#are they on par with written no of course not

[noonemonitorsmyscreentime]

What I think is kind of interesting is that if Dean Casca Highbottom, seeing exactly how good of a student Young Coriolanus Snow was, had taken the boy under his wing instead of despising him and trying to get revenge on a boy that never knew his father (and who only had of his father the words of others about the great man that he was), he might have had a good helping hand in stopping the games he so deeply despised.

It would have been, at the same time, quite a revenge on Crassus Snow to use his son to dismantle the Games the man helped implement. Not only that, but it would have offered young Coryo a person to depend on during his most formative years where he had to grow up under the immense pressure of keeping up appearances, taking care of an ailing grandmother and fighting everyday to keep himself and his family fed.

What Casca failed to realise during the 10th Games was that there weren't 24 tributes, but 25. Snow was fighting for survival just as much as the rest; of course, with the caveat that Snow was never in danger of losing his life. But, for a boy who had for all his life to survive instead of to live, those two might have been the same thing. In saving himself, Coryo would also save Tigris and his grandmother, while all the other tributes were saving mosty themselves since they would be going home with nothing to show for winning the games other than their lives and some (crippling in some cases) trauma.

Maybe things would have played out differently, maybe not, but we have seen time and time again through all four of the Hunger Games books, the power of a kind gesture: Peeta with the bread, Rue healing Katniss, Katniss singing to Rue, Mags sacrificing herself, Boggs treating Katniss like a young traumatised girl when no one else did. Who knows if Snow (and, in turn, the rest of Panem) wouldn't have benefited from it?

[voidmetal-alloy]

Should I make a post outlining my personal views on each of the dynamics that Bass is shown to have with the other main cast of the series or is that too me specific for anyone to care

(For reference it would probably be Wily, Proto, Rock, Duo and MAYBE Light and Roll but he hasn’t really interacted with either of them for me to have real opinions about their dynamics)

[not-poignant]

FFS efnisien 2, 16 (mostly curious because i could not imagine him being irritated, theres always a swell of guilt or shame imo), 22 (wondering if he also would be convinced to wear lingerie or something like that under his clothes and be out and about), 24! Sorry theres so many <3

How would/does your character feel about being picked up?

Aside from feeling a bit disconcerted, Efnisien likes when Arden carries him / moves him / makes it clear that he has no issues doing this.

If it was someone he didn't know, he'd hate it.

Who is the most likely person to irritate your character?

All the people who irritated him in the story tbh! Like, Dr Gary, Bridge, Nate, Kadek, Lludd, Gwyn, Augus and even Arden at times! Efnisien spends a lot of his time in that story being annoyed at people or trying to suppress how annoyed he is at people. And Dr Gary actually spends a lot of the story trying to get Efnisien annoyed at the right people.

The word "annoyed" comes up in Falling Falling Stars 91 times and almost all of them are describing how Efnisien feels about someone else. The word "annoying" comes up around 69 times in the story (nice) and over 60% are how Efnisien feels about others (that they're being annoying/annoying him). The word "pissed" (as in "pissed off" or angry) comes up 29 times, and granted okay a few of those times refer to urine but the rest mostly refer to Efnisien being mad at people and/or worrying people are mad at him. The word "angry" is in the story 249 times and quite a few of them are just directed at Dr Gary, Arden, Nate, and Kadek! I actually think Efnisien in Falling Falling Stars is probably one of my most like, angry/irritated/frustrated characters. (The word frustrated etc. comes up a lot too).

Just because he feels guilty or ashamed of it, doesn't mean it's not happening! In fact, a lot of the time you can see his suppressed irritation in action where he feels annoyed at someone, and then redirects that anger at himself, which results in guilt/shame - it's literally part of the same coin. And sometimes he doesn't feel guilty or ashamed at all, there's a ton of this, especially towards Dr Gary, Nate, Kadek and Augus. It happens often enough that he's reliably feeling this towards one or more people any chapter that has one or more people in it.

I'd say the people Efnisien gets most annoyed at is Dr Gary, Nate and then Kadek. Especially as he rarely feels guilty about it with these characters in any way.

He's so reliably and consistently annoyed at everything and everyone that it was the first trait I gave him in his Underline the Black manifestation aslkfdjsa

Does your character ever wear revealing clothing?

Only if Arden wants him to in a scene, otherwise no. And it's also broadly not something he'd ever choose for himself, given his scars, and how he feels about revealing his body (which is also that, it should only belong the people he trusts, and that it absolutely doesn't belong to anyone else).

Efnisien doesn't like feminisation broadly (re: the lingerie mention), he only likes it in scenes with Arden and more accurately, it's more like he tolerates it because he knows Arden likes it so much, and because it's very challenging to do. (It's a hard limit with Kadek, even, in Second Star to the Right - so after all this time he still doesn't trust Kadek with it). This comes up pretty seriously in the relationship where, when Efnisien ends up wearing nail-polish outside of a scene due to bad aftercare on Arden's behalf, he crashes, becomes angry at Arden, and nearly ends the relationship because of it. Later they talk about it, and we see Arden understanding why Efnisien hated the nail polish outside of the scene:

‘No,’ Arden said. ‘There are things people really want in the framework of a scene, that they don’t want at any other time in their lives. There are folks who like feminisation all the time, and then there are ones who only want it in scenes, because the scene is – in an ideal world – a safe space. The world is not a safe space. And you’re right, nail polish feels weird if you’re not used to wearing it. As a beauty product traditionally associated with women, it’s kind of loaded if you wear it in public. I picked a classically feminine colour for you.’ ‘I don’t know if I want to do nail polish again for a while,’ Efnisien said.

This single incident is like - Arden correctly identifying why Efnisien can't handle it outside of the privacy of a scene (after they've talked about it), and it still has a pretty profound consequence! It becomes a hard limit (at least temporarily).

This is not someone who would ever wear lingerie under his clothing while they went out and about because Arden wanted him to. Even wearing ropes under his clothing later in the story made him largely just annoyed to the point that he's actively trying not to think about them. Later, during the debrief, he makes it clear that he only really likes them if Arden is there (but even so, he still found them annoying).

Who is your character proud of?

Arden - Just for generally being awesome and overcoming so much in his life, and always often working to better himself or his life.

Kadek - For continuing to learn how to try and have the weird not-relationship he has with Arden and Efnisien.

Himself - Mostly when he's survived a really hard scene, it's a tenuous feeling for him to hold onto towards himself.

And also probably a bunch of other people! Han Yuen, Leo, Frankie, Sasha, etc. Efnisien's met a lot of people, and has a lot of reasons to be proud of them over time :D

~

From the OC Asks meme!

[roots-symphony]

why did agatha tell lilia the truth about her only being able to steal powers if she’s blasted first if her entire plan was to get them to blast her so she could steal their powers??

[the-golden-ghost]

That stupid "people in the Olden Days used to believe their autistic kids were stolen away by the fae :) " myth pisses me off so much. No, they didn't. Somebody made that up in the mid 2010s and it took off cause it "made so much sense!" but there was never any historical basis for it, it was just somebody in the modern age speculating (wrongly) and now it's freaking EVERYwhere and you can't escape it.

[the-s1lly-corner]

hellllooooooo... sorry for asking and i hope im not coming off as weird but i want to start writing for myself and i was wondering if you have any tips? like on how to improve and things like that... ive been reading your stuff for a long time and i really like your writing style :2

OOOOOOUUUUUUGH

Thinks... honestly I dont really have any advice. Its not that I dont want to share my tips its just that I dont have any fdkmvpfkmp

I am by no means a good writer- I just put words into text and hope it sounds good and paints a nice picture in peoples heads </3

What I will say is.... take frequent breaks! Both in the "take breaks between larger projects" and "breaks while writing something" idk what it is but me personally I cannot write more than a few hundred words before I need to go do something else for a few minutes.. hmm hmmm thinks... maybe ill come back to this in a bit since i dont... really think about my writing habits and stuff- i kind of just jump right into wirting with only a vague idea of what i want to show off TToTT

[vulturevanity]

Grusha in Horizons is a complex and well written character, as are many of the supporting cast. And I absolutely loathe him.

[whatifiexplodedrightnow]

man venturing into the peruvian craig tag on ao3 i really gotta brace myself sometimes for AT LEAST one of these situations

1) shitty badly researched google translated spanish

2) mischaracterization all to hell to fit craig into the flirty latin lover stereotype

3) peruvian culture = mexican culture because as we all know latinoamerican culture is a monolith

4) tweek (or whatever guy it is hes with) Needs to make mention of craigs tan brown skin and compare it to their beautiful smooth pale snow white milky chalkboard cocaine powder colored skin

4.5) none of craigs love interests are allowed to be nonwhite btw. they all have to be the palest whitest pastiest bitches alive. thats the rule

5) calls him Spanish even though that. is an ethnicity. and that is not his if he is Peruvian . christ

6) craig can "speak incan"

[aq2003]

re your anon's "Also I find it funny that I keep finding out every other acclaimed Shakespearean actor has some weird ass theory on Shakespeare or his work. Like why?" - this so much! One is Baconian, another is Rutlandian etc, bless Tennant at the very least for "I don't really caring" this issue from the get go.

derek jacobi and mark rylance meet me in the pit !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jedibongrip]

Lapvona is on my tbr list!!! I had trouble w My Year of Rest and Relaxation but I wanna give her another shot.

lol my year of rest and relaxation is on my to read list, so collectively we have achieved both our goals

lapvona was really good but i also struggled a bit through some part. it has some heavy - and i mean HEAVY - themes and events. one of those books where anytime i started to feel a little bit sorry for anyone, something happens and id go "oh yeah everyone here is horrible, i almost forgot"

[orionlikespenguins]

Ive recently started working on fic set in a sci-fi AU, but very specifically it's an excuse to world-build and to write about Phil. But I'm a little uncertain about it, because Phil is rather ooc, but it's also on purpose because the whole fic is essentially detailing his backstory in this AU. From childhood through teen and young adult years, and eventually he grows into his usual/canon personality, but for most of the fic he is still undergoing the process of becoming that person. So he's pretty ooc for most of it. And i do intend to include other characters in it as well, i have almost the entire thing plotted out, but in many situations it involves original characters to serve certain roles. So sometimes i wonder if i can even call it a fanfic anymore?

[lilyflower06]

If I see just one more person hating on DR UDG for no reason again, I swear I'll become UDG's number 1 defender even though I don't like it as much as the main games. But I still like it damn it!

[boysnberriespie]

Sorry I’m trying not to be too bitter about this, I’m trying to just move on with my life, eventually make more Izzy art once I’m not just fucking annoyed, but if you don’t wanna hear it block the tag “pirate bitching”

(I just don’t want my posts to show up anywhere in the main tags because please leave me alone if you’re mean lol)

“This opinion is because you’re looking too close and thinking too hard about it it’s a romcom” MAN y’all were plate of corning this show to hell and back for a YEAR and a half 😭to the point that I know people who absolutely hate this show, never watched it, but still know a shit ton about it cuz people never shut the hell up, be consistent 😩

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 31st. tom riddle — breeding kink, raw sex.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom has a dream about fucking you raw, and decides it’s time he ditches the self-restraint.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, needy tom riddle, fingering, slight begging, desperate sex, PIV, creampie, incoherent babbling/dirty talk, breeding kink, literally the most feralized and needy and pathetic tom i have ever written .

You wake up to the feeling of Tom at your back, sometime within the early hours of the morning. 

Not an unusual occurrence, per say, but you're vaguely aware of the fact that the desperate way he's gripping your waist and pressing against you isn't just par for the course—something's off—and you don't get to wonder or question what exactly it is because within a second he's pressing his lips to your neck, murmuring your name, and stealing your cognitive function before you even get the chance to wake. 

"What—" you manage to get out, just as his hand slides up the front of your shirt and his lips continue mouthing against your neck. 

"Hm?" He murmurs, as if he's doing nothing unusual, as if you aren't completely aware he's pressed up against you like an animal in heat.

"Are you," you're struggling to get the words out as his lips graze the spot on the nape of your neck that makes your breath catch. "Okay?" 

He stills for a moment at that, before he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, as if the question is almost funny somehow. "Should I not be?"

"I just...mmf—" a whole body shudder goes through you as his hand reaches the underside of your breasts; palming, squeezing. "You seem—different." 

"Different," he echos against your neck with a smile. "In what way?"

"Uh, needier—oh," his hand slips from your chest to the front of your pyjama pants, grinding his erection against your ass. "What's—gotten into you—"

"You, of course," he husks, and the fact that he can be cocky while he's practically pinning you to his chest is the perfect bloody summary of him. "Who else?"

"Well—I mean—" the words leave your lips in a hissing moan as his hand, that beautiful, steady hand—slips under your waistband and wastes no time in finding your clit, long fingers swirling tight little circles against it. "What—ohhh—" 

"You do know that you're asking way too many questions," he whispers, teeth nipping at your ear lobe as he runs his index and middle fingers down your slit. "I'd rather you be moaning my name as opposed to doing a million cross-examinations on my behaviour."

Well, that certainly shuts you up, at least on the verbal side of things—because the gasp that leaves your lips is not entirely something you can control, considering the fact that you're suddenly very aware of just how badly he seems to need you right now.

"I think that was progress," he croons between open-mouthed kisses, absentmindedly making you shiver and jerk as his fingers resume rubbing and massaging your clit. "Good girl." 

You whimper faintly at that, and you wish you could hate the way you react to the praise on principle only—but that's kind of hard to do when it's him, and he's doing the praising in the first place. So instead, you just try to keep any kind of higher brain function intact, regardless of it being a losing battle at this point.

"I just need you," he practically groans, and it's the strangest thing to hear him say when he's usually just fine being all smug and self-composed. "I need to feel you, now."

It's the closest thing to him pleading that you think you've ever heard, and the guttural moan you let out as he slips one of those long slender fingers inside your embarrassingly slick cunt is the closest thing to feral as you're sure you've ever been. 

"Need," you whimper as your hips jerk, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it's a sound you've made and not some kind of vocal fry of his. "Need me, why?" 

He doesn't answer right away, not in words—just sucks your earlobe into his mouth in a way that makes you want to scream. "You're not usually this difficult." 

"M'tired." The argument is weak, at best, but you're not exactly in any kind of frame of mind to try and make sense of the situation. "And you're—intense—"

"Yes," he murmurs, that smug tone still needling your eternal irritation. "And if you must know, it really is because of you. I had a dream about you." He punctuates the sentence by slipping a second finger into your slick heat, and you barely manage to keep a whimpering moan inside that you just know he would love to hear. "Fuck. It was a beautiful dream." 

He bites at your ear again, and it occurs to you that the desperate edge to his voice might have something to do with just how good the dream of you felt—or how badly he'd clearly wanted it to be real. 

You suddenly need to hear every goddamn detail. 

"Felt you for once, without protection," he tells you, as if reading your mind, and you whimper at what you're pretty sure is a pretty profound confession. "Even better than I thought you'd feel—fuck—"

"You're not the only one who's thought about that," you manage to get out, and you're not even being coy about it—at this point you're simply trying to deal with the realization that Tom Riddle having a wet dream about you is apparently enough to turn you into a pathetic, drooling mess. "But you are the one who's always been insistent on using condoms."

Oh, the low growl he lets out at that is a dangerous sound—it's low and guttural and it makes you realize that there's a very real chance this is going to go somewhere you might have trouble walking away from. 

"Yes, well," he pauses, and you can practically feel the fire in his eyes. "I'm just realizing I might have been a bit of a fool."

"You, admitting you're a fool?" You somehow give a half-assed scoff at the idea as you try to hold onto your sanity. "I think hell just froze over."

He laughs at that—actually laughs, and it does strange things to your insides to have it directed at you. 

"Maybe I'm just in a very specific sort of mood." 

"Oh?" You manage to raise an eyebrow. "And what kind of mood is that?"

"The kind of mood," he says, in an almost growl that you're trying to interpret through the haze of trying not to moan, "where I throw all reason out the window. The kind of mood where I forget all self-restraint."

"That's a dangerous thing, coming from you," you choke out, because that is true, but you're only half-thinking through your words before you say them, half your brain stolen by the curling of his fingers inside you, massaging your slick walls. "You don't usually—"

"Never," he cuts you off, like he's fully aware of just how different this is and trying not to admit it. "Until you."

Well, you don't know what to say to that—because you know him, and you know he doesn't usually lose himself in things like this, not like he's apparently doing now. 

"Oh?" You gasp, as his thumb sweeps over your clit, making your eyes roll. "So I've made you reckless." 

His answer comes in the form of a low, grunting sound of agreement, his grip on your body shifting a bit as he pulls you back tighter to his chest, rutting his erection against your ass. 

"You've done more than that," he murmurs with a sigh right in your ear as his slick fingers slip out to draw wet little circles against your clit. "Fuck it. I need to feel you—please, let me fuck you right. No protection."

Oh sweet Mother of Merlin.

There were a lot of words in that sentence that you were fucking sure, just a minute ago, were entirely out of the question for him. Not a soul on god’s green earth could have prepared you for the feeling that utterance just invoked—and you can't help but let out a helpless, wanton groan in response—his fingers driving you directly to the very edge of climax—

"I need a word out of you," he grits, and you realize then that you're both at the mercy of something he can only half control as he ruts against you again, his fingers slowing as if he's edging you— "please." 

You wish you could give him something teasing, snarky, maybe even witty. Something to needle him for just how beside himself he is, something to call him out for the feralized broken thing he's seemingly been reduced to. 

But you can't, because your climax is right there, and he's moving his fingers too slow, denying you of it on purpose—

"Yes," you whimper, the word like an answer to a prayer you hadn't even known you were praying for, and you realize somewhere behind your consciousness that you're desperate and aching inside for so many reasons, all of them because of him. "Please, fuck. Please, do it—I need—to cum—"

And at those words—that plea—the need in them, there's no stopping the sound that tears itself out of his throat, and before you can even think he's jerking your pyjama pants off your thighs—

"Wanna feel it—" he hisses as he frees himself next, tugging you against him and lifting your thigh toward your head. "Need to feel you cum when I'm inside you."

Oh, and at this point you're begging that you'll survive this. 

You're at his mercy, as you've been before, but in a completely different way—one that seems to be fueled by whatever animalistic thing is driving him today, and you're left with no defense besides the knowledge that he's doing this because if he didn't, he may just lose his goddamn mind. 

And for as much trouble you generally get into by enjoying him being cocky and in control of the narrative, this—this is something you've never once experienced. Tom on the edge of falling completely apart in his need for you, desperation and need taking a front seat to his usual restraint and control.

He's between your thighs before you can blink, and then he's pushing in. "Oh, fuck."

It's a sensation that's completely different when there's no barrier between you, and you're pretty sure that if it wasn't for the fact that the animal in his chest has risen to the surface, taking you by the throat, you would have gasped out in a moan so loud it woke the entire fucking country—but somehow, someway, you manage to tame it. 

His face buries in the crook of your shoulder, and it's a sound of guttural relief as his breath goes shaky and unsteady right in your ear.

"Feels so good," he whispers as he sinks in—as his thick, throbbing dick disappears into your greedy cunt. "Too good."

'Too good' feels like the exact wrong thing to say right now, at least in your mind, because you're pretty sure you'll take the fact that this feels so good you're scared it might kill you to your grave. 

"Oh my god." You manage to get out the words through the haze, and you're barely even sure what you're saying, your head thrown back against his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around your throat. "Oh my god, Tom." 

He responds with a shaky curse of your name, and you’re absolutely certain somewhere in you is exploding, something in your gut is coiled so tight it's like holding in the biggest possible secret of the world that you're desperate to scream to someone—

"So wet. So tight. I'm never starving myself of this again." It's a confession that steals your breath, and you struggle to keep breathing, struggling with trying to keep your world from spinning away as he starts to make shallow, languid thrusts into you, free hand slipping down to your clit. "Let me feel it. Let me feel it all."

You keen. "Fuck! Please."

It's the only word you can manage in a half-hysterical moan, your hand grabbing onto the one he's wrapped around your throat as if he's saving you from certain destruction, as if he's the only lifeline you'll ever find—and maybe, you think that's okay, because you're so used by him in so many ways that right now you don't even want another.

"T-tom—" his fingers swirl your clit in perfect time with his thrusts and you're clenching so tight your entire body is almost stiff. "Tommmm—I'm fucking—"

His teeth bite down on your shoulder with such ferocity you'd think he wanted it to bleed, and you're not even sure it's intentional as his body tenses against yours, tugging you back like he's trying to crush you into his chest. 

"Yes. Yes," he hisses again, and it's broken. "Please give it to me."

'Please give it to me' are the best five words you've ever heard from his mouth, you think with the quarter of your brain that’s still functioning—and it's like you've been waiting for permission without realizing it, because you feel fireworks going off behind your eyes a moment later. 

"Oh fuckk! Yes, yes, oh!" 

You cry out, so loud you'd be nervous about someone hearing you if the pleasure wracking your body wasn't so powerful you're pretty sure you're going to feel it all the way into next week—and there's a sound like something coming undone against your skin as his teeth dig deeper into your shoulder, a sound that's like a low, guttural moan of your name before he shutters something in half-broken words you're not even sure he's meant to.

"Oh yes—god, you're tight—fuck—"

You can't answer him, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later it's all painfully forgotten with the way he lets out another moan against your shoulder—

"That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Just like that."

It's the pet name that does something to your insides, twisting them up in a way you can't quite parse through the haze, but it's enough in the moment to make tears prick unbidden at the corner of your eyes as he jerks against you, his breaths coming in shaky, heavy pants against your skin as his own climax draw closer, and there's no way this wasn't something you both needed that neither knew how to ask for. 

"Tom," you manage to whimper, and it sounds like a prayer of your own creation. "Tom—"

It's like he needed to hear you moan his name like that in a way that's primal—because in that moment his hand moves from your neck to your hair, and he clenches his fist into it, pulling, and it's enough to make a shattered moan force its way out of your chest and up to your throat. 

"M'close. Mmm. So fucking close," he hisses against your skin. "M'gonna—fill this tight cunt."

And god, it should be alarming, because you've always been careful, careful, careful—because you've always known the risks, the consequences, but right now you're having a hard time remembering why you ever thought it was a terrible, terrible idea to let him do this. 

"You're—Tom—you—"

"I know,” he groans, and it's like a plea, as if you're saying something out loud that he doesn't want to admit he knows— "just take it. Let me—fucking breed you."

There's a moment where your chest seems to constrict violently at that, where you're almost sure you must have a heart condition because it feels like skipping a beat is the under-explanation of the century, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and god if it wasn't as profoundly hot as you know it shouldn't be. 

“Jesus—Tom—“ there're a lot of things you know you should be saying, things you'd planned to say—or not do, as the case may be—but the only thing that leaves your lips at this moment is, “please."

And he doesn't know if it's a plea or a prayer, but either way it’s all the same because there’s no stopping the sound that leaves his lips as your answer sinks into his brain, as the meaning sinks into his bones: the low, guttural, primal sound of a man losing pieces of himself in something that he doesn't care to stop. 

"Oh—" he chokes out. "Oh god—"

It's like it's taking him like he wants it to, stealing him up in a way that both makes him feel both more whole than he's ever been and like he's lost more of himself than he can possibly cope with at every other moment all at once, and you're pretty damn sure you'll be the only thing that survives it, in the end— 

And then, he explodes. "Fuck—"

It's a choked-off sound that tears violently into the room without his permission, one that claws its way out of his chest and up his throat in a way that feels simultaneously like falling into and being pushed off of a cliff straight into oblivion—

"Mmm yes. Yes. Take it—" he's twitching inside you, hips trembling as he pumps his release deep within your walls. "Fuck. Fuck yes." 

There's a million and one responses to everything he's done and said in the last few minutes that dance on the tip of your tongue, but you're not entirely sure you have the mental capacity to do more than manage a shaky whimper at this point, and all you're even remotely sure you can do is respond to his own moans and gasps with ones of your own. 

"Tom," you whimper as he finally slows. As you both work to catch your breath. "I wish you had dreams like that more often."

He just laughs, a breathless, unsteady thing.

"That's my fucking girl." He mutters. "All mine."

[hopefullhearts]

Sickeningly Sweet [Scott Miller x Reader - Twisters]

summary: You are Tyler Owens' childhood best friend and member of his storm chasing crew. A storm outbreak means you and the gang cross paths with Storm Par on more than one occasion, and your sweet southern charm drives Scott crazy (in more than one way).

content warnings: somewhat heated kissing, no use of y/n, light name-calling/teasing, not proofread/bad writing (I have not written a fanfic in forever), bad taste in candy, & i think that is all!

word count: 3.5k

a/n: I have not written or posted on tumblr in SO long but I saw Twisters for the glenn powell craze and left with a scott/david corenswet obsession and these thoughts must come out of my head.

Shoutout to @hederasgarden and @sailor-aviator for leading the charge for the Scott girlies. All of their writings and drabbles inspired me to write this one, so check them out!

If people like this I might do a smutty part 2! I don't mind writing smut I just feel like it's not very good hahaha but let me know what you think!

--

You heavily resented the idea that guys and girls could not just be friends, because you'd be damned if Tyler Owens wasn't the best friend you ever had.

You met on the playground in Kindergarten. A boy pushed you off a swing, Tyler defended your honor, and the rest was history.

Tyler's overprotective streak made you view him like the brother you never had, and that's how your relationship remained. He was family, and that was that.

Tyler had always been interested in tornadoes, more specifically, how to track and predict them. You, on the other hand, hated science, including weather, but you loved the thrill of the chase.

In college, you studied marketing while Tyler studied meteorology. So, when Tyler had the idea to start streaming his storm chases, you were right there with him to help grow his brand.

Tyler knows he would be stupid not to credit you with all his success. You set up his streaming account, you edited all the clips and drone footage to post to his social media after the fact, and you even gave him the idea for the "Tornado Wrangler" nickname.

Now that everything was off the ground, you mostly put together streaming highlights and designed the merch, but you were right there in the backseat for every single chase, soaking up all the thrills.

This particular storm outbreak was expected to be a big one, so the whole crew strapped in for a week of bad weather, cheap motel rooms, and of course, a few run-ins with other chasers, including the guys from Storm Par.

"Storm Par's here." You said, gesturing to the fleet of white vans parked at the gas station you had just pulled up to.

"Of course they are." Tyler sighed. "There's probably going to be a lot of damage done by these storms for them to swoop in on. Just ignore them."

"No, we should be polite." You chastised him. "I'm gonna go say hi. Will you get me a cherry coke please?"

Tyler fought back an eye-roll, but nodded with a smile as you both got out of the car. "Of course."

Like everyone else in the crew, the Storm Par guys got on your last nerve. They were all a bunch of Ivy League grads who thought a more expensive degree made them better than everyone else.

However, being raised by your Mama, the epitome of Southern grace and charm, you always put a smile on your face and treated them with kindness. You even occasionally brought them food or coffee if you ran into them in the aftermath of a storm.

And even though you were blissfully unaware of the fact, this drove Scott absolutely mad.

"Hi Scott, Javi." You said cheerfully to the two boys in charge.

Scott replied with a grunt, but Javi was quick to greet you with genuine enthusiasm. "Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing well." You nodded, smoothing your hands over your athleisure skirt. "Excited for a good chase today. How about you guys?"

"Us too." Javi nodded. "We're hoping to finally get some solid data collection today."

"Ah." You nodded, unsure what to say. You hated the idea of what they were collecting data for, but Javi seemed like a nice enough guy, and Tyler ripped on them enough for the both of you.

"Something on your mind there, princess?" Scott finally spoke, glancing away from his tablet to look down on you (literally and figuratively).

You rolled your eyes. While you would normally love to be called a princess, it always sounded like an insult coming from Scott, his voice always laced with a touch of venom.

"No, nothing at all." You smiled. "Just wondering if we'll see you guys in the aftermath if there's any damage done?"

"Why? Are you looking to increase your t-shirt sales?"

You bit your tongue, doing your best to hold your composure and not let him get to you.

"Nope, just trying to figure out if we need to make some extra to-go boxes for you guys." You decided to focus your gaze on Javi instead, finding him less intimidating.

Javi opened his mouth to speak, but Scott beat him to the punch. "I think we can find food on our own, thanks."

You took a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. "Okay, well, the offer always stands if you change your mind."

Javi smiled and nodded. "As much as I want to see a good storm today, let's hope we don't have a ton of damage clean up."

You smiled. You knew he had a heart.

"That's something we both can agree on." You grinned. "Stay safe out there you guys!"

With that, you turned and walked away. Scott watched you go, your hair and skirt blowing side to side in the wind.

"Stay safe out there you guys." Scott mocked you under his breath.

"Yo, you don't always have to be a jerk to her, you know."

Scott gave him an unamused look. "She comes out here with her little boyfriend, selling his t-shirts and shit, and then skips over here like we're the best of friends with her thick southern accent. It's all fake."

"For one, I don't think Owens is her boyfriend." Javi corrected. "And two, I think she's just a genuinely nice person. She always says hello, even when everyone else in their crew ignores us like the plague."

"Whatever." Scott mumbled.

As you reached the truck, you took the ice-cold Coca-Cola bottle from Tyler's outstretched hand.

"Thank you!" You said excitedly, twisting the cap off to take a sip.

"How are dumb and dumber?" Tyler teased.

"Javi was nice." You informed him. "Scott was... there."

"Ah, yes." Tyler laughed. "Word on the street is he's a man of many words."

"Right." You agreed sarcastically. "But, when he does speak to me, he always calls me princess, and it drives me crazy."

"In what way?" Tyler said, failing to hold back a smirk.

It took you a moment to realize what he was implying, but when you did, you were mortified,

"Tyler Owens!" You gasped, your face flushing red with embarrassment.

""I'm just teasing you! You make it too easy." He laughed loudly. "In my defense, he looks like exactly like every boyfriend you've ever had."

Your face got even warmer, because he was exactly right. You had a weakness for tall, muscular, dark-haired men, and you especially loved a man who was a challenge.

"That is...irrelevant." You said, covering your face in your hands out of pure embarrassment.

Tyler held his hands up in surrender, as you rushed to talk about anything but Scott. "Let's just figure out what storm we're going after, you jerk." You insulted Tyler, but the smile on your face was ear to ear.

Scott watched the interaction from afar, and his chest twisted at your sickeningly sweet smile. Even if you weren't Owens' girlfriend, your closeness was evident. He ignored the burning feeling that was rising within him, not wanting to question why it was there in the first place.

Tornadoes were scary, but trying to understand how he felt about you? Terrifying.

"Alright, boss man, which storm are we chasing?" Javi pulled him out of his thoughts with a hand clapped on his shoulder, and he finally pulled his gaze away from your smile, the sound of your laughter fading into the background.

--

The storm was bad.

It hit a small town of about 3,000 people, and you estimated based on the initial damage scene that it was an EF3 at best, maybe even an EF4.

You were currently handing out anything that might be helpful to families who had been impacted by the tornado - blankets, water, heat lamps. pre-made sandwiches and cookies. You tried to offer them any comfort you could with a smile and hug, but you understood the devastation they felt all too well.

In the early days, you would try to help with the damage cleanup, but Tyler insisted that you stay back at the camper and talk to the families.

At first, you were insulted, and you thought that Tyler was insinuating you weren't strong enough to move heavy tree limbs or pieces of drywall. You finally asked him about it one day, and he laughed.

"Absolutely not!" He insisted. "You just have this energy around you that's calming, and these families need that. Your empathy and kindness are doing much more for them right now than cleaning up a bunch of rubble would."

You had never thought of it like that, but once Tyler pointed it out, it became your mission to be the solace that these families in crisis needed.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Smith?" You asked, rubbing the arms of a middle-aged woman who you had been speaking to for a few minutes now.

"No, thank you." She sniffled. "I really appreciate you guys being here. God bless you."

You smiled, giving her another hug. "Please let us know if there's anything more we can do to help."

She nodded, walking away to join her family, who were staring at the remains of their house.

You pushed back tears, feeling silly that this never got any easier for you, but also focused on being the anchor that these folks needed.

Scott saw you before you saw him. He watched you from afar as you did your work. He watched you force a smile and hold these people as they cried. He also watched you look up to blink back the tears before taking a deep breath and moving on to the next.

And damn if it didn't drive him nuts.

This job is easier when he doesn't get involved with the people impacted. It's easier to pretend not to care. But watching you pour your heart out to strangers, just because it's the right thing to do? It made his heart jump, and that scared him.

Ignoring the people involved and ignoring his feelings for you had become increasingly more difficult with every chase.

"Scott!" You called, approaching him with a styrofoam container in your hand.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself as you literally bounced over to him.

How the hell does someone look this good after taking on a tornado?

"Here." You offered him the container. "It's just a ham and cheese sandwich and a cookie."

"I'm really not hungry." He responded.

"Seriously?" You asked, not buying it. "We've all been chasing since 10 AM and it's nearly 8, you have to be hungry."

Scott shrugged, trying to hold back the things he really wanted to say.

"Fine." You sighed. "We're right over here if you change your mind."

"Yeah, I know princess. It's hard to miss you being the town's savior over there."

Scott watched you visibly retract and he internally screamed as his heart dropped. You probably hated him, but it didn't matter anyway. You were far too sweet for him, so putting a wedge between the two of you seemed to be the smartest way to outrun his feelings.

"Wow." You spoke, your voice much smaller and shakier than usual. "I knew you were sarcastic and maybe even a little mean, but I never thought you were actually cruel. So, thanks, for enlightening me."

And with that, you turned and strutted off. This time, you failed to fight back the tears as you returned to the camper.

And to your horror, Tyler was there, taking a break from clean up for some water.

When Tyler sees you cry, his overprotective streak comes out instantly, and right now you didn't want to be protected, because you were so embarrassed that he finally got to you. You were even more embarrassed that you thought that just maybe, he might be a good person under that scowl and hard facade.

"Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" Tyler rushed up to meet you.

You nodded, trying to stop sniffling. "I'm fine."

Tyler looked behind you to see Scott watching you closely, with a look that almost mimicked longing, and he quickly put two and two together.

"Let me handle this." He insisted.

You shook your head in protest. "No, Tyler, please, he thinks I'm a waste of time anyways, it's not worth it."

"Trust me, he doesn't," Tyler reassured you. "Let me handle this, and if it goes badly, I'll edit all the stream highlights for the next two weeks, okay?"

"Deal." You nodded.

You truly did trust him more than anyone in your life, so you opted to go inside the camper and dry up your tears while he went to speak to Scott. You would let Tyler handle it, but no way were you going to stand there and watch, looking like a puppy who just got kicked.

"Coming to defend your girlfriend's honor?" Scott said sarcastically, trying to mask any emotion he was feeling.

"Dude, seriously." Tyler glared at him. "If you want her attention being a complete and total asshole is not the way you get it."

"Is that what you think? That I want her 'attention'?" He said, framing the last word in air quotes.

"Yeah, I do." Tyler nodded. "I saw the look you gave her as she walked away."

"Okay, so what?" Scott shrugged. "You might be surprised to know I am human and I didn't mean to make her cry."

"Sure." Tyler nodded. "So, what about all the other times I've caught you staring at her, hm?"

Scott stayed silent, stunned speechless.

"Ah, you thought you were better at hiding it, didn't you?" Tyler said with a smug grin. "Every time we end up at the same gas station, restaurant, bar, or motel, your eyes follow her nearly the whole time. And don't even get me started on the holes you burn into my head when I'm talking to her."

"Alright, fine." Scott snapped angrily. "Here to rub it in my face then?"

Tyler sighed in frustration. "No."

"Then what?"

"I'm going to give you a piece of advice."

"Why?" Scott scoffed. "It's no secret that we aren't friends."

"I know her better than anyone else, do you want my help or not?" Tyler asked, his patience nearing its limit.

Scott didn't protest this time.

"Look, no matter what I think about you, you're pretty much exactly her type," Tyler said, much to Scott's surprise. "So if you want her, apologize and tell her how you feel."

"She's not going to feel the same, and she deserves much better than me." Scott retorted. "C'mon Owens, you know what we do. When she comes floating into these broken towns like a heaven-sent angel, I'm collecting data for the devil."

"That doesn't have to be a permanent problem." Tyler pointed out. "Plus, she likes a challenge, and she's definitely brave enough to think she can fix you."

That cracked a smile from both of them, followed by a moment of silence.

"218." Tyler said.

"What?"

"That's the room she's staying in tonight." Tyler said, starting to walk away. "Apologize."

Scott nodded, beginning to formulate a plan on how the hell he was going to get you to forgive him.

--

You were snug under your blanket in the motel room watching reruns of Modern Family when the knock came.

You sighed and got up, not bothering to check the peephole as you assumed it was just Tyler coming to talk about the day's events.

So when you opened the door to see Scott standing there, you couldn't be more surprised.

"What are you doing here?" You said quietly, nearly breathless at the sight of him.

It wasn't the first time you had seen him outside of that stupid Storm Par white jumpsuit, but it was the first time you had seen him in gray sweatpants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that clung to his muscles in a way that you could only describe as sinful.

He towered over you, leaning against the frame of the doorway, and you nearly shuddered when you looked up to meet the intense gaze in his eyes.

"I brought you something. As an apology for being an ass earlier today."

"Oh, and what did you bring for all the other times?" You spat back, no longer in the mood to play nice with him.

"I deserve that." He sighed. "Can I come in?"

"Depends." You responded, and he raised an eyebrow. "What did you bring me?"

He handed you a plastic bag, and you opened it to find a Cherry Coke, Sour Patch Kids, and a Honey Bun.

All of your favorites.

"How did you know what I like?" You asked, curious to know if Tyler was behind this.

"You always get some combination of the three at any local gas station." He shrugged.

He remembered because the first time he saw you buy all three he physically rolled his eyes, because, of course, you would buy snacks just as sickeningly sweet as you.

"I didn't know you paid this much attention to me." You said softly.

"Yeah." Scott inhaled a sharp breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Can I please come in?"

You opened the door, inviting him in with the gesture. The door shut behind you, and there was a brief moment of silence between you two.

"I'm sorry, for being a jerk today and every other time I'm around you." Scott started, visibly nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I had a better explanation for why I've been such an ass."

"Yeah, so let's hear it." You said, hands on your hips. "Because I have been nothing but nice to you, even though I don't like who you work for and what they stand for."

"I know." He nodded. "At first, I thought you were being fake or sarcastic because it was unfathomable to me that you would be nice to us when you have absolutely no reason to be."

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"But once I learned more about you, and I realized you were being genuinely nice," Scott took a deep breath, building up all his courage. "It knocked me off my feet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused at what he was getting at

"I spend most of my time pretending that I don't care about the people that are devastated by all of this, because it's easier that way. But watching you bear your heart and soul to all of these people, just because you can?" Scott scoffed. "It makes it hard to pretend like I don't care about them, or more importantly, about you."

"You care about me?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I was a jerk to you because I thought it would be easier to make you hate me than it would be to admit that I have feelings for you, when you're far too good for me."

His admission stunned you. You can feel your heart thumping out of your chest as you look into his eyes, which look painstakingly vulnerable.

"I completely understand if you don't feel the same way, but I couldn't outrun these feelings anymore, and I wanted to at least let you know that I'm sorry."

The room fell silent as you processed everything he just told you. Scott was panicking inside, waiting for what felt like years for you to say something, anything.

"Do you know why I was always nice to you?" You asked him. "Because I was hoping that somewhere in there you had a good side. I needed to know that you had a heart before I could admit to myself that I felt drawn to you."

"Do you still? Feel drawn to me?"

You nodded. Stepping closer to him so that you were nearly face to face.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please." You nodded desperately, your words barely above a whisper.

His lips were on yours in a flash, and the pure intensity of the kiss nearly knocked you off your feet. It was heated and rough, but somehow gentle and passionate at the same time. His thumb grazed your cheek as he pulled you closer, and every spot his fingers touched made your skin feel like it was on fire. You couldn't get enough of him.

Once he knew you were comfortable, he took the liberty of exploring you more. His tongue slipped into your mouth gently and his teeth caught your bottom lip, causing a small whimper to come from the back of your throat.

Scott groaned at the sound, letting his mind imagine (not for the first time) all of the sounds he could pull from you.

When the two of you finally pulled away for air, he kept you close, his hands ghosting under your chin around your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You taste just as sweet as I thought you would," Scott said with a smirk.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

[paceprompting]

a knot problem

written for ‘alpha/alpha’ | wc: 2,519 # | rated: e | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: alpha!steve, alpha!eddie, past stommy, knotting sex, alternate first meeting

@stmarchmm

It was a secret he needed to keep hidden.

That Steve Harrington liked hanging off a knot.

It had happened by accident the first time. Not the fucking part—he and Tommy got horny when they smoked and handjobs had escalated to blowjobs, and then escalated again to lazy fucking in Steve’s bed.

Steve didn’t mind bottoming for Tommy, even if they were both alphas—and honestly, probably should have been his first clue—since Tommy still wanted to maintain every public image that he was straight while he and Carol were currently off.

When it happened, Tommy had Steve pressed face down into the bed, thrusting into him from behind. Steve had his face shoved into a pillow to muffle his moan, since Tommy didn’t want to hear them, and had otherwise let himself fall deeper into the feeling of Tommy’s dick hitting his prostate. Par for the course.

He hadn’t been paying attention. And all Tommy cared about was getting off.

So, neither of them realized that the base of Tommy’s dick had started to swell, catching on the rim of Steve’s hole. All they knew was that it felt fucking good, and so Tommy thrust in hard…and locked them together as he came.

Swearing from the orgasm and the dawning realization of what he’d done, Tommy had nearly tried to pull out.

Steve managed to stop him before he caused any irreparable damage, and it nearly sent the two of them careening off the edge of the mattress. But, for thirty minutes, they rode out Tommy’s orgasm together. Every wave of cum spilling inside, filling Steve to the brim with a heavy load of alpha spend for being outside of a rut.

So distracted with his own release, Tommy didn’t notice Steve spill onto the comforter underneath with a surprised gasp.

And when Tommy finally eased his cock from Steve’s pliant body, and the sheer amount of cum spilled out after, Steve was fully hard again.

“Sorry about that, Harrington. Think I’m just pent up. But Carol and I should be getting back together soon, so…better not to mention this, huh?” Tommy had said immediately, dismissing the whole thing with a few sentences.

Steve only nodded, his voice gone, while keeping a blanket over the damning evidence of his erection. Which only twitched with interest as much of Tommy’s release gushed out of him.

Tommy fled to sleep off the rest of his high on the living room couch.

Steve had turned back over onto his front, stripping his cock with one hand while he shoved two fingers of the other into his messy, ruined hole—cumming again to the thought of Tommy Hagan’s knot stretching him out.

It was a secret that could ruin him.

And yet, he kept wanting other alphas.

He couldn’t go to Tommy again. Not only had Carol taken him back not long after that, but to Tommy, the whole knotting thing had been a result of too much weed and his dick not being able to tell the difference between a warm alpha body and an omega.

And he didn’t dare ask around school. One wrong word to the wrong person, and all of Hawkins would know that Steve Harrington wanted to get dicked down hard.

He subsisted on the memory of his one night with the real thing, up to four of his fingers at a time, and growing fantasies of nearly every other alpha in school.

Then, the summer he worked at Scoops, he met Robin.

An omega who only liked other omegas.

And she was a hell of a lot more in the know than he was. She knew of a couple bars in Indianapolis where he could ask around for what he wanted, without worrying about getting jumped.

Which was where he met Eddie.

Eddie Munson, Dustin’s new best friend and dungeons & dipwads game master. Eddie Munson, two-time super senior who stood on top of lunch tables and shouted about the state of the world.

Eddie Munson, alpha.

To his credit, Eddie immediately assumed Steve was messing with him and blew him off with a harsh scoff. Steve hadn’t even gotten to potentially hooking up—just the fact of Steve talking to him after four years of otherwise treating Eddie like he didn’t exist was enough.

Steve tried his luck with someone else, an average guy with blond hair and rough hands. Was more successful, getting as far as making out in the corner and the question on his lips to go back to his motel room and finally get what he’d been looking for.

And then the guy’s boyfriend had showed up.

And the guy threw Steve under the bus, shoving him toward a furious alpha with no time to throw his hands up and block the boyfriend’s fists slamming into the side of his face.

The bouncers caught on pretty quickly by then, and both the guy and his boyfriend were dragged off toward the door while Steve waved them off and headed for the back exit.

He stumbled out into the colder air, face throbbing and a thread of blood spilling down from a split near his temple. He wiped it off with the heel of his hand and swore into the relative silence of the empty alleyway.

Well, almost empty.

“Strike out in a bad way this time?” another voice called out, and Steve’s head snapped up toward it.

Behind an exhaled plume of smoke, Eddie Munson’s face came into view, smirking haughtily with a raised brow. Half a lit cigarette hung between two fingers, providing a barely-there glow of light for the darker side of the alley.

Steve, on the other hand, was directly underneath the light by the door, his disastrous appearance in clear view.

“What do you care?”

His head still fucking hurt where a bruise was definitely forming, and Steve knew he was leaving tonight without finding anyone to scratch his itch. So, sue him if he wasn’t in the mood to be polite to the other alpha that had rejected him.

Eddie let his eyes travel over the current state of Steve, the disconnect between his pressed red and blue-striped polo and jeans, and the half-twisted sneer on his face, along with the blood and bruising.

“Hard to see you as prom royalty with your face smashed half to hell. Lost some of your shine there, Harrington,” he said, pulling a drag off his cigarette.

“I never won prom king.” Steve stood up straight, but the light from above the door made his bruised eye sting and he shied away with a hand raised to block it. “And don’t call me that.”

Eddie cocked his head as Steve stumbled from the light, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. He stepped forward to get a closer look at the state of Steve’s face. Steve tried to turn away, but Eddie grimaced at what he saw.

“What happened?”

Steve rubbed at a spot in his jaw that ached. “Asshole clocked me.”

“Mackin’ on his boyfriend?” Eddie said, immediately back to being an annoying nuisance. Like maybe Steve had it coming in the first place.

“I didn’t know that. Dude basically set me up.” Steve sighed and searched for somewhere to sit on some empty crates beside him. Eddie stayed where he was, taking long drags and watching Steve with a curious, focused gaze.

“So, you’re really here. Looking for another alpha.”

Steve nodded, risking a glance toward Eddie. He stood with his weight resting back on one hip, arms crossed over his chest. The last bit of his cigarette rested in his hand, and Steve nearly grabbed it to finish it off himself.

“Run through the omega population in Hawkins already? Trying out the next best thing?”

“No, I—” Steve rubbed at his temple, forgetting that it was currently bruised and a little cut-up. He flinched and let his hand fall back down to rest on his knee. “I’m not looking…for that.”

“Then what are you—” Eddie narrowed his eyes, curls flying as he stood straight up, remnants of his cig falling to his feet. He didn’t seem to care, mouth hung open and brown eyes wide as deer. “Holy shit.”

Steve shot to his feet, even as the rush made his head throb. “Eddie, wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

Eddie was grinning now, his eyes alight in that way they did in the cafeteria when someone tried to tell him to shut it, when really then his tirade had a live victim. “You want an alpha. You want to be knotted.”

Okay, it was exactly what it looked like.

And Steve hadn’t really even said it to himself. Not so much more than saying he wanted to sleep with an alpha. Not that he didn’t want to be the one dominating, but to be…well…

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Eddie let a sharp laugh, and Steve’s attention caught for a moment on the deep dimples that formed at the corners of his mouth. Eddie’s deep voice brought him back, laced with sharp sarcasm. “Oh my God, who the fuck would even believe me? Between the two of us, you are not the one who’s reputation precedes them as being unconventional.”

Steve frowned. “And you’re protecting that reputation? Don’t you belong to a satanic cult or something?”

“Hey, now. I thought we were starting to get along. Breaking down cultural barriers. Opening our hearts and souls on this fine evening, alpha to alpha.” Eddie spread out his arms, clearly not taking the situation that he’d just figured out the blackmail material to end all blackmail material seriously.

“Well, my face hurts. I’m going back to find my friend.” Steve sighed, turning back toward the door—only hoping that it wasn’t locked from the outside and he didn’t have to sidle past Eddie to get out of the alley.

He’d just have to deal with the ever-present knowledge that someday, Eddie might finally cash in on what he knew, and Steve would have to find a way to deal with that so he wouldn’t tell.

“Y’know, if you asked nicely, I might just invite you back to my motel room. Has a decent ice maker.”

Steve froze, having barely started his path to the door. He looked over his shoulder enough to see that Eddie had not moved, except to crush whatever was left of his cigarette under his boot. He asked, “And do what? Let you belittle me until morning?”

“I mean, if you’re into that.” Eddie shrugged.

“Jesus Christ, Munson.” Steve grabbed and yanked the door open, the heady warmth of a crowd of bodies and intense lights washing over him full force. His grimace had the bruise on his face throbbing, and the pause he made was enough for Eddie to call out to him again.

“Or I could knot you.”

Steve whipped around to face Eddie, the door slamming shut behind him. For his dark clothes and wild curls, Eddie had dropped all his teasing and his back and forth with Steve—leaving only his brown eyes staring wide and…goddamn it, maybe hopeful.

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, stepping closer. The light over the door shined on him, revealing a denim vest over his leather jacket, covered in pins and patches. His hands hung at his side, not reaching. His steps were slow as he approached.

“I…What?” Steve’s head swam with Eddie’s offer, the words echoing around in his head. Maybe that hit to the face was harder than he thought.

“Didn’t believe you, when you started hinting at it inside. I’m sorry about that. You and me, y’know, not exactly the usual. But if you’re serious…well, we could have some fun together.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip, one hand pulling at the hem of his jacket. Nervous.

Steve exhaled, and wasn’t sure if he’d done that for a while. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Like you said,” Eddie let out a soft laugh, a bit of his earlier bravado returning. “My reputation tends to precede me. I’m all in if you are, Harrington.”

Steve’s feet seemed to move on their own, pushing him forward now that he had the permission and the invitation to finally get what he had been chasing for years. He crossed the last foot between he and Eddie, grabbing onto the denim fabric of his vest.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, and then planted his mouth on Eddie’s.

For a second, Eddie’s surprised made him freeze against Steve. His eyes shut, but his hands were slow and hesitant to find a place on Steve’s hips or his shoulders. Steve let a rumbling moan echo in his chest and pushed against Eddie, forcing him back a step.

Whichever one worked, it knocked Eddie back into the present. His hands clamped hard on Steve’s hips, hooking in his belt loops and using the grip to roll their hips.

Eddie bit and licked at Steve’s mouth, trading playful growls between them that Steve had never done before. He’d always been in charge, with girls and omegas, and then as close to submissive as he could get with Tommy.

This was different. Trading the lead with wet togues and rough teeth, the back and forth swell of them clutching at each other’s clothes and hair. He wasn’t giving anything up that he didn’t want to wasn’t taking any more than Eddie was willing to give.

Eddie didn’t care to hide that he was an alpha, hands rough as one grabbed hard at the swell of his ass and the other slid into Steve’s hair. He tugged until Steve growled into his mouth again and then kissed it away.

And he didn’t seem to care about letting Steve be one, either. Got this dazed look in his eyes for a second when Steve pulled at his shirt so hard he tore it a few inches from the neckline. Seemed to like it when Steve dragged his teeth along the side of his neck.

He was doing that to the sharp tendons in Eddie’s throat, his head tilted back to give Steve room when Eddie spoke, breathless and half-laughing.

“I might just think I was dreaming, but even my subconscious knows better than to imagine something like this.”

Steve huffed against his skin, and pressed the hard line of his dick straining through his jeans against the sizable bulge of Eddie’s. He knew he shouldn’t get too excited just yet, but he also knew it was going inside him pretty damn soon and he was starving for it.

“Am I going to have to imagine your dick?” he said back, with a small bite at Eddie’s collarbone.

“No,” Eddie answered, his hand in Steve’s hair tugging again. Steve let out a warbling moan and Eddie preened at the noise. “You’ll get it all.”

“Have you…done this…before?” Steve asked, panting, through lazy kisses.

“Both ways.” Eddie winked, and Steve shuddered. His hands tightened so hard in Eddie’s jacket, the leather creaked, and he was already a goner before Eddie said, “Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ve got you.”