slight praises and coaxing. given the fact hes face deep in your sweetness he cant really do that, so that job is up to lucifer now.

“isn’t alastor doing such a good job duckling? you want to make sure he knows how good hes treating you, dont you?” lucifer coos, scooting in behind you on the bed so you stop trying to writhe away. “I think he’d be so disappointed if you didnt cum for him, you think you can do that, hm? you wanna cum all over your masters tongue?” lucifer says directly in your ear, and alastor feels a bit of a warmth in his stomach by being referred to as “master”

when you give a weak moan in response lucifer sighs, shaking his head. “be a good girl now, you can do it little doe” he says which is what sends you toppling over the edge, your hips rutting up into alastors mouth, whiny moans coming from you as alastor desperately licks up your sweet release. this whole thing was quite enjoyable for alstor, but hearing lucifer call you “little doe” his petname for you made him smugly satisfied.

after some aftercare which mostly just involved more cuddling, alastor feels satiated enough to shift to leave, before getting a look from lucifer. he reluctantly stays, feeling as you come to lay at his side once more. lucifer seems to take note of something, giving alastor a nod down, he glances down, seeing the obvious tent in his pants. alastor looks back up, slightly annoyed. a like “yeah, no shit dumbass” kind of look is exchanged.

alastor looks back down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sigh happily. but alastor tenses as he feels a hand on his knee, shooting a glare to lucifer as he traces his hand up a little. the two meet as and alastor takes a shaky breath as lucifer leans in just a little, breathing out the next few words with a calmness alastor admires:

“just keep cuddling her”

[clemswinecorner]

Birthday [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: You and Harry have barely been dating when his birthday rolls around.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: swearing probably, nothing major

Happy Birthday to our favourite!! In honour of his birthday, I wrote this (don't mind this being published when his birthday only has like an hour left)

Main Masterlist

You and Harry had only been romantically involved with each other for a month or two when his birthday rolled around. You’d sent him a birthday text in the morning, of course, but didn’t see him until later in the day. He spent the morning with the Sidemen recording some golf video, and them and his friends would all meet up at his around 5 p.m. You were kind of nervous when you showed up, because it was your boyfriend’s birthday. Especially because the relationship was still so new, you were a bit nervous about how it would go and what the deal would be. You knew his friends since you’d met through Josh years ago, being Freya’s lifelong best friend. You made your way into the friend group when you moved to London, and had celebrated his birthday with him plenty of times before, but this year was different. It was Josh who opened the door, not Harry, and you greeted him with a smile. 

“Ah, look who’s here!” You give him a quick hug and greet Callum, who was just walking out of his room, with a smile. “I’ll tell him you got here, yeah?” He says, before he walks back to the living room. Harry’s roommates were both aware that you guys are more than friends, though you hadn’t explicitly told them. You’ve just taken off your coat and shoes when Harry walks in. “Oh, hello,” you turn around to him and smile. “Hey birthday boy,” you smile, holding out your hands for a hug, which he accepts. You smell the sweet cologne he usually wears when recording on his hoodie, as he holds you tight. You lean back, still looking at his face with your hands around his neck. “Happy birthday, my love!” You smile, placing a kiss on his lips. You can feel a smile form on his face as he pulls you closer to him. “Thank you, baby. Glad you could make it,” you jokingly roll your eyes. “What, you think I’d miss your birthday? I haven’t in years,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, no, you haven’t. You look really nice, by the way,” he tells you, finally able to check you out. “Thank you. Now, do you want your present now or later?” You ask, and you interrupt him before he’s able to talk. “I know I didn’t have to get you anything, but I wanted to,” He smiles at your kindness, “Okay, thank you. I don’t know, I think a few people want to do it during dinner, but up to you,” You nod and think about it for a second. “I’ll give it later, then,” you say, dropping your tote bag on the floor. He nods, and walks back into the living room, with you following him. You greet everyone enthusiastically, not having seen most of them for a while. 

At around half six, Harry walked up to you, nudging your side. You turn your attention away from Simon, who you were in conversation with. “I’m going to get changed, and then we’re going, yeah?” You nod, excusing yourself as you put down your empty glass. You quickly pack two wrapped presents out of your bag, before you walk into his bedroom. He turns around, his shirt already off. You still weren’t tired of that view, and you shameless looked him up and down. He was already in his black trousers, and it was a shame he had to put on a shirt. “Sorry, could’ve knocked,” You softly say, and he shakes his head, “No it’s fine, was just confused who it was.” He sticks his arms through the sleeves, and god, this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. You sit on his bed, and he looks at you curiously as he buttons his shirt. “Sorry, just admiring my view,” you admit, and you can see a slight blush spreading on his neck and chest. He doesn’t say anything back. , nervously smiling as he focuses on his shirt. “Anyway, I have some presents with me as well,” He looks up again with a smile, taking a seat next to you. You first hand him a flat, squared present, making him look up curiously. “Did you talk to Cal about this?” He asks, glancing over to the record player that was still in its box in the corner of his room. You shrug, not wanting to give away anything. He carefully unwraps it and takes out the vinyl cover. “Oh wow,” he says, looking at the cover on the front, a photo you took of him and his friends last Halloween. He smiles, looking up at you, before he goes back to inspecting the cover and turning it around. He looks up at a soft smile of the picture of you looking at him, love evident in your eyes, and him looking down laughing. “Wow, that’s amazing. Is there an album in it?” He asks, looking at the pictures again. “So, Callum did mention to me how they were getting you a record player, yes. It’s, err, actually been custom pressed, it says the songs on the cover as well,” His eyes widen. “Oh wow, that’s incredible. Holiday pub golf version oh I love that,” looking on the A side, which had the picture with his friends. He turns it around, reading the B-Side, “Tiny Dancer, Elton John, oh that’s the one that played when we went on our first date, isn’t it?” You nod, and smile at the memory. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you’d remember that. Side A is like, Sidemen related songs, and like, Wild Ones and then the other one is like… Songs that remind me of you, and us,” she explains. “Ooh, Wild Ones, that’s a gem. Wow, thank you, this is really cool,” he embraces you, setting the Vinyl down on his bed for a second to embrace you. “Thank you, that’s wonderful,” he whispers, pulling back to give you a kiss. You smile, and kiss him back, the same butterflies exploding as the many times before. “Harry, we have to get to the restaurant,” You remind him when you take a second to catch your breath. “Yeah, yeah.”

The group arrives at the restaurant around seven, walking there from Harry’s place. You and Harry go in first to inform the staff of the reservation, whilst the group waits outside and chats. Because it was a slightly bigger group of about 15 people that were all relatively well known, he’d rented the small upper floor that was a small extension of the restaurant that would normally fit about twenty people. You go outside to get the rest of the group and enter the cosy room, that has a classy Italian aesthetic. They’d put the tables together, so everyone could fit around, and you take place next to Harry and Callux, Ethan sitting on the other side of Harry and Chip and Callum sitting across from you. You grab his hand under the table as everyone orders their drinks, shuffling a bit closer. When everyone has ordered, the boys decide it’s time for presents, before people get too drunk or too engaged in conversations. The boys make their rounds, at least the ones that didn’t give him anything already, before it gets back to you. Harry looks at you, not expecting you to have anything from him, as you get a small box shaped wrapped present out of your bag. “Y/N, you already got me something,” He lowly says, “No, it’s just something small, please just open it,” you ask, giggling at the thought of the present. Harry reluctantly takes it, tearing off the wrapping paper. He looks at the box, opening it to reveal six golf balls. “Wait, are these…” He looks at you with a laugh on his face, and you nod. “Oh my god, that’s amazing,” he lets out a genuine laugh, taking out one of the golf balls to look at it closely. Ethan looks over, also laughing at the images on the balls. A few of the guys look confuse, so you look at them to explain it, “They’re golf balls with pictures of me on them,” you tell them, and everyone laughs, wanting to see them. When Harry has the box in front of him, now empty as the balls are being passed around, he turns towards you. “Thank you, baby, I love that,” he says, leaning a bit closer. This was kind of dangerous, knowing his friends all surrounded you, but you didn’t really care. They’d know at some point anyway. “It’s just a silly thing, but I’m glad you like it,” you say, looking into his eyes you can see his smile in. He leans closer until your lips are touching, whispering another thank you before he gives you one last peck, moving back. He moves his arm onto the back of your chair, lightly grazing your shoulder, as you see Josh looking at you with raised eyebrows.  Tobi clears his throat, “Anything you want to tell us, guys?” Harry’s eyes widen at the realization of what he’s just done, and you give him a reassuring smile. “Oh. Well, we’re, like, together. Please no big deal though, we’re just, you know,” Harry rambles, and you smile, taking his hand under his table. He briefly looks at you, and relaxes when he realizes you’re okay. “Ayy they both finally did it, everyone give it up for Harry and Y/N!” Chip exclaims as everyone cheers, and you hide on Harry’s shoulder as you chuckle in embarrassment. You sit up again and see Callux give you a small smile, leaning closer to you. “I’m glad you have each other, he has been happier because of you. And you seem more yourself, too. I’m glad,” he shared, making you smile. “Thank you, genuinely. And also for not really asking, took us a while to figure out what we wanted,” she admits, and he nods, “Of course. Oh, is it time for the thing yet?” He changes the topic, and you look back at Harry laughing with Ethan, Simon, and Callum. “Oh, yeah, can you ask Theo? He has the present,” Callux nods as you turn back to Harry, nudging him. “There’s one more present,” You say, interrupting the conversation. The boys all look at you, understanding the signal to shut up, and Harry frowns, trying to work out whom he missed.

Theo speaks up, “Okay, so, this is from all of us, really,” he tells him, looking around the group. “I do think I speak for all of us when I say you mostly have Y/N to thank, though, because she did a wonderful job working it out, but it’s a bit of a group effort, from us, to you,” He explains, handing over a square, somewhat thick, package. Harry looks around the group curiously as everyone expectantly watches him unpack it. “Harry through our eyes, a reminder of our love for you,” he reads curiously, opening the book. He opens it to a written page surrounded by group pictures of him and his friends and family. ‘Harry,’ it reads, ‘You’ve done so much for all of us, we wanted to give you something back. You mean so much to every single one of us individually, and you deserve to know. This is who you are through our eyes, hopefully you see the same magic we do in you.’ He looks up around the group, before he flips to the next page filled with crazy pictures of him. He lets out a chuckle, turning the page to see a combination of written texts and pictures. “You can read it all later, but it’s basically all of us and some more people sharing what they think about you. Stories, pictures, memories. Your parents and siblings are in it as well. Just, for whenever you need it,” you explain, as he flicks through the book. “Wow. Thank you guys, wow, that is so, umm, my god. Thank you,” he says, truly meaning it. You smile, resting your hand on his thigh. You make relaxing motions, Harry clearly a bit overwhelmed with his emotions, as he briefly looks through. “Oh wow, these are old,” he chuckles, looking at a picture Chris had taken of him the first time they’d met. He looks around the group once more. “Thank you guys, thank you,” He expresses once more, and everyone reacts with a smile, “Of course,” or some other form of reaction. Harry kisses your cheek as a thank you as he turns to you once more. “Thank you, it’s wonderful.” You smile, looking into his eyes. “You deserve to know how loved you are.”

[rieamena]

don't you dare—!

day 30 of inotober'24

a drabble (i think thats what its called) of takuma ino giving you the silent treatment

fem aligned reader

riea's comments: i need him carnally. like i need him so bad you don't even know. where was i in life before i knew him??? wrote and edited this in an hour and a half btw back in SEPTEMBER (clap for me). it was so hard, i mean SO hard, waiting for this to drop. hope yall enjoy it tho

i'm not here to lie. there's no way on earth that takuma would willingly give you the silent treatment. you??? his lovely girlfriend who he would do absolutely anything for?? yeah no way. he'd rather get kicked in the balls ten million times than ever ignore you. buuutttt then satoru cheekily says to "just try it! do it as a prank!" so here you were

the day started with you two waking up side by side in your shared bed. the plush fabric and soft warmth of the blanket wrapped around your bodies as takuma clung tightly to you. your eyes fluttered open, meeting takuma's instantly. "good morning," you mumble, feeling the light circles your boyfriend was rubbing into your back. he stares at you for a few seconds and then leaves the bed. that's when you realized the majority of the warmth wasn't coming from the blanket, it was coming from takuma

and now you're cold.

and alone.

in the bed you share.

with your boyfriend.

the mornings usually went like this: wake up, gaze into each other's eyes deeply, take a shower together while talking about the latest drama at work, brush teeth, do each other's skincare while trying so hard not to laugh so that the masks wouldn't slip off, make breakfast intimately, eat breakfast just as intimately, etcetera etcetera etcetera. you get it. i might've exaggerated some parts but that doesn't matter

but now… instead of that routine being done together like two people in love, it was done apart like a married couple on the edge of divorce. separate showers, even though he waited for you to start brushing his teeth, he turned around and did his own skincare. like?!!? but truth be told, you knew something was up once he got all rigid instead of melting in your arms like he usually did when you both woke up

breakfast was harder on him than it was on you. yes, it was sad that your boyfriend was playing a prank on you but really the joke is more on him. i mean you could see how his nails dug into his palms when he almost talked to you. you're starting to think he's a masochist. like that time when takuma tried no nut november last year. he waited up just to see the clock hit midnight and he made you promise not to tempt or tease him. short story even shorter, 12:01 am on november 1st, he was bridal style carrying you to the bedroom and you didn't even have to do anything

once you both finished eating your breakfast, takuma stood up to go to his office. he may call it his office, but in reality all he did was fool around and play games and during these times you would be sitting all pretty on his lap. you made eye contact with him and never broke it when he was going into the room. you heard the creak of his rolling chair as he sat down on it. seemingly unbothered, you turned your attention back onto your phone. your boyfriend was stealing not so secret glances at you, trying to telepathically tell you that he should be peppering kisses to your nape as he teaches you how to play the next section of the game he's on. in his mind, takuma had hoped that you would remember this part of your morning routine and follow him to his office, but since he's giving you the silent treatment, you decided not to do anything about it. and once you felt takuma's eyes land on your figure for the nth time, you decided to move perfectly out of sight onto the couch. and just like clockwork,

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE."

a shout bounces off the apartment walls, reaching your ears with ease. next to reach your ears were heavy stomps, getting louder and louder as they reached closer and closer. a heavy weight envelopes your body as you suck in air in surprise. light, feathered kisses consume your neck and face as your boyfriend mumbles apologies. "'m sorry baby... it was so hard... please believe me..."

you pull his head from the crevice of your neck and squish his face, "i missed you." mimicking your motions, takuma brought his lips to yours, "i missed you too. so bad. you don't even know."

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[planchettewrites]

I'm Just Half Alive (In my Struggle to Survive Without You) - NSFW

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/ AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: It's your first night as Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and your new husband cannot wait to show you how much he adores you.

CONTENT: SMUT, Protected Sex (Always Wrap it Before you Tap It), Praise Kink (?), M!Overstimulation, AFAB Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used, French Used

A/N: This was a labor of love! I wrote this over two days, and I've only been in the X-Men fandom for three days. I immediately fell in love with Gambit and then found out there were so few fanfics of him. I decided to change that. My two song inspirations were "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra and "Life Eternal" by Ghost. Enjoy bbys! If you like this fic, reblogs are very much appreciated, as are likes and comments.

3.3K words | Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You smile as you look in the mirror. Today was arguably the best day of your life—you just became Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and nothing made you happier. 

Your wedding was exquisite. It occurred in one of the most beautiful venues in the French Quarter of New Orleans; the hall was rather large and historical. The hall was decorated with your favorite flowers—those your now husband had given you on your first date. The chandeliers in the building were all lit with candles that perfectly illuminated and complimented the ceremony. Your dress was similarly exquisite, and your closest friends were helping you pick it out. It was exactly what you wanted, and it fit absolutely perfectly—all with the help from the tailor’s shop, but that was beside the point. 

A majority of you and Remy’s coworkers and friends were there, even a sparse few from his days in the Thieves Guild. You were thrilled: everyone who loved you and Remy supported you on your big day. 

The ceremony was gorgeous. Filled with tears from both the guests and the wedding party, you two exchanged your vows. You spent about five minutes saying your vows to one another, making the other sob in the process. You did your best to speak some Cajun French in your speech, making Remy cry harder. Your husband wasn’t one to let his bravado falter, but seeing him in happy tears made you melt. You looked at your guest when he began to cry, and some of the toughest X-Men you knew were similarly in tears. In your vows, you both promised to share the rest of your beautiful, chaotic lives with each other, and come what may, your love will never falter. You two were bonded in holy matrimony; nothing could change that. 

Your first kiss as husband and wife was something you’d never forget. You both had practiced that dip for the past three months and had pulled it off perfectly. Of course, your husband, being your husband, kissed you harder and longer than you anticipated, which made your head spin and your heart soar. Walking back down the aisle, nearly dancing the whole way down, had suddenly made all the stress of planning the wedding worth it. 

The reception was a mere two hours ago, and it was a whirlwind of laughter, happiness, dance, and minor chaos. Your first dance was to “My Way of Life” by Frank Sinatra, and if the two of you weren’t looking lovingly at each other while dancing, one or the other was murmuring the words under their breath. That song perfectly encapsulated how you two felt about each other: you were each other’s way of life. Each day, you awoke to live, eat, and breathe each other. In some ways, you felt you were made for each other. As you were dancing, your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. 

After your first dance and the further rupture of applause and tears, Remy and you began to socialize with family and friends. Ever the charmer your husband was, recounting the stories to your family and friends of how we knew you were the one the moment your eyes locked. Some of the telepathics in your reception had told you not a single lie was spoken by your husband; he meant every single word he said. 

Now, there you were, looking into the mirror of the hotel you two stayed at. The two of you spared no expense regarding your honeymoon, and you both wanted to make sure it was as memorable as possible. 

The black velour robe you wore kept you comfortable as you took all the pins and accessories from your hair. The kind ladies doing your hair certainly knew what they were doing, but they sure had put a lot of bobby pins in your hair. As you recounted the night in your head as the final pin came out, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips. 

As if right on cue, your husband walked into the room, two champagne glasses in hand. “Joie de vivre,” he said to himself. You turned around to face him, a large smile growing on your face. Remy looked divine, with a white suit that fit him perfectly, your favorite flower on his lapel, and his hair tied back. You always thought your husband looked wonderful but particularly good in a three-piece suit. “Ma chérie, you look as beautiful as always.”

“Thank you, my dear.” you smiled as he handed you the glass of champagne. As you sipped, you watched your husband remove his jacket and put it in the closet, placing the flower on the bed’s side table. His movements were smooth like his words, and you heard him sing one of the songs from the reception under his breath. “How’s it going, sweetheart?” you ask him. 

Remy responded in his native tongue: “C’est tout un sucre, chérie. Happier than I’ve ever been.” He waltzes over to you and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you, Remy.” you place your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently. 

“I love you too, darlin’.” he smiles. 

This was happiness—absolute happiness. Nothing felt more right than this; this was perfection. Here you were with the love of your life, and he was with his. 

“Now, chérie, you look absolutely stunning,” his charming timbre weakens your knees. His hands fell to your shoulders and ran up and down your arms. “And I think I need some alone time with my wife.” 

You show him a coy smile. “Your wife? Hmm…I think I can make that happen.”

As you sit up from your chair, Remy guides you to the large bed against the wall’s middle. The bed was easily a California King with beautiful black sheets and a duvet cover. Remy guided you to lie down, and you looked at him with a dorky look. Remy was gorgeous, with his red and black eyes, chestnut hair, and body built like Adonis himself. 

“What you smilin’ at, ma chérie?” he laughed, his hands finding your waist.

“You!” you gush. “You’re just so handsome, and kind, and brave, and…and really fucking sexy.”

He laughs again and begins to fiddle with the tie of your robe. “You think Gambit is sexy? Well, you’re a sight, too, doll.”After a look of silently asking to undress you, you nodded. As he undid your robe, he smiled when he saw what was underneath—a breathtaking lingerie set. The set was a bit more expensive than you were willing to spend, but you knew that some sacrifices needed to be made for your wedding. “You’re tryin’ to kill Gambit aintcha?”

“Maybe.” you laughed, propping yourself up to fully strip yourself of the robe. You watched as your husband began to unbutton his dress shirt, slowly and precisely, and never breaking eye contact. You knew your husband too well at this point—he was teasing you. He attempted to test your patience, and simultaneously, he gave you a show. You could feel your cheeks flush. Something about your husband made him impossible to resist—whether it was that Louisiana charm or his general personality, something about him beckoned you like a siren song. 

As the dress shirt hit the ground, Remy reached for your hands, helping you stand. He spun you around gently, getting a good look at your body in that clearly expensive white set. He wolf-whistled, which made you giggle. “Damn, chérie, you’re gonna be lucky if I don’t rip that off of ya.”

As you finally faced him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed your husband. These types of kisses felt like fireworks—maybe it was the slight kinetic energy that always radiated from Remy, or perhaps it was just the product of your love. If you had to guess, it was probably a mix of both. 

His hands fell to your waist, and he swiftly picked you up and placed you back on the bed. His lips traveled from yours to your neck, kissing at the crook of your neck to that sensitive spot he learned early on. Letting out a quiet moan, you could feel his smirk on your neck as he continued pressing kisses there. His hands explored your body freely, from massaging your perfect breasts to gently squeezing your thighs. The journey of his hands ended at the hem of your panties, a silent plea to let him take them off of you. Your response to that silent plea was another nod, and suddenly, your husband was off your neck and on his knees. 

Your husband did the hard work of spreading your legs for you, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He licked his lips and smiled. “Bon appétit.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your knee before working down your thigh. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he began to lap at your cunt with the vigor of a man starved. You let out a loud and staggered breath as your husband pulled his tongue from your entrance to your folds. He continued this movement until your breaths became ragged enough to where he decided it would be a good time to suck at your clit. 

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He paused for a second to say–almost as if he were saying it to himself and dived back into your core. You let out a deafening whine as he lapped at your clit, then sucked it particularly hard. 

He noticed your hips begin to buck at no discernible rhythm, and if there was one thing your husband was during sex, it was a talker. His thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “You like that, ma charmante?” your hips bucked against his fingers, and you let out a loud moan. “That’s it. Show me what you got, chérie. Work yourself on my fingers.”

“Shit!” you moaned. Your movements were becoming jerky—you were close. Remy immediately went back to lapping at your cunt, his finger making its way into your walls. Within seconds, you let out a moan you were sure the other patrons of the hotel could hear. 

You were practically dry-heaving, and within seconds of removing himself from your thighs, you pressed a heavy kiss to Remy’s lips. Your hands cupped his face, and one of his hands went to the small of your back. 

“God, Remy…” you heaved. Part of you couldn’t even form a sentence. You felt euphoric. Remy was always good with his tongue, both in his words and in his skills. 

“Yes, chérie?” Remy smiled. He was thoroughly enjoying this. You learned over the years that his pleasure came from your pleasure. You saw that in the way he’d do anything to make you laugh, you saw that in the way that he would cook for you, and you saw that in the way that sexually, your pleasure came first. 

“Remy, I need you.”

“Then take what is yours, darlin’.” 

You stood up carefully—your legs feeling like jelly—and pressed hard kisses to his lips. Dropping to your knees, you began to expertly unbuckle the oversized belt buckle of your husband’s belt. You place one hand on your husband’s large thigh as if to keep yourself steady. You could feel your mouth water at the thought of sucking his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You begin to toy with his erection, palming him over his dress pants. As you finish unbuckling this belt, Remy slides his pants and underwear down to his ankles, swiftly kicking them off. 

You begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, hearing him let out a groan. A few strokes later and you lower your mouth onto his cock. You use your tongue to lick around the tip of his cock, and you lower yourself and take more of him into your mouth. He lets out a moan as you bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking as much of him as you could. You hollowed your mouth to create a light suction, which made your husband see stars. 

Remy finds his hands in your hair, letting you set your own pace. As you continued to worship his cock with your tongue, he began to blab. “Tu te sens si bien, chérie. So fucking good. Keep going…just like that. Fuck, keep going.”

As you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock one more time, he ruffles your hair. “Ma charmante et talentueuse femme, I need to fuck you.” he groaned. 

With a pop, you remove yourself from his cock with a devious smile on your face. “I’m all yours, Remy.” 

He guides you to the bed again and smacks your ass playfully. You turn to swat at him, and he laughs gently. You almost want to cry; you’re so happy. You are married to the love of your life; it’s your wedding night, and you are spending it with the man you love more than anything. Now, you were having your first night as husband and wife—you couldn’t be happier. As you find the headboard, you lean back and bend your knees, spreading your legs. You were on full display for your husband; by the looks of it, he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Hold on, ma chérie, one moment.” Remy started to search through the side table drawer, where he found what he was looking for: the box of condoms. You watched as he rolled the condom onto his cock, and you smiled to yourself. Remy had always been one for condoms; even times when you just wanted him to fuck you raw, he would kiss your hand and promise to always take care of you first. 

Crawling onto the bed, your husband towered over you, moving to hover above you. You looked up at him, your eyes full of need and lust. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He moves his hips forward, and inch by inch, you begin to take him. You both moan at the feeling of euphoria. 

Remy continues to push his hips forward, beginning to rock in and out of you. He moves his hips slowly and deeply, as he prefers, to feel all of you as you take him. For the first time since your first dance, you feel your eyes well with tears. Remy is quick to catch onto this and stops his movements entirely. “Oh babydoll, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m just,” you start, “so happy to be yours, Remy.”

“Oh, these are happy tears!” he coos and places his hand on your cheek and the other on the headboard. He continues his ministrations in your cunt, feeling how you take him so, so well. You feel so full, and despite being with Remy for this long, you don’t think you’d ever get accustomed to this feeling. His cock is nestled between your walls, and each thrust urges you closer to an orgasm. 

Heat coils in your lower stomach as Remy thrusts into you, and for not the last time that evening, he talks you through the feeling. “Oh, ma femme, ma magnifique femme, you take me so well. And I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I’ve only been yours, love, and I’ll be yours for the rest of time.” you moan, repeating his sentiments out loud. 

“Damn straight. It sounds good coming from your lips. Gambit was gonna make you his, even when he first met you.” he groaned, the smirk on his face returning. “And I’ll be yours for the rest of time.”

You wrap your legs around your husband’s waist, letting him hit that spongy spot inside of you. His thrusts are starting to become faster, and with each thrust, he bucks his hips to ensure he is fully sheathed inside you. You’re close, so, so incredibly close. 

You yelp, “Fuck, Remy, I’m close, I’m really, really close.”

“Me too, darlin’.” he groans. His hand falls to your waist, and he begins to thrust far more erratically. He fucks you into him, slamming into you, causing you to moan his name. Loud. 

You’re nearly dry-heaving again as he fucks you. That heat in your stomach that had turned into a coil had started to unwind. You were coming close to another orgasm. 

“Fuck—I’m coming, shit!” Remy groans. Although, his pace doesn’t relent as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your legs tighten around him as that coil becomes completely undone. “Remy, shit, God, I love you. I love you so fuckingmuch. I am so fucking happy to be your wife! I can’t wait to make you a family!” you pant, your finish further slicking the space between you. 

“I love you so much. More than you know…and, and, I’ll love you forever, chérie!” His voice was shaky and erratic as he overstimulated himself to rock you through your orgasm. 

As you both begin to still, your breath erratic, you grab hold of him and just let his weight crash onto you. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hear him let out a sigh. He mutters something to himself in his native tongue and presses a light kiss to your neck. You can hear him mutter one thing as he pushes himself upwards: “I love you.”

He nearly projects himself to your side, grabbing your hand and gently kissing your palm. “You’re my world. You truly are.” 

“I mean every word I said,” you murmured, so breathless you could barely speak, “I am really so happy to be your wife.”

“And I’m happy to be your husband.” he smiled, turning to face you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled. You were happy, and now you get to look forward to an eternity with the man you loved. Come what may, no matter how big or small, you would have Remy by your side. And that was going to be your way of life. 

[goldenwitherphoenix13]

(Sighs) no one asked for it, but Im gonna share it anyways because no ones asked for it and i want to put an end to this Canary curse debockal.

Here is my interpretation of Canary Jimmy in the life series, the canary curse and why i think the fandom has flanderised it. Its extensive, its repetitive, its probably inaccurate, but I want to both clear up confusion on what the curse is and then share my own interpretation. Spoilers below for today's session of Wild Life, if only brief.

The Canary in the coalmine is all about how when the Canary starts to go quiet or die, that there is danger about. There is poison in the air. That if the coal miners do not evacuate, then they will die.

And when Jimmy was seen bringing death wherever he went, or being out first in the first 4 seasons of the life series, people started to dub him as "the canary" and say he was cursed with "the canary curse". But I think the Canary curse has lost its meaning by now. Its been so consumed by the idea of it just being about Jimmy dying first that I think that we all forgot that it's first ever mention was during Scar, Grian and Joel's series, 100 hours in hardcore minecraft, was not solely about him dying first.

Let's recap.

Part way through the 100 hours series, Scar had to go and get some major surgery done, so he couldn't play on the server for a while. So, while Scar was away, Grian and Joel invited some other friends on to fill the void as they waited for their friend to return. The first friend they invited of was Jimmy and they decided to go to a woodland mansion where this resulted in Grian dying.

This event had happened not too long after the finale of Empires season 1, Where Jimmy (and Fwhip) had just accidentally destroyed the entire server, plunging all the kingdoms into a multitude of disasters and starting the event known as the rapture.

And, remember, this series occurred just after Last life, the second season of the life's series, had ended, where Jimmy had been out the series first twice.

It was ALL of these events that lead to the creation of the fandom dubbing Jimmy as a canary. And the Canary curse was born.

Jimmy then proceeded to die first for 2 more seasons of the life series. And that is when the canary became canon as multiple people started referring to Jimmy being cursed, including Jimmy himself, and Martyn wrote it into his lore. It's also where alot of the fans started to associate the curse with just the life series, not really remembering its connections other series.

Back to present day. Jimmy has now gone 2 seasons of the life series and an April fools special without dying first, which is amazing! I'm very proud of him for that! But the fandom feels divided on this, half of them saying him not dying first has broken the curse and now it can't be used as a headcanon anymore, and the other half saying how him breaking it is temporary or that it's only out the first stage and now he's doomed to die second. And to all of you I say... no. No it hasn't ruined the canary hybrid headcanons, no it hadn't been taken to stage 2, the canary curse was NEVER JUST about Jimmy dying first, because it was never just about the life series. The original canary comparisons mentioned Empires and 100 hours, and he never permadied first in either of those series.

Let's go back to the idiom. Canary in a coal mine.

This idiom is based of of a real life practice of taking living, breathing canaries into the coal mines. Coal miners wanted to keep down the costs of having to breed and buy new canaries every time one died, and didnt want to always leave the cute birds that kept them company to die. Its like just using a pet as death foder. They wanted to keep these birds alive for the sake of keeping costs lower and for not killing of the adorable birds. So what would they do? They made chambers to keep the birds alive after they passed out. Oxygen tanks or medicine chambers basically. The canaries didn't always die in the coal mines. They sometimes just got very sick to the point of fainting and passing out, but they could be saved. The canaries don't always need to die to be a warning. They just needed to go quiet. Coming close to death and being kept alive is still a functionable canary system.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Jimmy isn't cursed as a canary to die first out of everyone. That was never the case. To me, the canary curse has always been about one thing.

The chaos after the canary falls silent. Not after it dies. After it falls silent, after it comes close to death. The curse was never for him. It was a curse on EVERYONE. And Jimmy turning red is enough to trigger it. Jimmy being close to death but not dead yet is enough to trigger the chaos. Jimmy is a canary. His curse was never to die, his curse was never even truly a curse. It was a warning that the games were in danger of ending. That the chaos had only just begun.

And do you know what the cherry on top of all of this is?

The Canary doesn't need to die at all for the coal miners to die.

There are many, many, many ways for coal miners to die in the coal mines. A cave in could crush them, they could find a massive cave that they could fall into, they could turn on and attack eachother. But the Canary can be spared. The Canary may die eventually. Gases or hunger or predators may find it. But it could be the last one to go when the circumstances line up.

It's why I still believe in Canary Jimmy, and why I think he can still win a life series simultaneously. Because it doesn't matter what place he comes at, the canary curse will always trigger. It was never about how Jimmy was "so bad at the game" that he died first. It was never about how the watchers kill him every season because its funny. It was about the death and destruction that hovered around him. The doomsday that chaos brings.

And do you know what's even better? Jimmy is completely unaware of this purpose. He thinks the curse was him dying first because that's what the fans made it out to be.

Jimmy broke this unlucky death streak, but he did not break the canary curse.

Because the canary curse was never JUST for him. It is EVERYONES problem.

Tldr; the canary curse has lost its original meaning and been flanderised to the point of people forgetting that its origins don't require Jimmy to die first and it doesnt need to end in tragedy. The Canary curse is just everyone's problem, including Jimmy, but also including everyone else, and no one has realised this yet. Not even Jimmy. They just think his curse is him dying. But he doesn't even need to die to let the "curse" activate. His presence is more than enough, and even with it he can still win. He's just gotta find the right time.

Anyway I'm done rambling, I hope you guys enjoy my thoughts, I'm going to go finish my Uni Presentation and Evaluations of my project!

[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[moonhoures]

Thin Walls

🕷️ kinktober — day 19: masturbation🕸️

pairing: matthew (zb1) + reader (afab/fem)

genre: non-idol!au, college!au, smut

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, masturbation (f and m), exhibitionism (? matthew hears reader masturbating through the wall, so i’m tagging this just to be safe)

word count: ~1.5k

synopsis: you become sexually frustrated over your crush for your next dorm neighbor and decide to (privately) do something about it, but fate is one cruel entity, so of course he hears everything

posted: october 20, 2023

“Looks like Taerae is out for a while,” Matthew noticed as the two of you strolled up to his dorm room.

The two of you lived in a co-ed dormitory at your local university, and your rooms neighbored each other. The dry erase board on his door showed a message from his roommate that said he would be back in a few hours.

You nodded, “Liz texted me earlier that they were going to study together after her last class.”

He twisted the handle of his door and turned back to you as he opened it, “In that case, would you like to hang out until they get back?”

You considered it for a moment, but decided against it. The last couple hours you had spent with him—in class plus the long walk back to your dorm—were spent with you daydreaming about him, and subsequently being in denial about it. You had known Matthew since your very first day of college. You were both in the same major, and he was super friendly. He was the one that approached you and began your friendship. It seemed to be some weird stroke of fate that his dorm room was next door to yours; an even weirder coincidence when your roommates started dating each other. Then you two were the single friends that were dragged into “double dates” all the time.

You really didn’t mind it, though, hanging out with the three of them. You liked all of them, but you had slowly begun to gravitate towards Matthew more. Maybe it was because the two of you were usually left to each other by the couple of the group. Maybe it was because you had more in common with him. Maybe it was because you had developed a crush on him . . . You had tried to deny that possibility for so long, calling your roommate crazy when she had suggested the two of you go out. But now, you just couldn’t deny it anymore. You did have feelings for Matthew. You just weren’t sure if he felt the same, and you were worried that if he knew, it would ruin everything. So you continued to act normal with him, or at least you tried.

“I’d love to, but I should really work on my paper for Mr. Jang’s class.”

Maybe it was the delusion or just the trick of the hallway lighting, but you swore you saw a look of disappointment in his eye, “Oh, okay, well maybe the four of us can hang out later?”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

Matthew watched you retreat to your door just a few feet away, and then your doors shut with soft thuds. Once your door was closed, you tossed your bag onto the floor and pressed your back against the hard surface behind you. You groaned, feeling like the lowly coward you were. Why did I say no? Of course I want to hang out with him. But then again, you had never hung out with him alone in his room. You hung out alone in public, but never in your dorm. You weren’t sure if you could handle that.

Trying to get your mind off of your neighbor, you decided to climb into your bed and go on the first app that drew your interest. After half an hour of flipping between apps, you still couldn’t stop thinking about him. You kept rewinding your day with him, thinking about the way his eyes crested as he smiled. The way he laughed. The subtle veins in his hands as he wrote notes in class. You thought about his face as he earnestly paid attention to you when you spoke, and you remembered trying to focus on what you were saying when really you were getting lost in his beauty. You remember holding yourself back from reaching up and booping the freckle by his eye. You remember biting back the thoughts of what kissing him would be like—were his lips as soft as they looked?

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to let out some steam, so you did what any normal, horny woman would do. You locked your door and crawled back into bed, closing your eyes to let your mind wander as you dipped your fingers below the band of your underwear.

Now, you didn’t masturbate too often, considering you shared a room with someone. But you were still a woman with needs, and so you did what you had to do. It started with slow, teasing movements, just enough to get yourself wet. Then, you were picking up pace, spurred on by images that your mind created for you of the guy just on the other side of the wall. Your legs parted at the idea of his lips on yours. Your hand moved faster at the thought of his fingers along your skin. Your breath became rugged at the idea of his body over yours. You wanted him so bad, and it showed in how desperately you chased your own orgasm. It showed in the noises you made. Noises that weren’t as quiet as you thought they were . . .

Matthew was lying in his own bed, separated from your bed with just one, thin wall between the two. He had his head propped up with his pillow while he scrolled mindlessly through TikTok. Several minutes had passed since he parted ways with you, and he had told himself he would waste just a few more minutes before he started on his assignments. All of those plans, however, were tossed aside when he heard it, or rather, when he heard you.

At first, he didn’t think anything of the sound he heard. It just sounded like muffled talking that could have been from a podcast or a movie or a YouTube video you were watching. But then they got more frequent, and louder, and well, pornographic, for lack of a better word. Matthew found himself gulping, turning his phone off to focus on the noises coming from your room. Were they really what he was thinking they were? Were you really doing what he thought you were doing?

You got quiet for a moment, but then you let out another noise—a moan, undoubtedly. The sound went straight to his dick, making it stir under his briefs. He groaned softly, covering his pelvis with his hand before he cupped it gently. But there was no stopping it, he was growing harder by the second. All because you were masturbating a few feet away, just within his earshot.

Something about this made him feel guilty, dirty even, like he was intruding on you. But he wasn’t really, not intentionally. You had no idea he could hear you, or did you? Were you doing it on purpose to entice him? He knew from Taerae that Liz was certain you had a crush on him, but you had never acted differently around him than before. Was this your odd way of making your feelings clear to him? Was he just projecting his own desires?

Regardless, Matthew couldn’t take the strain against his jeans. Fuck it, he muttered to himself, unzipping his pants. He shoved the band of his pants and underwear down enough for him to pull out his cock. He lubed up his hand with spit, then he was fisting his cock to the sound of your voice. The soft moans and breathy whimpers were driving him insane.

You, on the other hand, were nearing your end. The scene in your head of Matthew fucking you was getting too real too fast, and soon enough you were diving off the edge into your climax. Your toes curled and your muscles tensed as you felt the intense warmth spread throughout your groin. You were so enthralled in your release that you moaned out his name without even thinking.

And of course, your eavesdropper didn’t miss it. His hand came to a halt over his shaft after his name fell from your lips, and then your room fell quiet. Matthew couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He was wondering if he had fallen asleep watching TikToks and was dreaming this entire time. But no, he was wide awake, and he was close to cumming at the thought of you masturbating to him.

He thought for a moment about just finishing quietly and going on about his day, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to act normal around you after this. He would have to confront you—and the sooner, the better. So he decided now was as good a time as any to put his cock away, zip his pants back up, and get out of bed. Next thing he knew, he was knocking on your door, waiting for you to open it. It took a few moments, but then the knob was unlocking and twisting.

“Hey, uh, did you need something?” you asked once you opened the door, eyes slightly wide when you realized it was him. The first thought that came to mind was had he heard you?

“No, but it sounded like you could use my help.”

— taglist #1

@jaylaxies @xiaoting999 @kookthief @zaddywilk @wonrangwoo @pedriswrld @ikykleeknowww @odisdad @abby-grace @jungwonloveer @pinklemonadeflav @celestialplatinum @luvkpopp @nlklstan @kisses4denji @jenos-eye-smiles @a-l-i-y-a @channiesprincess @bekah931215 @heerinnie @fairygirl18 @cinnikoi @im-ur-calico-cat @unlikelysublimekryptonite @k-drizzle @iguanas-world

[steddieasitgoes]

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he’s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small. 

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started. 

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * * 

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

[harrytaylorluke]

Livestream: Matt Sturniolo.

- fluff

- kissing

Summary - you come over after work, exhausted, needing comfort.

Limerance - Yves Tumor (Song I listened to whilst writing it)

AN - wrote this at 3am, don’t really remember writing it. Just done a very brief check for spelling errors, it’s pretty short.

💞 ily take care of yourselves 💞

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Pushing the front door closed, you kick your shoes off, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. You take a deep breath, something you’d done in the car multiple times to try and decompress after work whilst you were still on your own. The house had a cool warmth spreading throughout it, windows open as the sun set gently after a long, hot LA summer day.

You’d appreciated the pink and oranges swirling in the clouds as you pulled up to your boyfriends house. Honestly, these were your favourite parts of the day. After working a job where the majority of the workforce relied on you not fucking anything up, you liked the deep breaths you were allowed once you left.

You knew Matt had meetings in the morning and was working on the marketing for his newest project in the afternoon, but those rarely ran past six ish. It was now coming up to half eight, so you knew exactly what he’d be doing.

With an overly large bag of wing stop in one hand and your keys, bag and coat in the other, you walked through the boys apartment. You could hear the most noise coming from one room, Matts. A faint shout from Chris about a “fucking idiot” who was “shooting at anything” told you all you needed.

Pushing the door open with your elbow to see Nick sat on Matt’s bed and Chris stood over Matts shoulder. The man you’d been desperate to be in the safe arms of again ever since pulling yourself out of them at 6am that morning, sat at his desk. A brown ‘fresh love’ hoodie and grey sweatpants adorned his body, his hair messy from pulling at it for the last hour or so.

“Y/n” Nick shouted excitedly as you came into view, dragging the last letter of your name out slightly.

“Hey y/n” came from Chris, earning a brief look up before getting his head back into the (seemingly very intense) game of fortnite Matt was playing.

“Hey guys” you puffed out, another sigh, insinuating you’d had a rough day. Placing the bag of wing stop near Matt’s bed to which both Chris and Nick started unpacking. Graciously shouting a few thank you’s and joking ‘i love you’s.

“Hey baby” Matt said as you approached him, after throwing your belongings down on the bed. You checked if the stream is paused before collapsing onto his lap. His arms wrap gently around your waist, your arms tucked around his neck.

He cradles you, humming as you embrace each other.

“I missed you” you breath out, needier than you’d realised. His soft scent of cologne and body wash radiating from where your head was, pushed into the crook of his neck.

“You have no idea” he says, squeezing you closer to him as you tuck your legs up slightly. Both taking deep breaths, happy to be around each other. The both of you had been working a lot lately, rarely getting to spend time like this. The faint sound of Nick and Chris laughing, arguing and munching is heard with the games lobby music playing.

I feels like it’s just you two for a minute, you’ve felt the most relaxed and safest you’ve felt all day. Even if your underwear was riding up, you’re tights had been itching you and your bra was digging into your ribs.

“How’s the game going” you say quietly into his neck as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

“It’s okay, we’ve been playing for hours now so I’m about done” he says with a slight smile on his face. “Thank you for bringing food home, you didn’t have to we could have ordered it” he says gently again. He could tell you were exhausted, the way you melted into him the second you saw him and your first words being ‘i miss you’.

“That’s okay” you say, sleepily, wanting to drift off right there. “If you’re sure you’re done, could we maybe put a movie on”.

“Of course sweetheart” is all he said, “I’ll just finish this off and we’ll pick one out”. You hummed in agreement. Matt didn’t want you to move, but you usually didn’t just lie on him whilst he streamed. Sometimes in a video or two you’d fallen asleep on him when you’d all gone on road trips, but rarely.

“Baby, im gonna start the stream again”

“Could I stay here” you whisper, moving your hands from around his neck to curl into yourself, another going around his waist.

“That’s okay with me if it’s okay with you” he says, grabbing a blanket to put over you, as you’re skirt had rolled up slightly, before starting the game again.

Chris and Nick come back over, handing you some food to eat every now and again. Whilst Matt somehow multi tasks eating, gaming and making sure you’re okay every five minutes.

You lie against his chest, munching what’s left in your mouth, eyes closed, before you start to drift off slightly.

ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Matts love language was undoubtedly physical touch, if you were there he was touching you. Not in a sexual way, in a loving way. Holding hands, playing with your fingers, rubbing your arm, drawing shapes on your skin. Anything.

When the low hum of his computer died down and the room was quiet, Nick and Chris back in their own rooms for the night, and matts hand stayed rubbing against your thigh, you felt… content.

You peal your eyes open slowly, your skirt now around your waist with the blanket pulled up to your chest, still on Matts lap.

“Hi honey, should we get in bed” he asks, sweetly, as you stretch your arms out.

A ‘mhm’ leaves your mouth, getting up slowly and walking to get some clothes. You decide on one of his t-shirts and an old pair of pyjama shorts. Strolling to the bathroom and removing your makeup. Matt joined you to brush his teeth, standing behind you with one hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

The low hum of the song playing on your phones has you swaying gently, Matt jokingly singing a few words through his toothpaste.

You stand there together for a few minutes, your back pressed against his chest. It’s domestic, peaceful and lovely.

Getting changed together, speaking a few words, both getting tired. You both tidy up the mess made from the night before slipping into the cold bed.

His warm bedroom lamp illuminates his side of the room, as you both lay facing one another. The clock reads 11pm, realising they must have played a few more games after you fell asleep.

“I missed you today, more than you know” he says, inches away from your face, one arm resting under his head, the other drawing circles on your arm.

“I missed you too” you say back.

“I missed everything about you. It’s different when you’re here. It’s fun but.. it’s calm, it’s like my head goes quiet” he says, still drawing soft doodles on your bicep.

“I know what you mean” you say, with a slight, tired smile. You knew what he meant, you tried not to think about him during the day, never really texting him or you’d end up wanting to leave work.

“You’re like home” you whisper, quietly. He smiles.

You move forward kissing his cheek and nuzzling yourself into his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your head.

You sit like this for awhile, breathing each other in. There were times when you were animals, desperate and horny for each other. There were times when your stomach hurt from laughing so hard. There were times you could murder one another out of anger.

And then, there were times like this, the peace, the quiet. The unmatchable love that bounced between the two of you, it went quiet, it absorbed itself into each one of you.

The summer rain had started pouring whilst you slept in his arms, battering and storming outside, it was a safe haven.

Matt lifts your chin gently, a smile of appreciation on his face as your lips gently come together. A sweet, loving kiss that both of you had so desperately needed without knowing it. Your last one being so brief, with a whisper of “goodbye, I love you” after, closing the door on the half asleep boy.

Your hands moved up over his neck, your leg resting over his hip and his under your leg. What you liked to call the ‘koala’. His arms wrap around your waist, chests pressed against each other as you kiss.

You’re so impossibly close, so connected, like you’re souls are slow dancing.

Your heads turn as your lips melt together, pushing yourself up to get any closer. His hands are soft against you, your tongues are gentle in one another mouths. Slow, loving kisses that take their time. Your lips appreciating each other.

The rain fades out, eventually you rest yourselves in the other arms, peaceful, happy and inevitably, taken over by sleep.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: leya's struggles

authors note: this is super short and not anything major. literally wrote this in like half an hour. i could expound on it if people are interested. just wanted to give some insight to what it was like for roso and leya dealing with her ocd when she was younger.

only gonna tag a few people. if i end up expounding on it, i'll tag my usual "everyone" list.

words: 800

masterlist

warnings: angst, depiction of ocd in children

The sound of horns honking startles both Leya and Tama, the latter of which starts to stir in his car seat, single handedly exacerbating an already nightmare of a situation.

“Hurry up!”

It’s a single voice that’s followed up with several others, all expressing the same level of pressure and rudeness.

Solana is seconds away from marching over to the woman directly behind the suv behind her car when Tama’s soft, sleepy voice serves as a deterrent. “Mama, I wanna go home….”

A shared sentiment, one that makes most sense for him, as he’d either be back in bed by now or cuddled on the sofa with her while he takes a nap. 

Obviously, that’s not an option. 

“I know, baby,” she comforts. Solana does take a step back but instead of acting out of character, she directs her clear, unmistakable command to Jacob. “Shut them up.”

With a nod, Solana only catches his face shifting into that infamous scowl as he walks over to the cars lined up behind her, a line that has to be backed out into the street at this point.

With that handled, Solana moves back to the issue at hand. 

Leya continues to cry, sniffling as her little chest moves up and down. Solana can see the tips of her fingers turning red from the repeated, forceful buckling and unbuckling of her seatbelt.

“Leya….” Solana’s voice breaks. As best as she’s doing to maintain her composure, it’s a slowly losing battle. “Baby, it’s okay. We can g—”

“No!” Leya cries, shaking her head, still not looking at Solana as the concerned mother continues to gently stroke her hair. “I gotta—I gotta do it right, mommy, or something bad will happen!”

“Cataleya, I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, baby.” A reassuring statement she’s had to have stated at least ten times now over the past almost half hour that’s passed since the start of Leya’s episode. “But, you have to get out the ca—”

“No!” Leya begins to cry harder, once again going to remove her seatbelt, counting to three with her fingers before doing it all over again. A repeated, consistent, obsessive act that’s led to the situation they’re in now. A situation Solana has no idea how to handle. This is the first time it’s ever been this bad.

“What’s wrong, Leya?” Tama asks in his sweet voice, worry filling his little face as he tries to comfort her. Unfortunately, that only does the opposite. Leya cries out and jerks her body away, swatting his helping hand, prompting his bottom lip to poke out as he too starts to cry. 

“Leya, please don’t hit your brother.” It’s hard for Solana to be upset with or even scold her daughter, because she knows Leya can’t help it. Knows that it’s only because anyone else’s touch other than hers feels “wrong” to Leya, thus her reacting the way she did.  “Tama, it’s okay, baby boy. Leya just doesn’t feel good.” 

Solana is sure none of them are feeling good, especially herself, her hand moving to her small baby bump as a sudden wave of nausea washes over her.

God please, not right now.

Of all times, not now.

She just can’t handle this.

Solana moves to open the passenger door and reaches over to grab her cell phone out of the cupholder. Shaking, trembling hands move to Roman’s contact, as she too quickly hits the call button.

Three rings followed by a soft, feminime voice. “Mr. Reigns office, how can I—”

“Shit,” Solana curses and closes her eyes. She dialed his office number instead of his personal cell. “I’m sorry, Alicia, this is Solana. I need you to put me through with Roman.”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Reigns,” she greets, voice kind but almost unsure. “Ummm—Mr. Reigns is in the middle of—”

“Alicia,” Solana doesn’t hesitate to interrupt. “Get my husband on this line now.”

The woman nervously clears her throat. “Of course.” A pause. “Just a minute.”

And it’s just about a full minute that passes when Solana hears her husband’s deep, baritone voice on the other end. “Solana? What’s wr—”

“I need you to meet me at the school,” she cuts in, emotion in her voice as her eyes start watering all over again. “I can’t—I can’t get Leya out the car. She’s—she’s stuck in a ritual, and I’ve got Tama, and he’s crying, and I can’t—I don’t know what to do.” Her voice breaks at the end, the overwhelming nature of it all finally trampling her

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Tama comforts, eyes focused on Solana from the backseat.

Solana is unsure if Roman can hear their five-year-old, because he’s doing the same, “baby, don’t cry. It’s okay.” It provides some solace but not as much as Solana knowing how to help her daughter could provide. “I’m on my way.”

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

[On request, I wrote Tommy in the episode]

Tommy wasn't an EMT, and it looked like that was what was needed most after Athena had landed the plane. The woman whom he - how long had it been now? - had rescued from a sinking cruise ship. How did she always get herself into such absurd situations? In any case, he’d been on duty anyway when all available stations were called to the highway. Because an airplane was going to land there. The chances of this actually working were extremely slim in his opinion, but here they were, a quick triage and apparently hardly any seriously injured passengers later. 

There was orderly chaos, as always during a major operation, and Tommy was focused. So much so that he almost missed Evan running past him. The man half-turned as he ran, almost stumbled, caught himself again and stopped with his arms still flailing. 

“Tommy!”

It wasn't that big grin that made Tommy's heart beat faster, though it almost was – very blue eyes, tousled curls, those ultra-long legs, simply everything about the man was an eye-catcher. Evan in action was yet another special sight. He was brimming with adrenaline, radiating from within; he was exactly where he wanted to be, and that was extremely attractive. 

“She did it,” was all Tommy managed to say.

There were a lot of other things he could have said, of course, but most of them were inappropriate, and time was of the essence. The plane was smoking, it wasn't over yet. 

“She did,” Evan confirmed with that irresistible grin, with that gleam in his eyes that spoke of pride in someone he was very fond of. 

Tommy could only hope that one day he would be the cause for that gleam in Evan's eyes. Ever since he’d seen him smile for the first time, he’d wanted to be the one to turn his sweet pout into a smile. Even now, with all the commotion and smoldering danger still hanging over the people on the highway - not to mention the woman who was still in the cockpit - he couldn't help but cherish the warmth in his heart just by looking at Evan. He'd grown too soft, probably, but it wasn't a bad thing, that’s what life had told him. Life, and love. Though that was a word stored far back in his heart, at least for now. 

“I have to go, the cap... I mean Bobby…”

He was adorable, and this was not the time nor place to tell him, but Evan was Evan, he was a surprise box. He approached him, it almost looked like a leap; then he crushed his lips to Tommy's. It was the shortest and almost most violent kiss he had ever experienced, but that didn't matter. Tommy was so full of adrenaline himself, so close to saying it, but this time his mind would prevail over his heart because it was right. 

"Hurry up," he said, and Evan beamed again, turned and ran. 

Just before the plane, he turned around once more, grinned and waved briefly, then he disappeared from Tommy's field of vision. 

“Sweet, love at the workplace.”

Lucy - who shouldn't be here any more than he was, but couldn't help herself any more than he could - stood behind him, a mocking yet good-natured smile on her lips. 

“Heard you know your way around that,” Tommy grinned and left her standing there. 

A few hours later, the sun had already risen over LA, heralding another hot morning. Tommy lowered the blinds of his house to lock it out. He didn't mind sleeping during the day after a shift, but after this assignment it wasn't at all clear whether he’d be able to find rest soon. It wasn't every day that a plane landed on the highway. What you almost had to reckon with, however, were the numerous overstrained drivers who wedged into each other when the road was cleared, making it necessary to call out the emergency services again. 

Tommy was just thinking about whether he should have a coffee or just pull a pillow over his head when there was a knock. It was a frantic knock, urgent, and he sighed. What the hell…

“Gerrard is back,” Evan sputtered as soon as the door opened. The look on his face was... almost anxious. “He discharged himself from hospital and left us standing at attention at the end of shift.”

“What?” asked Tommy, slightly confused.

He opened the door wide, but Evan just stood there with a desperate look in his eyes.

“Tommy,” he said, and now Tommy was slightly worried. “You… you’ll never believe what he said.”

@supercalime

[solzscribblez]

d1 hotties + roommates from hell introductions off balance masterlist

yn: second year business and languages student. member of the university of tokyo gymnastics team. in high school, she was a member of the under 19 national team. right now she is completely laser focused on qualifying for the olympic qualifiers meet. has absolutely terrible health habits and has no intention of changing them. has problems with hypermobility and likes to pretend they don't exist until she's injured. truly has no idea how she ended up in this apartment.

kiyoko shimizu: third year sport management major. one of yns closest friends and her closest friend on the gymnastics team. yachi moved in with her after kiyokos og roommate dropped out and yachi absolutely hated her roommate.

yachi hitoka: 1st year marketing and graphic design major. shared a lot of core classes with yn first semester. (yn introdued yachi and kiyoko) big art fan. drags kiyoko and yn to art shows whenever they dont have practice.

nishinoya yuu: roommate no. 1. 2nd year world languages major. yn and nishinoya are the most obnoxious best friends you will ever meet- nishinoya wanted to get those matching half heart BFF necklaces but yn forced him to settle for bracelets. they match each others freak fr. they share a room in the apartment and think its the funniest thing in the world to have matching bedsheets. nishinoya will sometimes go to free practice with her and try to learn gymanstics but he is genuinely so terrible at it that she begs him not to go. (he goes anyway) (so far, he has broken three toes).

kozume kenma: roommate no. 2. 2nd year business major but spends all of his time streaming or playing video games. has an incredibly complex gaming system and every single roommate is absolutely terrified of messing with it. quit volleyball after highschool to focus on streaming.

tsukishima kei: roommate no. 3. first year anthropology major. shares a room with tadashi. shares a bunk bed (bottom bunk) but would rather die than admit it. absolute nightmare roommate. takes hour long hot showers and never does his chores on the chore wheel. only downloaded twitter becuase his roommates have a habit of calling house meetings on twitter and making big executive decisions without him. (the apartment now has a bathtub and stained glass windows in the kitchen. he is not happy)

yamaguchi tadashi: roommate no. 4. first year business major. king of the chore wheel. dream roommate. shares a bunk bed with tsukishima (top bunk) goes to girls nights with yn, yachi, and kiyoko because he's an INSANE gossip. loves a good juicy story.

notes:

-holy crap that took me a lot longer than i thought

-yn answered an ad off facebook that yamaguchi wrote becuase she really thought a girl wrote it

-kenma has his own room because he pays the most in rent (and he needs his own space to stream) technically, his name is on the lease

-i am not at all happy with the texting part im def gonna rewrite it later but im tripping off steroids right now so i can live with it

[luellasplanet]

crowded and confused. (aggie beever-jones & grace clinton)

word count: 1k

this was one of the fics i wrote when i got drunk and i’ve tried to make it make sense but i really don’t think it does

on your first ever lioness u16 camp you were paired up to room with grace. your shy nature hindered your ability to make friends meaning you followed poor grace around like a lost puppy for the first four days of camp, before you properly started interacting with the rest of the team. much to the relief of the brunette, who could only handle a few days without interacting with everyone else before she lost her mind.

your friendship with aggie in the beginning was slightly more forced than yours and grace’s. due to you playing in a forward position it meant that you and the blonde were constantly having to work on both your off and on the field connection.

but once you had warmed up to the blonde you had spent the majority of your time during the youth group stages with her.

and then even more time with aggie when you moved from your grassroots club to chelsea shortly after that camp.

even four years later you and aggie remained close friends. the two of you had moved in together at the beginning of the 23/24 season following the end of your loan spells at your respective clubs.

during your champions league debut in the first half of the season you had gone down with a broken foot after landing awkwardly during a corner. which meant that you were bedridden for a few weeks before the doctor gave you the all clear to slowly get back to daily life.

the rhythmic four knocks, on your front door, that were repeated in a specific pattern, meant that you knew exactly who was at your door. “oh that’s gracie, i’ll go open for her.” but before you had the chance to stand up aggie was up to open the door, but not before gently pushing you back down onto the bar stool.

ever since you had gone down during the match aggie had been at your aid, offering hugs, food, water, hoodies, anything that you needed she was there within seconds. going with you to all your physio appointments and making sure to keep a close eye on you during gym sessions.

“oh! hey aggie wasn’t expecting to see you here, is y/n home?” slightly pushing past the blonde she made her way into the living room and kitchen area when she saw your crutches placed haphazardly against the couch.

grace had brought a gift basket full of chocolates, hot chocolate bombs, one of her hoodies and your favourite candles plus flowers.

“hey y/n/n, how are you feeling darling?” setting the basket down onto the chair that aggie was previously sitting on in order to have free hands to give you a hug.

aggie busied herself on the other side of the counter, quickly making herself a cup of tea before making her way into her room without even sparing a second glance at the two of you.

three hours later after catching up you and grace had arranged to go out for dinner next saturday so she could introduce you to some of her spurs teammates. “bye gracie, i’ll see you next weekend!” closing the front door softly before locking it and throwing the key onto the countertop.

throughout those three hours there was still no sight of your blonde roommate. after a very painfully slow walk upstairs and across the hallway you knocked on aggie’s door.

before you could even start talking she was already fussing over you walking upstairs by yourself. “you’ve been on your feet too much, you should sit down. you still aren’t allowed to put pressure on your foot properly.” dragging you over to her bed before sitting on it next to you.

the silence in the room was deafening but you mustered up the courage to ask where she had disappeared to. “wanna tell me why you vanished into thin air when gracie came to visit?”

you were met with radio silence. which had left you ever more confused than before. you convinced yourself that you were being ridiculous, aggie and grace were friends, always had been and always will be.

you had slotted in and turned the dynamic duo into the troublesome trio. always getting in trouble for goofing off during training and getting told that the three of you had to speak to more than just each other at camps.

but the disappearing act continued every time that grace came over aggie suddenly had twenty other things to do instead of hanging out with her ‘two best friends.’

same goes for grace. if you invited her anywhere and mentioned that aggie was going she suddenly had to rain check on the plan’s because ‘something came up.’

utter bullshit.

and anytime you could get them in a room together they sat on either side of you constantly trying to win your attention.

whether it was a hand on your thigh, an arm around the back of your chair or offering to do something for you.

it was exhausting. yet you didn’t know what to do, talking to them seemed the reasonable decision but being able to get them into a room together was the difficult part.

after many many feeble attempts to get them to talk to one another you turned to your teammates for help. millie and niamh had helped you realise that maybe both aggie and grace liked you more than just a friend.

but how could you choose just one of them?

there was aggie with her infectious smile and caring nature that made your heart flutter every time you were with her. but then there was also grace who had the best jokes and her constant need for physical affection had you swooning.

there was just no possible way that you could pick between the two.