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sunflowerwinds · 2 months ago

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sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: on a slow day at your grandmother’s bakery, a customer captures your attention. as the weeks pass, you see her pop up more and more. a gentle friendship ignites between the two of you. the only issue was the undeniable attraction to her and it didn’t help now having to do her a kind favor. it would go away…. right?

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, reader is described to have long enough hair to tie up, reader has a sister named mila, we love gram, vander, isha and jinx mentions <3, nothing but fluff, strangers to friends to lovers:)

word count: 3.5K

a/n: i seriously had so much fun writing this and i am excited to dig into a mini-series with vi. i hope everyone enjoys this as much as i do </3

— ONE

Running your grandmother’s bakery wasn’t easy but it was a light in your life. She taught you tips and tricks of working the large industrial oven, every single one of her recipes, and wiping down the chalkboard to write the specials for the delicious treats.

She was charm personified; somehow able to convince pretty much every person that walked to the pastry shop to try at least one item. You were on the more quiet side, not insanely secluded but you weren’t extroverted. Nice people cracked you open and next thing you knew it, you were shoving a donut into their palms to take home.

It was a bad habit.

It was a slow Thursday in November. You were sweeping the small area of seating, softly asking one of the usual college students that came if they needed anything else. You were just a few streets down from the community college so many people your age would come in for coffee and furiously type on their laptops.

Once you were told they were good for now, you excuse yourself back to behind the counter to adjust the display desserts. You were bent over when you heard the bell over the door echo within the space, shouting ‘welcome in’.

“If you have any questions, just let me know. We have a daily special which is on the blackboard,” you stood back up with a slight grunt from the rush, brushing a few flyaways to kindly smile at the new customer. “Today we have buy one, get one donut free.”

Your eyes slightly widen at the… attractiveness of the customer. You adjust the neckline of your soft brown cable knit sweater to tug out your necklaces, plastering on a friendly smile.

“I actually came in because I was curious about the sign,” she trails off, tilting her head as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Do you actually just let people smell the food?”

You let out a soft chuckle as you nod. Your grandfather, one of the only men who had ever tolerated, made the sign for your grandmother the second she mentioned it to him. Now, in all its carved glory ‘Free Smells!’ is hanging underneath the shop's main sign: Sweet Tooth Bakery + Cafe.

“Yeah, my grandma thought it’d be a funny sign to draw people in. Obviously, we don’t let them shove their nose into it or anything,” you shake your head, holding your hand out to the stranger. “Because that’s… unsanitary.”

The pink haired stranger nods with a soft chuckle, stepping back to check out the arrangement of treats in the display case. In that moment of silence, you, as discreetly as possible, check her out. She had on a navy blue cut off sleeve zip-up, a soft white tank top underneath and a pair of grey sweatpants hugging her lower half. Very simplistic outfit but she made it look good.

You think she just naturally looked good. If you stared for long enough, which you embarrassingly did so, you could see markings of ink on the side of her neck and following down the backs of her arms and the smallest etching on her cheek.

“Any suggestions on what to smell first?” She questions, curious eyes bouncing back up to you.

You hum to yourself as you, too, stagger your eyes from pastry to pastry to carefully choose which one you could have her smell.

“Are you a fan of blueberries?” You question with a beaming grin.

“Uh, sure, yeah. Blueberries are good.”

“Then you have to take a whiff of the blueberry danish. It’s one of my favorites.” You offer, pointing to the sweet treat.

The pink haired stranger leans forward, folding her bare arms across her chest. You, again, can’t help your stares as you try to figure out what was exactly dotted into her pale skin. She nods with a shrug, looking at you with a kind smile.

“I’ll give it a whiff, yeah,” she stepped forward so that the glass of the display case was the only obstacle between the two of you.

You can feel your face getting hot as you mutter a bright ‘okay’ to yourself. You bend over once again grab the metal tongs to pick out the danish to place on a ceramic plate. You place it on top of the display case, motioning for the stranger to give it a smell.

Still seeming a bit hesitant that you were playing a joke on her, she leans her face forward so that she is mere centimeters away from the pastry. She inhales a bit, letting out a long sigh as she leans back to look at you.

“Shit, that smells amazing,” she praises the sweet aroma, nodding in satisfaction. “I’ll take it.”

You blink at her before chuckling awkwardly.

“You don’t have to buy the ones you smell. I promise.” You reassure her as you attempt to put the danish back so that you can shove the cranberry-orange muffin in her face.

She’s quick to hold a palm out to stop you, shaking her head. A beautiful smile spreads on her lips, temporarily forgetting how eager you were to show her every single pastry on display.

“I want that one. I swear. Plus, my sister’s going to rush me out of here if I take too long.”

A part of you was disappointed that she was so quick to purchase the first, yet incredibly delicious, treat. You selfishly wanted her to stay for as long as possible. Your grandmother would be on your ass for being so distracted by an attractive customer.

She would give you a clap on the back for making a sale, though.

“Oh, okay. Did your sister want anything?” You offer, itching to find any way possible for her to stay just a bit longer.

The stranger hums to herself for a moment as she examines the rest of the delicious treats. You tilt your head as you grab a small brown paper bag to place the danish into, waiting patiently to see if she was going to pick another item.

To your delighted surprise, she nods as she points to a more simplistic pastry.

“I think this pink donut should be good,” she nods to show certainty.

You grasp onto the sweet treat to slide it into the bag with her danish, trying not to spill a lot of the sprinkles. You seal it closed with a custom sticker with the logo of the shop, typing up her total into the register. The stranger reaches into her sweatpants pocket to pull out her wallet.

“Your total is gonna be $7.89. Cash or card?” You question.

“Card.”

You watch her hand you a simple light blue credit card, grinning as you not-so-discreetly check out her full name on it. Her first name caught your attention. Violet. As you swipe her card, you clear your throat to work up the courage to give her a compliment.

“I love your name. It’s pretty,” you say as you hand her back the card.

The stranger, now known as Violet, smiles small at your words. Her long fingers take the card from you as she slides it back into her wallet.

“Thank you. My, uh, dad named me,” she grins at you.

“Well, he made a very good choice,” you hand her the bag as well, nodding as you try not to appear awkward. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Were you being weird?

“No, no, I’m good,” she chuckles as she crinkles the bag in her palms. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod as you hand her own copy of the receipt, holding onto the half second of the tip of her fingers brushing against yours. You watch her turn her back and leave the shop, eyes never leaving her sculpted back profile. You huff at your behavior once the bell from above the door snaps you out of your small trance, shoving your copy of the receipt into its designated spot.

“She’s cute,” you hear from behind you, causing you to jump and whip your head around.

You’re met with your grandma grinning evilly at you, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek from her baking in the back.

“Gram,” you sigh as you shake your head, brushing away your loose hairs.

“I’m just saying, bug,” she walks up next to you to rub up and down your arm.

You blush at what she was insinuating. As much as you love your grandmother, she attempted to be your match maker like you were an introverted middle schooler. You were 22 for God's sake. You would make moves and flirt when you felt like it.

“Don’t you have something in the oven?” You raise your eyebrows at her, hoping she’d leave it alone.

“Hey. I could fire you, you know,” your grandma pointed a finger in your face accusingly but her tone was light and a cheeky grin was on her face.

You roll your eyes playfully as you softly bump your hip with hers.

Everyday since Violet came in, you perk at the sound of the bell hoping to see that head of pink hair waltzing in again. Two excruciatingly long weeks pass before you see Violet again.

What was disappointing about seeing her today of all days was that you were working this shift with your 17 year old sister who was… less than thrilled to be working now; especially with you being her superior in a workplace. She, like most teenagers, was yearning to be more independent which meant constantly disregarding your instructions on what to do at work.

You were irritated beyond belief with her constantly arguing with you. You couldn’t even really fully pay attention as Mila smacked your arm with the rag. When you saw her from outside the shop, this time around she came with company. You were in the midst of a bicker with her because she didn’t wipe down a table like you had told her to when you saw Violet coming in with a little girl walking beside her.

You gasp at her childish antics, pinching her arm but then shushing her as you tight-lipped smile at Violet as she approaches the familiar display case. You try not to frown at the sight of her bandaged nose and small bruise sitting right on the apple of her cheek. Her outfit is similar from the last time you saw her except a simple oil-black hoodie with those same joggers. You even saw a bit of wrapped bandages on her hands peeking out from the sleeves.

Was she jumped or something?

“There are only, like, two people here and they’re sitting outside,” your sister whisper-shouts at you, plastering on a fake smile at the new customers. “Hi! Welcome in.”

Violet glances at Mila when she straightens her back, placing a gentle hand on the back of the child’s back to guide her to the display of new and fresh treats for the day. She places her little hands on the glass as she very eagerly bounces on the soles of her worn in dark blue tennis shoes.

“Hi! Violet, you’re back.” You turn to your sister and sneer quietly. “Clean the tables. Now, please.”

Mila gives Violet a once-over and you a narrow glare as she grumbles a ‘fine’ as she rounds the corner to go and wipe down the crumb and dust filled tables.

“Hey. You can call me Vi, by the way. I, uh, was with my sister for the day and she wanted to try this place. I gave her some of my danish and she went crazy.” Violet motioned to the child just a few feet below her, chuckling at her gazing hungrily at the sweets.

“Well, Vi, I’m glad to hear,” you lean your head to the side to get a good look at her sister.

She had a wild head of short waves, a small gap in between her two front teeth. Her outfit made her ten times more adorable; a plain white Henley long sleeve with a pair of overalls. Her big hazel eyes stared at you patiently.

“Hi, cutie. Do you see one that you like?” You question her with a friendly smile.

Her adorable face scrunches up in thought, stepping back to look at her choices. She turns her head to her older sister before pointing at a strawberry muffin and raising her hands to sign what you believe is ASL. You curse yourself for not knowing what she was telling the pink haired stranger.

“She wants to smell the strawberry muffin,” Vi chuckles. “I told her about how you let me smell my danish first before buying it.”

“Okay, I can do that for you. What’s her name?” You question, hoping it didn’t come off as offensive.

“Isha. She doesn’t talk much,” Vi raised a bandaged hand to settle on her light brown waves on her head, ruffling the strands.

“Well, Miss Isha,” you focus your attention on her once again, watching her bounce on the balls on her feet with excitement. You grab your trusty metal tongs to grab the muffin and place it on a soft blue ceramic plate to set it down on the counter area of your register set-up for her to smell. “Here you go. Let me know if you want to smell anything else.”

Your heart grows tenfold as Vi quietly tells Isha to not shove her nose into the muffin, smiling at her sister as she hovers close to the pastry.

“Is she the one who ate the pink donut?” You turn your attention to Vi, raising your brows as you adjust your flyaways from your bubble braid.

Pretty blue eyes flickering to yours, her brows twitch as if she was shocked that you remembered such a minuscule detail.

“No, that was my other sister,” she shakes her head. “Isha was actually very angry with me when I came home with no cupcakes or muffins for her so I’m making it up to her.”

You watch her scrunch up her bruised bridge of her nose for a second as Isha signs something else to her. Vi playfully rolls her eyes with a sigh as she turns to you with another wince.

“Can she eat this now? She has an impatient appetite.”

You chuckle with a nod as you hand the plate to her, muttering a ‘careful, sweetie’ to Isha who beams up at you. She scurries over to a small round table to hop up on the seat to divulge. Now that it was just you and Vi standing in front of each other.

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask softly, eyes flicking to each injury on her gorgeous face.

Confused about your concern for her, her brows furrow for a moment. You watch her turn around to make sure Isha was all good, hounding down the muffin with crumbs falling from her mouth to the ground.

“Oh, yeah,” Vi shook her head, waving at you off as she grins sweetly. “I work at a kick-boxing studio and some of the kids can get aggressive. I’m okay, though, trust me. I’ve taken more than a few hits to the head.”

That explains the injuries and the bandaged hands. Of course, she was a kick-boxer. Her physique gave that away but what did you know? Isha was distracted with her muffin so you were able to converse with her, get to know her a little more so your gram would stop asking you if that cute pink haired girl came in again.

“Really? Where at?” You hum.

“It’s like fifteen minutes from here. Why? You want to come see kids beat me up?” She teases, folding her arms over her chest.

You hum with a nod, walking around the counter to place a napkin on the table so Isha could wipe her face to be rid of the sticky crumbs on her face. “Yeah, that’s exactly why. Because I’m a masochist.”

An actual laugh left her plush lips as she shook her head, eyes following you as you face her now. If Gram could see you now. Well, she was probably watching you from the security cameras in the back room with an evil smile.

“You know, I meant to ask. Do you make custom cakes?” Vi leans back to rest her lower back on the countertop where your register was, crossing her legs and shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie.

She really just looks like that, you thought to yourself.

“We do, yeah. Is your birthday coming up?” You look at her with raised brows.

Vi shakes her head, pointing to the little girl behind you. “No. Her birthday is next week and my family is throwing her a zoo themed birthday party.”

You awe out loud at the thought.

“That’s so cute. Yeah, I can— I mean, we can do that,” you shake your head as you correct yourself, hoping she didn’t catch your desperate slip-up.

Isha stands up from her table, dusting off the crumbs from her overalls. She walks over to you to hand you the plate, signing ‘thank you’ to you. You pause for a moment before hesitantly signing back ‘you’re welcome’ slowly, not sure if you were doing it right. You knew the basics but weren’t extremely educated on ASL. After today, though, you were determined to brush up on it.

Isha eyes brighten at you signing back to her. She turns to Vi with a smile so wide, you swore her cheeks would split open. She nods down at Isha, ruffling her hair once again as she reaches for her pocket to retrieve her wallet.

“Shit, sorry, how much do I owe you for the muffin?” Vi shuffles through the bills in her wallet.

“No, no. You’re… good. Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off, shaking your head.

Vi pauses before scoffing, attempting to shove the money into your palms. “I’m paying for the muffin.”

“Seriously. It’s one muffin, Vi. Plus, a little early birthday present for Isha.” You shove the bills into her hands once again, gripping onto her hands to make sure she doesn’t try to give them back.

Vi glances down at your gentle hands around hers. Reluctantly taking the money back, she takes the bills before shoving them back into the crease of her wallet. You try not to focus on how slightly bigger her hands were from yours; how surprisingly soft her knuckles were.

Isha seems to become impatient now with her elder sister, reaching up to tug on two of her fingers. Vi nods down to her, muttering a soft ‘okay, okay’.

“Thank you for that, by the way. And if it's not too much trouble for you, cupcake, can I get your number?” Vi questions as she takes Isha’s hand in hers. “You know, for any questions about what the cake should look like and what flavor it could be.”

Your brows furrow at her words before nodding, pursing your lips to repress the smile creeping onto your face. Cupcake. You like that nickname coming from her lips.

“Right! Yes, um,” you walk over to the counter to grab a sticky note and a pen to scribble down your personal number. “Here. Call or text me with all the information.”

You place the small yellow piece of paper into her palm that wasn’t holding Isha’s. She takes it in between her pointer and middle fingers, nodding with a confident smile.

“I will. See you, cupcake.”

“See you, Vi. Bye, sweetheart,” you bend down ever so slightly to wave at Isha.

The adorable girl waves her free hand at you with a just as cute toothy smile on her face. You excused it as a sugar rush as they walk away from you, hand in hand as they leave the store. Vi turns her head to give you one more glance before Isha is tugging her down the sidewalk.

Mila angrily stormed up to you the second they left and raised her hand with the rag to smack you on the forearm. You gasp and snatch the weapon away from her, pointing a finger in her face.

“What the hell? Stop hitting me with this,” you sneer.

“I’m wiping down tables and you’re flirting? How the hell is that fair?” Mila quips back as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

“I wasn’t flirting. I was taking a cake order, by the way, so you can stop whining.” You roll your eyes as you walk back around to the counter.

Mila sucks in a deep breath before shaking her head.

“Really? So what was that whole,” your sister cleared her throat, sucking in a deep breath. “Giving her your personal number when you could’ve just given her the store's number?”

You pause your movements of wiping down the counter from behind the register, thinking about it for a moment. You knew why. You just hated your sister being all in your business.

“Okay, what is it to you?” You get defensive. “I can’t… make new friends?”

Mila merely snorts before rolling her eyes.

“Sure. You definitely only want to be friends with her.”

next part

TAGLIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #vi x you #vi fluff #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane vi #vi fanfic #arcane show #arcane league of legends #arcane league of lesbians

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maybefae · 3 months ago

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Messages From Your Forever Person

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Just a note!: I don’t like doing general love readings because I don’t feel like they are as personal as, well, personal love readings, but I had the urge to make one. Your forever person can be what you consider your significant other, long-term partner, or future spouse.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: King of Pentacles, The Fool, Ace of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, Black Numen, Six of Wands, Knight of Pentacles, Three of Swords, Ace of Swords, The Star, Ten of Cups (Bottom of the Deck:

Oracle: Uplift, Forgiveness, Consistency

You know how the planet Jupiter is the defender of our solar system? How Jupiter pulls asteroids away from Earth and even take the hits itself? That’s the energy of this person. As soon as I pulled the cards, I got the feeling of comfort from a strong and stable energy. I must say, this person also has a comforting smile and as soon as you look at them, your nerves will instantly be soothed. They feel like they are standing beside me, hands in pockets, as they watch me write this. They could have a favorite cream cable knit sweater that they like to wear as soon as there’s a chill in the air.

They are very patient and have the mentality of “it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be done”. You could suffer from anxiety, but I feel this panicked and shaky energy coming from you. I don’t know if you used to be yelled at or punished for doing something wrong by a parent or partner, but it feels like you are terrified of doing anything around your forever person at first. And there are cards here that are telling me that you have been hurt in the past. It seems like this could be the first safe and healthy partner you’ve had. This could just be the first partner you’ve ever had and now you're 20/25+ years old and you don’t know what you’re doing, which brings out this anxiety towards this relationship. But your partner here holds a lot of patience and comfort for you! They really love you. Honestly, this is really fucking close to unconditional love (which is rare). They hold no judgement towards how you operate now because of your past, absolutely not. And they want you to know that. It’s like they have told you this but you continuously don’t believe them, which does hurt them a little ngl. The Jupiter reference could be what this was for. They will take the small hurts you do but persistently and consistently show up until you believe in their love for you. And it’s not that you don’t know, but there is a voice in your head that makes you doubt often even if there isn’t proof of those thoughts.

God, pile 1, they love you. They are such a steady energy. They are also very stable in the physical and spiritual realms. They are a very hard worker and would do anything to help your dreams become a reality. Your dreams are their dreams and vice versa. They really just want a peaceful home life with you honestly; they like the simple things. I think a good personality reference would be the husband to the pregnant wife in Kiki’s Delivery Service.

They really want me to drive home the message of forgiving yourself, pile 1. Sure, your actions or thoughts do hurt them sometimes, but they don’t really want that to be the focus. They want you to be aware that they do but in a way to help you heal. They aren’t your past partner, they aren’t going to react like your parent, they aren’t playing you just because you haven’t had a partner. It’s heartbreaking that you would dare to even compare them to others. Maybe this person hides a lot of their hurt not to upset you and this is a hurdle that they have to work through. It’s only really coming out towards the end so that’s why I want to say that.

I think this message was to let you know how the beginning part of your relationship will be like. They just want to make you aware of it, maybe so you can comfort the insecurities you have so the beginning won’t be as difficult.

|Pile 2

Tarot: Ten of Swords, Queen of Pentacles, Six of Swords, The Hierophant, Three of Pentacles, King of Cups, Three of Cups, The Sun, King of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, The High Priestess, The Moon

Oracle: The Moon (again!), Wept Breath, The Chariot, Vulnerability, Divinity, Sacred

Before I pulled the cards, I heard six months to a year or eight weeks. I don’t like to do timing but that’s what I heard. So if that feels right to you, then take it. Or somewhere between a waning crescent and a waning gibbous moon.

Honestly, they are just happy to be here. I think they were ready to give up on love after so many failed attempts and heartbreak before you came along. And you honestly could’ve sworn off love too but you saw them and was like “I want that one.” This is the black cat, golden retriever pile. Raven and Beast Boy, Maleficent and Diaval, or Roger Rabbit and Jessica Rabbit.

The vulnerability oracle strongly comes from your side. It does come from theirs but they admit that they were practically enchanted by you. “The idea of giving up on love was a stupid idea on their part, sorry your highness, that was my bad.” They just folded and they would happily fall under any love spell you send their way. They are obsessed with you, in the most healthy way possible. They are banging the table with their fist, credit card in hand. There’s an energy that you were in the same room with them and kept your eye on them because you were drawn to how “pathetic” they were. You couldn’t help yourself so you gave in. There’s also an energy of “of course, you’re the fated one to be with me.” You two end up talking and you could kinda bust their balls a little, tease and be a little sassy, but they keep up with you and “pass your little test.”

I don’t think they were necessarily a player in the past but they had quite a few lovers and most of them played your person. They could have the vibe of one just from how cheeky and flirty they are but those thoughts are soon squashed with you seeing how pathetically devoted they are to you. They are just a lover at their core, they like to keep things light and fun, but they also know how to be serious and fix any issue that comes up in the relationship. They would truly do anything for you. This could come from an insecurity of not getting the love they needed from their past partners so they are overcompensating to keep you in love with them. :(

Are these the older daughters/siblings that I usually get? There could be something here that they have a pretty put-together family and you’re the first partner that the family actually loves. You could honestly get the love and care that you missed out on with their family.

God, I keep seeing your partner looking at you with the biggest heart eyes and they do this all the time, which could make you so flustered. This could be one of the things about them that honestly gets you to melt a little and lower some walls you have up. This feels like a love that you probably didn’t get to experience in your teen years but this will span on until you're old and wrinkly. They will carry the “honeymoon phase” through the rest of your lives. You know those videos that people make of their parents being in love and fooling around? That’s you two!

There’s just an overall feeling of excitement coming from them. They could talk about you a lot to their friends and family, but not in a bragging way. They are just so happy with you and thinks you’re the most beautiful person they have ever seen. I heard “A wish I didn’t know I was wishing for.”

|Pile 3

Tarot: Two of Cups, King of Swords, The Hermit, The Fool, ? Dreamworld (reconnection), Six of Wands, Two of Wands, Four of Pentacles, Five of Cups, The Chariot (rest, feeling at home)

Oracle: Serenity, Sincerity, Respite, Surrender

If this resonates, this could be a lover you had that had passed away.

For others, this pile is for the ones who believe in lifetimes before the one you’re currently living. Energy is recycled after all. This is the more mystical pile.

Your person here has a large energy and could come off as cold and intimidating. They have come to me wearing all black, leather boots, and darker hair. They have very muscular arms and a broad chest, very tall. They could be goth. This could’ve been them in the past life or that is how they show up in this lifetime. They have their head down as they stand beside me and there is an energy of wanting you to know they are here. Their soul does watch over you and guide you but they may stay quiet and don’t give you many signs or messages that they are around. But I suppose they came through today to say hi!

They are very protective over you and they think you’re a ray of sunshine that graces their life. They aren’t one to show many emotions nor really speak them out, but you accept this and know that you are deeply loved. They know you doubt that they even exist or if they are coming or if they love you and so they are very hesitantly showing up through this reading to say that “I’m on my way” and “just sit tight.” They could have a deeper voice. They could give you reassurance if you ask for it, by the way! They want me to specify that so they don’t come across as heartless. I think you’re the only one that they truly love with their whole being and they do make it known, but if you need a little verbal reassurance, all you gotta do is ask. They are a cat person.

There is something here that you may have lived in timelines where they never got to exist in, like it has been a long while since you two have been together. I heard, “I waited for the right time.” There could��ve been timelines where your lives probably wouldn’t have worked together or it was going to end in tragedy “like the one I met you in.” So they had to wait. And they watched over you through each timeline. Everytime you didn’t get to live a happy lifetime or if your partner of any lifetime didn’t treat you right, it would make your person terribly upset and they couldn’t do anything about it. They are very upset while they show this to me, angry and frustrated. But this lifetime is the one where you two will finally be together.

You could feel like you are meant to be someone, like a little void spot where your soul is…and you could be waiting out until you meet this person. You actually could’ve done this for the past three lifetimes (which you probably lived more happily than others). And this could’ve been a lifetime where you planned to do the same thing, but your person is coming in. You will be suspicious but you will probably be very enamoured by them. They are different than others and stand out to you. I think they like to rub your back because I just got the feeling of someone doing that to me. They let you be your bubbly and lively self and actually love that about you. They have complete trust in you. They may be on the more quiet/shy side but you two work together perfectly. You two can rest easy in this lifetime.

Dividers: @inklore

#pick a card #pac #tarot #pick a pile #maybefae tarot #tarot reading

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mazeyphaedra · 10 months ago

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oisín hakinvar my mind is spinning with thoughts of you. you’ve gotten buff over the summer maybe for your own sake, but if the talented and beautiful diviner you’ve had a crush on since that first history of glyphs class one thursday morning in freshman year notices your tats and says hey, then what a win! right? who cares if you feel like she’s hiding something? or she runs away from you. or your party rogue gets bossier and angrier and you feel like she’s hiding something for you too. you keep a low profile, get bored in the auditorium while your crush’s friends do all these crazy bits—they’ve been killing it helping their party cleric campaign for student president, by the way—and you’ve had the lot you have for long enough to know that especially when she doesn’t get what she wants, kipperlilly gets mad. now she’s mad enough to cuss her opponent out in front of both your parties and. well. you aren’t by any means inexperienced, but you haven’t saved the world thrice. so you try to deescalate before this becomes a real shitshow and you just. watch as these intrepid heroes all square up in their cleric’s defense. and maybe something nags at the back of your mind, of a fight, of giants and sweetness and a cable knit sweater stained with blood, or maybe it can’t because you can’t remember the truth, or maybe or maybe or then their rogue starts hissing at you? you’ve met him maybe once? anyway. with all that over, oisín! your crush, the literal elven oracle, says she thinks you’re cool! you catch her eye, or try to, while her friends aim her head your way, and despite that, or maybe even because of it, you ache a little for a friendship as comfortable and familiar as theirs. but you have the lot you have. so you send an apology through a pointed finger and walk away.

#oisín hakinvar #oisin hakinvar #i cherish so lovingly and urgently the plausible deniability of oisin’s evilness #everything ive seen of him has pointed largely toward his being cool and fun and normal #i love him. i love him #fhjy #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year spoilers #d20 #dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers

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pieisgay · 29 days ago

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so i tried to draw the drain- talk abt process in cut

okay so. have to stress just how much of this is kin shit. one- thespius is there because my thesp friend actually remembers going to the drain once while still being a human. the person beside him is unnamed, they weren't intended to represent anyone specific, maybe just someone leading him through. but uh.. yeah.

lots of water. like- inescapable. lots of crumbling infrastructure, buildings built on top of one another, not a lot of natural light- if any at all, the further down the drain you go. electricity going out all the time. resources being scarce- clothing, food, just basic needs for survival. using a lot of the flora that grows in wet, cold environments like this- mushrooms, algaes, etc, and cooking with that. communities coming together and being pretty tight knit, making sure everyone has what they need. and that was something that hector was particularly skilled at doing- organizing people, getting resources to those who need them most, etc. helping rewire downed power cables. finding and rescuing a beloved item swept away in the current and further down the drain. being a community leader and beloved team member. and upon finally leaving the drain, it's these skills that the gods see and decide to grant him godhood for

#great god grove spoilers #great god grove #my art #ggg #the drain #the drain ggg #i'm not gonna comment on my rendering i had this thumbnailed originally and blew it's resolution up huge then fixed it #so it's weirdly artifact-y and blurry in some spots and different brushes and stuff used in others and. spek. i'm tired. sorry #maybe someday ill fix it up and make it an actual painting instead of whatever weird little study this wound up being #other #bizzyboys

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mephestopheles · 1 year ago

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You've gotten some good advice so far and that's fabulous, and I am also adding to the chorus of if you've got photos please share because I haven't really come across a large cable like that.

A few things to put your mind at ease and to make things a little less difficult.

The first few cables will look like shit no matter what you do, they pull the fabric and smush it together and it doesn't look like a cable at all until the next repeat at the least.

Use a larger needle for the row before and the row of your cables, most cable pieces even with a gauge have like 5+ inches of positive ease (think like a super relaxed fit) because it takes up a lot of yarn. The larger needles will give you some slack in your twist. If you've got a half size difference that should do it. Like a 4mm and a 4.5 mm (US 6 and 7) if you feel like this will screw the look of the piece too much just use it for the row of the cable and knit loose to give you some extra room

The other option for adding a yarn over and dropping on the next row will also give you some give. I think the hardest part on cables is how tight they get when you're trying to twist them.

Cables only look like cables on a background of purl stitches and large cables look less defined than the smaller ones, so it might be a smocking kind of look that the pattern is going for but I'm making assumptions.

begging on my hands and knees for help from someone who knows what the fuck they're doing when it comes to knitting large cables bc i am STRUGGLING here. basically i started this project and i didn't expect it to be challenging since i've been knitting for a hot minute but all of a sudden the pattern had me do a cable that was 20 stitches wide (so like ten crossing ten) and it's just straight up not working and i have no idea what the fuck to do because the youtube search bar doesn't seem to have even heard of this before?? like the cable is going over itself in a really awkward way that makes the whole garment fold instead of just the cable stitches... i've never had an issue like this before but i've also never heard of a cable this big so?? if this'll sort itself out in blocking i'd love to know before i give up/try to find a workaround bc i'm emotionally invested at this point.

#knitting help #cable knit #i went looking on ravelry to see if incould find a similar pattern and wandered into an eighties wonderland #tension is the enemy of cables #also i think cable knitting is the only kind that can come close to how crochet eats yarn

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rememberwren · 7 months ago

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A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 2

A continuation of Skin Deep. Part one of this sequel is here.

About this: previous warnings apply, oral sex (f receiving), alcohol, gross imperfections, not a single nipple unfortunately, an eyebrow though. For @/moody-alcoholic, I hope this manages to quench even the tiniest portion of your thirst. 1 more part left. 7k

“Simon?”

“Hm.”

“Are you seeing anybody else?”

Simon looks up at you. His hair is getting long, falling over his forehead and looking nearly brunet in the dim lighting. You don’t think he’s cut it since the two of you have started dating.

He’s been drawing for half the night, hunched over with the sketchpad in his lap, doing terrible things to his own posture and blocking his own lighting all at once. When he answers you, it’s in that dry tone that lets you know he thinks you’ve said something funny or clever: “No.”

A knot in your chest loosens. It’s hard to believe you worried over such a question for so long just to receive such a simple, earnest answer. He goes back to sketching.

You content yourself with this and stretch your legs out until your toes touch his thigh at the other end of the sofa. His mouth twitches, but he keeps working.

Six months pass, and how do you celebrate? You climb topless onto Simon’s lap, eager and anxious in equal measure. Your nipple piercing had stopped hurting months ago (save for the time you had snagged it on a cable knit sweater and nearly seen Jesus), but you had read online that piercings heal from the outside inward, and as such you had made every attempt possible to leave the thing alone even when all you wanted to do was play with it.

In his own way of celebrating, Simon had bought you your first new barbell: a black one with black gemmed studs at each end. You couldn’t help but notice that it looked similar to his, only with a more delicate, feminine touch.

“Will you change it for me?” you ask him. Your hands are shaking.

“Alright. Let me wash my hands.” He shifts you off of his lap and disappears into the bathroom where you hear the faucet turn on. You cross your arms over your breasts, feeling silly being half naked without Simon in the room. Your foot bounces impatiently, but you know that if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s.

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines?

Simon comes back and tugs you onto his lap again. His hands look huge compared to the jewelry through your breast as he dexterously works the ball free from the barbell. He has the hands of a surgeon: steady and calm. You close your eyes in anticipation of pain, but there is none; it just feels alien, sensitive whenever his calloused fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, even as he removes the barbell itself.

Taking the sanitized jewelry, he carefully puts it in and screws the stud in place.

“That didn’t hurt at all,” you say, reaching down to tug softly on the barbell. Still, no pain.

“Great,” he says, eyes on your breasts. He grips your hips. “Up, now. C’mon, up.”

He tugs you up onto your knees so that you’re the perfect height for him to take your nipple into his burning mouth. You shiver, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other burying itself in his hair, gripping softly to keep his mouth in place. If you had worried that getting the piercing would make you less sensitive, you were wrong. He tugs on the jewelry gently with his fucking teeth and God, holy shit, fucking hell, definitely not less sensitive.

“Been waiting to do this,” he says, nuzzling the skin between your breasts as he gives you a moment to catch your breath. “Six months of hell.”

“Yeah?” You pant lamely, chest heaving.

He hums. His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch—as his lips find your nipple again, lashing softly with his tongue. His hands have begun to tremble where they slide down the curves of your sides and to your hips, touch soft and worshipful as he brings you down to rest your weight against the hard line of his cock still confined in his jeans. The shaking says more than a thousand of his words ever could.

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.”

“Yes, God, yes.”

Simon guides you off of his lap, kneeling down into the space between the couch and the coffee table. He pushes the table backwards with a little more force than is necessary when there isn’t enough room for his long legs and accidentally sends a cup full of charcoal pencils tipping over onto the carpet. You snort with laughter. He peels your leggings and panties off and drags you to the edge of the couch, pressing your thighs open wide.

Getting head from partners in the past had been a fraught, mostly unenjoyable experience. Even your first few times with Simon had been tense, with him quickly moving on to something else after noticing your inability to relax. A less eager man might have counted his blessings and moved on, but Simon’s gentle persistence had gone a long way toward reassuring you that he truly wanted to please you this way. It had gone a long way toward reassuring you that you could let him.

He spreads you apart, thumbs slipping against your slick folds, heated gaze pinpointed on your most intimate parts before he leans in and licks a broad stripe over your entrance and up to your clit. You shut your eyes (and cover your face for good measure). His warm breath fans against your pussy as he laughs. He could be mean and pull your hands away, but he lets you hide this way and you are grateful for it.

Simon takes his time mapping each part of you with his mouth, nose brushing your clit whenever he doesn’t have his lips sealed over it. Your thighs shake, toes curled, as he pulls whines and choked gasps from your throat.

You peek through your fingers when you feel him shifting beneath you to find that he’s worked his cock from his jeans and is jerking off, only noticeable by the tell-tale rhythmic motion of his arm against your calf.

“Jesus, Simon,” you whine.

He makes a little sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, shifting on his knees to change the angle of his mouth against you. Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too, to let your hands come away from your face and thread them through his hair.

“Can we fuck?” you breathe, aching inside deep where his tongue can’t reach.

He nods against you and kneels up to kiss you. You still aren’t used to the taste of yourself in his mouth, but it’s growing less foreign—and nothing could ever make you turn away from one of Simon’s kisses.

He pulls you off the couch onto your knees, his legs spread to either side of your own. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush against the back of your thighs. Two of his thick fingers slip inside you, testing your give and your wetness. He twists them; turns to hook them against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you that makes your legs shake. Simon works a third finger into you, a stretch that your body struggled to take before but which it accepts eagerly now, the sting welcome and familiar.

“Fuck. I need a condom,” he rasps.

“Just pull out,” you say.

You can sense him rolling his eyes. Your fondness for the (dangerous) pull-out method had been formally noted by him and thus far rejected at every turn.

“Don’t insult me,” he mutters. He grabs your hand and guides it between your own legs. “Be good and keep yourself warm. I’ll be right back.”

He’s barely gone long enough for you to stroke your fingers through your folds, but when he returns (flashing the intact condom package at you like he always does), he watches you for an endless, lingering moment.

“I like that,” he says at last, taking his spot behind you again, condom in place.

“Like what?”

“Watching you touch yourself.” The head of his cock nudges your entrance. He finds the right angle and slips inside you, stretching your walls to make room for himself. You groan, your fingers digging into the couch cushion. It stings a little, right towards the end, but he just softly saws himself in and out of your pussy, soothing the ache with pleasure. His words go completely over your head.

He reaches so deep inside you, like with his every thrust his cock bullies the air out of your lungs. The slick sounds are lewd, keeping time with your moans and sighs as his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, manhandling you further onto the couch to the perfect height for him to fuck into you, your knees barely skimming the carpet.

Your hand ends up crushed between your pelvis and the couch. You let your fingers find your clit and the touch reminds your body of how close it is, that coil deep in your belly stretched tight and ready to release. Your fingers trail down to where his cock pistons in and out of you, and at your touch he groans, slows to a smooth drag, his length slippery with your own arousal.

“Touch yourself, not me,” he chides, his voice rough. “I’m close enough.”

“I’m close enough,” you say.

He flops against your back, nearly crushing you with his weight to hook his chin over your shoulder and ask: “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

You can barely draw in the breath to laugh, and it’s only worse when you cum. You bury your face into the couch cushions, giggling, fingers rubbing a gentle, hectic rhythm against your clit as your pussy spasms around him. He snorts at your laughter, a soft quiet exhale against the back of your neck. Then he cums, his thrusts sloppy and hard, turning his head at the last moment to bite your shoulder lazily.

“Sex makes you so weird,” you pant. Your face hurts from smiling.

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He ties off the condom and throws it away. The two of you sit naked on the couch together, curled up. It’s a little alien to be this open about your body with someone and to have them be so open about their body in return, but it’s a good strangeness. So much about loving Simon is.

“I need to get the other one pierced now,” you mention, toying with his unpierced nipple. “Have to complete the set.”

“I never did.”

“You’re incomplete. Don’t you know?”

He snorts. “I feel quite fulfilled, thanks.”

“Please Simon?” you ask. “I want to.”

“Don’t ever say please. I’ll text Soap in the morning,” Simon says, trailing his fingers up and down the length of your arm, making goosebumps appear.

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you’d been thinking about for the last several months? Would it offend him to know that you didn’t want to go to Johnny for any more piercings?

Whether it offended him or not, your pride couldn’t rest easily going back to the tiny room behind the curtain in Skin Deep. While there had been only a few other tense interactions between you and Johnny since Simon’s birthday (and usually he seemed to favor outright ignoring your existence), the situation had not improved.

“Simon—I think I’d rather go somewhere else for my other nipple. To someone other than Johnny, I mean.”

Simon frowns. “What’d Johnny do.”

He phrases it like that—more of a statement and less of a question, immediately assuming that Johnny is at fault.

“It’s just—it’s like I said on your birthday. He doesn’t like me much.”

Simon turns to look you in the eye. When your gaze tries to skirt away, he lets out an irritated breath through his nose—but doesn’t fight you. Simon always lets you run. Maybe because he knows his legs are long enough to catch you. “You really feel like that?”

“You’ve never noticed?”

“Thought it was in my head,” he mutters. Then he says the most dreaded words he possibly could: “I’ll talk to him.”

“No!” you nearly shout. You struggle to lower your voice to something more appropriate for indoors, your heart tap-dancing to an anxious beat inside your chest. Just trying to picture Johnny’s irritated expression at any of Simon’s potential efforts to talk to him made your stomach turn over. “I mean—don’t. Really. It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I need you two to get along. You and Johnny—you’re the most important people in my life,” he says baldly. His honesty does something to your lungs—empties them, crushes them. You only just realize the position that you’re putting Simon in, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. How could you let your petty problems with Johnny potentially get in the way of their longtime friendship? Their brotherhood?

“I’m begging you, Simon,” you plead. “Promise me you won’t talk to him. Just, give me more time to get to know him or something.”

“Can't promise that.” He stands up and stretches, joints popping as you stare at him, your stomach tearing itself to pieces at this knowledge. This is not how this conversation was meant to end. But he disappears into the bedroom before you can gather your wits enough to say another word.

There is nothing like sleeping beside Simon, his arm beneath your head, your body turned and cradled against his side, a leg thrown over his thighs. His heart is as slow and steady as his breaths, his calloused thumb tracing a line back and forth on your naked side, a line which grows slower and slower as he drifts closer to sleep.

You ruin it like this: “Simon?”

“Hm.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“If you got’a.”

“On your birthday, you said that women meant for you sometimes ended up being Johnny’s. What did you mean?”

He’s quiet for so long that you mistake him for falling asleep. You’ve resigned yourself to asking him another night when he speaks, his speech is slow and thoughtful, like it is hard to put it into words.

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. He’s a fucking human being. Flesh and blood. Alive. People want to talk to him, to know him, to laugh with him, to have a drink with him. I’m not like that. I haven’t ever been like that. More than once Johnny would try to get me together with a woman who would end up falling for him instead. Eventually I convinced him to stop trying.”

“Were you jealous?”

He makes an ambiguous sound. “It’s hard to be jealous of Soap.”

“Not impossible, though.”

He rolls you over onto your back, coming to rest over you, your legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. The darkness lengthens the shadows of his eyes, but you can still feel his gaze, tangible as any touch. He braces himself on his elbows over you and lets his forehead rest against your own. “I just wanted someone who was mine,” he says.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, those words that are building inside of you and growing harder to withhold by the day. But you say it like this and hope he can translate: “I’m yours.”

He ducks his head and kisses you.

In the morning, Simon has slipped a piece of paper just beneath the edge of your mug of tea. When you look at it, written in charcoal pencil is DARCELINA: Dream City Tattoos and Piercings XXX-XXXX.

It’s one for the record books: the rain. Thick pregnant clouds carry more than eight inches of rain to your city in the course of a day. The last time it rained so much was apparently during the Civil War era. The city floods, including the basement of your apartment building, which leads to a building-wide power outage.

Simon has you pack a suitcase, junk the majority of your refrigerator and freezer, and come stay with him. You’re giddy, feeling like it’s a semi-permanent sleepover when he gets the call that Skin Deep has flooded as well.

Then things take a turn for the worse. Simon is gone for nearly 36 hours straight making endless calls to attempt to clear the water and begin repairs, and sometime in the midst of that, the fight with Johnny happens.

It’s an ugly one.

Simon comes home in the foulest mood you’ve ever seen him in. It turns him positively stony as he moves around the apartment making himself a hasty meal, avoiding your eyes every chance he gets. After he eats, he sits heavily on the sofa, pulls out his sketchpad, and trashes no fewer than six entire pages before you get the nerve to ask him what’s wrong.

“Soap,” he mutters, crumpling a paper in one strong, dextrous hand. He throws it toward the small garbage can beside the telly and misses. “He’s looking for other locations to pierce at.”

“Is the building that bad?” you ask. “You guys will have to find a new place?”

“Soap is looking for a new place. One without me.”

You gape, the shock of this news reaching all the way to the core of your being.

“You don’t think it’s because of—?” Me. You can’t even finish the sentence, the thought upsets you so much. You tuck your legs beneath you on the couch, curling up, seeking to become small and harmless as grief and horror wash over you in wave after wave.

“This is my fault. I tried to talk to him but he’s so fucking—he gets under my goddamn skin like he was born to do it.” Simon pauses heavily, before adding: “I need to tell you something about the night Soap pierced me.”

Story time. Alright. You uncurl your legs, choosing to sit with them criss-crossed, your body turned toward him, giving Simon your entire attention. It’s been months since you found out that Johnny had been the one to pierce Simon, but you had been no closer to getting the story from either of them. Your curiosity was a dangerous, corrosive thing, eating away at your insides.

“I’m listening,” you say, hoping you don’t look as eager as you feel.

Simon looks to be at a loss for words, running his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth. When he speaks, it’s hardly the lengthy story you had been anticipating: “We fucked.”

You blink. “You and—Johnny?”

Simon sighs and shrugs a shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were…” Simon stares, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “…interested in men.”

“You are. Why can’t I be?”

You feel a chilly pang of horror, like someone has slipped a dagger between your ribs. You rush to assure him: “You can! You—“

Simon’s mouth twitches as he rubs at the crease of one eye, and your panic fades. He mumbles: “I’m just fucking with you.”

“So you’re bisexual.”

“I’m… I don’t fucking know. I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. I never named it.”

“Okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to. But what does that have to do with now?”

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.”

“Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?”

Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.”

And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked.

Simon is uptown at a café holding consultations while Johnny directs cleanup efforts at the shop, and you think that now’s the perfect chance.

Your hands shake against the steering wheel the whole drive there, nerves less like butterflies and more like great winged moths in your belly. A part of you says that this is a mistake, you should turn back and let Simon and Johnny work it out on their own. But another part of you feels personally responsible—even if Simon says you aren’t. All your life you have taken things too personally, shouldered burdens which were not your own, bent over backwards to solve problems that weren’t yours to solve. If there was any chance that you could resolve this, you would put your pride on the line to do it.

You park alongside the street and are thrilled to find the front door unlocked. The entire place smells musty, like a basement. The wooden floors have warped a little under your tentative steps, announcing your presence sooner than you’d like.

Johnny sits in the chair where Simon tattoos clients. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and lights him up like some kind of punk-rock angel, his mohawk freshly clipped, dark finger nail polish chipping. Sometime between now and the last time you’ve seen him, he’s pierced his eyebrow: a black barbell with studs that reminds you a little too much of the one through your nipple (and Simon’s. Was that intentional? Did Johnny pick jewelry to match Simon’s? To match yours? For some reason just the thought makes your nipples tighten). In his hands is one of Simon’s sketchpads, and he’s flipping through it leisurely.

He glances up toward the sound of your footsteps.

“If you’re here about the water—“ his words die out on his pierced tongue as he stares at you, gobsmacked by your appearance.

“Hey,” you say lamely.

“Where’s Simon?” he asks, eyes flickering toward the protective spot where Simon usually hovers just over your shoulder. “He said he wouldn’t be in today.”

“He’s not. It’s just me. I thought maybe we could talk.”

Johnny openly grimaces. He shuts Simon’s sketchpad and sets it down (hopefully where he found it). Standing from the chair, he takes a few casual steps away from you, clearly heading towards the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Really cannot think of anything we have to talk about.”

You square your shoulders, fighting down that instinctive urge to make yourself smaller, to give in and be manageable. “I think we do.”

“You should go.”

“Not until we work this out.”

“There isn’t any this, alright, just—does Simon even know you’re here?” Something guilty must splash across your face because Johnny gives a mirthless laugh, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “Tha’s great. Just great. Could you be more incriminating?”

“Incriminating—? Look, Simon told me about the night you pierced him.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Johnny says flippantly.

“About how you two slept together.”

Now that stops Johnny in his tracks. It’s clear that he didn’t expect Simon to really tell you about that night all those years ago. He looks at you with a fresh caution, waiting to see how exactly you’ve taken this news—what you plan to do with it. “Aye, then. I guess he did.”

“I’m not trying to take him away from you.”

Johnny makes a derisive sound. His words are well-rehearsed, like he has said them to himself a hundred-hundred times: “Cannot take what isn’t mine.”

“He was your friend first,” you say, aiming for conciliatory and gentle the same way you might approach a feral animal. Johnny stares at you with flat, suspicious eyes. They’re so fucking blue—so different from Simon’s own dark ochre ones. “He told me that you’re one of the most important people in his life.”

Johnny’s face softens. He says: “You shouldn’t tell me that. He wouldn’t.”

“He’s not always good with words. Please don’t leave the shop, Johnny. I think it would break Simon’s heart.”

“I didn’t know he had a heart to break,” Johnny mutters. He leans against the wall beside the curtain and sighs, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll think about it. Now out. You shouldn’t be breathin’ in this air.”

Johnny ushers you to the door, hand hovering just above your back, careful not to touch you. Once you’re out on the street, he shuts the door and locks it audibly. Then he leans in and huffs a heated breath beneath the “NO WALK INS” sign. In the fog, he adds: “No GFs!”

You flip him off.

He flips you off.

On the way back to your car, you find yourself smiling. You force yourself to scowl. It’s a more appropriate expression. Giving one last glance back toward Skin Deep, you find him still standing there, watching.

Likely just to make sure you’re really leaving.

Not long after you are moved back into your apartment, you find that Simon stops sleeping.

You’re ashamed to say that it takes you a while to notice; nothing changes on your end of things. Anytime you are sleeping over, he lays down with you, tugs you up against his chest, and holds you for ages, his body still and breathing even. But one night you wake to a cool, empty bed. And later in the week, it happens again. Until more often than not you realize that any moment when you expect Simon to be sleeping, he isn’t.

Usually you find him sketching, shadows like charcoal smudged beneath his eyes. He doesn’t meet your gaze and tells you to go back to bed, that he’ll be there soon. Sometimes he even does come to lay back down beside you—but only long enough for you to convince him that you have fallen asleep again. Then he is shifting away from you, disappearing into the other room, shutting the bedroom with the quietest click behind him.

You know that he’s busy. His schedule has been booked—and with deposits nonrefundable, people more often than not kept their appointments. He’s been working with a client on mock ups for a sleeve, and the various pieces and the way they all come together around the contours of the person’s body are very delicate. Johnny’s threat to find a new job doesn’t help, either. Have they talked and resolved things yet? Simon never says so.

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him.

That’s how you end up with drunk Johnny in your car.

It starts with Simon falling asleep before you—for once. You can tell he is well and truly asleep by the sheer weight of his arm over you, the soft snores that he gives out against the nape of your neck. After so many nights of sleeplessness, his body has finally given in. You’re about to slip off to sleep yourself when the buzzing of a phone startles you back into wakefulness.

Not your phone—Simon’s phone. And it goes off again. And again. And again. Who the hell could be sending so many messages at midnight?

You know you should leave it alone—if it was urgent, they would likely call—but curiosity gets the better of you. Carefully you slip out from under Simon’s arm. It’s a testament to his sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t wake as you jostle him. In sleep, he looks painfully young and relaxed, and it makes you long to reach out and brush back his hair that has fallen onto his forehead. But not at the risk of waking him.

Sure that all you are planning to do is shut Simon’s phone off so that he can get some restful sleep, you are surprised to see that Simon has his text notifications visible on the homescreen, so all it takes is a simple tap to open them up.

Johnny. All Johnny.

Ghost.

Ghost

Are you uo?

Up* fuck my fingers

I need a ride home

Simon

I’m at that bar on… The text is cut off. To see more, you would have to open his phone. So Johnny is stuck at some bar, drunk more than likely. Well good riddance, you think to yourself, the hurtful way he treated you still very much fresh in your brain. But then you remember your talk at Skin Deep, and your traitorous heart softens. Could you really just put the phone back now and pretend you hadn’t seen the messages?

Simon doesn’t even have a password; that’s how much he trusts you. Would he still trust you after this, if he knew that you had gone through his phone, even if it was for a good cause?

Making a spur of the moment decision, you could only hope so. Your conscience wouldn’t let you wake Simon, and as much as you disliked him, it couldn’t let you leave Johnny stranded at some bar either.

You open his phone as quickly as you can, swiping so that it goes straight to Johnny’s texts and nowhere else. The name of the bar is right there, and you scramble for your own phone to type it down in Google Maps. He’s not far. Probably would be within walking distance, if he weren’t drunk. You could be there and back before Simon ever knew you were gone—you hoped.

As Simon, you send back to Johnny a simple OMW.

There is no hint of spring in the frigid March air as you slip outside into your car. The parking lot is dim and quiet, and traffic is minimal as you follow the GPS on your phone to Johnny’s location. The pub nightlife spills out onto the pavement and you struggle to find a place to park, grimacing at the knowledge that you will have to get out of the car and go inside to find Johnny, considering you see him nowhere on the street. Leaving the warmth of your car is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially in just a thin tank-top and a pair of leggings. Gathering your coat more tightly around yourself, you rush out of the car and through the people on the sidewalk and into the warmth of the pub.

You keep your eyes peeled for Johnny, but can’t spot his silly haircut anywhere. What if he’s gotten a ride home from someone else? What if he’s decided to walk, or found someone to go home with? You shift up onto your toes, looking over everyone in the bar when you spot him in the corner at a table with a few other men.

Johnny doesn’t even recognize you at first—either a testament to how unexpected your sudden appearance is or how drunk he is based on how difficult it is for his eyes to focus on you. When he realizes who you are, his mouth drops. He points.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accent so thick and slurred that you can barely understand him.

“Picking you up. You said you needed a ride.”

“Aye but not from—oh, Jesus make me still. Yer not wearing a bra, are you?”

All the men at the table turn to gape. You snatch the sides of your jacket closed where they had loosely fallen open, your face flushing with warmth. The table roars with laughter, but Johnny in his drunkenness doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment.

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

“We get it, bruv,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s no ten.”

“What’d you fuckin’ say?”

The table laughs.

Johnny grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drags him nearly clean out of his seat. “I said, What’d you fucking say about her?”

The table stops laughing. Johnny cuts an impressive figure even when drunk; he’s easily the largest guy of the group. Your stomach drops and lands somewhere between your shoes. This is not going to plan at all. Reaching out, you try to insert yourself physically between the two of them but can only wrap your fingers around Johnny’s wrist, feeling the strength poised in the tendons.

“Johnny,” you say, loudly to be heard over the sounds of the pub. “Come on. Let’s go, yeah? Simon…Simon’s out in the car.”

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested. He nudges his way out from behind the table, all politeness. Once free, he stumbles into a woman in a slinky dress who gives him a look that could melt glass.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to her, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist and doing your best to keep him steady. “He’s an idiot, and he’s drunk. You look amazing by the way—“

“Control your boyfriend,” she snaps.

“I will,” you promise, guiding Johnny away from her and into the crowd.

His nose brushes the shell of your ear, breath fanning across your neck as he says with a laugh in his voice: “I’m not yer boyfriend.”

You flush. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I had no clue.”

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them.

“English, please,” you mutter.

“Je-sus,” he groans, dragging the words out into multiple syllables. He takes your chin in his hand and squeezes your cheeks a little. “You’re just like him. ‘English, MacTavish’. Ha!”

You bat his hand away.

“He’s been rubbing off on you,” Johnny mutters, laughing a little. Beneath his breath (though far more loudly than he likely intends), he adds: “In more ways than one, I imagine.”

Your face goes hot. “Johnny, stop talking.”

The two of you exit the pub out into the cool night air. It seems to sober Johnny some, as he takes in deep, gulping breaths. He walks a little steadier as the two of you cross the street, and by the time you’ve made it to your car, he has shrugged you off altogether (even if he is still a little unstable on his feet). He stands outside the car for a moment before opening one of the rear doors.

“What are you doing?”

“Rather sit back here.”

“I’m not your cabbie.”

“Strange manner of dress if you were,” he says snidely, slipping into the backseat.

In the driver’s seat, you let yourself have a small breakdown. You grip the wheel tightly, taking a few deep breaths of your own, searching for inner peace. You thought that you and Johnny had a tentative truce after that day at Skin Deep, but clearly he is still holding some grudge. Your search for peace turns up empty.

“Sorry I lied about Simon being here. I just really needed you to leave the pub,” you explain politely.

“Knew you were lying,” Johnny says from the darkness of the backseat. He sounds remarkably like Simon: brooding and irritable. “He’s got no idea you’re here, does he? He’d never let you come alone.”

You frown. “No. He doesn’t. He’s sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Nightmares?”

“Huh?”

Johnny leans forward. You glance at him in the rear view mirror. “I said, Has he been having more nightmares?”

You didn’t know anything about Simon having nightmares. That sour feeling in your belly was back, the one that made you feel like you would never truly know Simon, not the way his friends did.

“No,” you say, a little defensive. “He’s been working on this sleeve for a client. Staying up way too late to finish it on time.”

“Aye. Nightmares. Anything else is just an excuse he’s telling himself—and you.”

Done with the conversation, you turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the street. “What’s your address?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why’s that?”

“Left my keys at the bar.”

“Goddamnit.”

You turn towards Simon’s apartment. “Then you’re staying with us—with Simon. You can sleep on his couch and get your keys in the morning; I’m sure he won’t care.”

“Are you staying there?”

“Yes.”

Johnny mutters something under his breath. You consider yourself lucky not to have heard it. For a while, the two of you drive in silence. Then Johnny says:

“You never came for your second nipple.”

“It’s only just been six months.”

“So you’re due for an appointment then, aren’t you?”

You steel yourself, gripping the wheel tightly at ten-and-two. “Actually, I’m going to someone else.”

Johnny’s seatbelt unclicks. He hovers at your shoulder bringing with him burning warmth and the scent of whisky. When he talks, his breath brushes your neck, fury tangible in every syllable. “Who is it? Who the hell is he taking you to? Darcelina? Astrid? Dusty? Whoever it is, consider the appointment canceled. No one is piercing you but me.”

“You don’t get that privilege,” you grit out between your teeth. “Not anymore, not after the way you’ve treated me!”

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?”

“Fuck you, Soap! I wanted to be friends.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly. Suddenly the road goes blurry. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to calm down—you’re driving for fuck’s sake. You swallow past the lump in your throat, the silence interrupted by rustling as Johnny leans forward again in the backseat, trying to get a look at your face in the passing streetlights.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“You are. Fuckin’—pull over, before you get us killed.”

Keen embarrassment only has your eyes watering more, until you have no choice but to do as he asks, pulling over to hastily parallel park and throw on your hazard lights. You let your elbows rest against the steering wheel, face in your hands. His words echo in your head, said in that stupid Scottish brogue: not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on? Are those really the things he thought you wanted? Is that the sort of impression you gave to Johnny, to Ghost’s other friends?

The backseat door opens and Johnny climbs out. A small part of you hopes that he will walk himself home—and good riddance. But he horrifies you by walking all the way around to the driver’s side of the car and tugging on the door handle until you begrudgingly unlock the doors.

“C’mon,” he says, trying to pull you out of the car with your seatbelt still on.

“What’re you—?”

“Just—wouldya—so stubborn—“ he drunkenly leans over you and mashes his fingers against the button of your seatbelt until it releases. For that brief moment, he is a warm weight across your lap, bringing with him the scent of cologne and whisky. Then he pulls you out of the car—and into his arms. It’s a tight, full hug, chest-to-chest, not bone crushing per se, but all-encompassing.

You don’t realize how badly you need it from him until you’re getting it.

“You’re such a dick,” you groan against his shoulder, sniffling.

“Aye,” he says, swaying a little on his feet, like the two of you are dancing. “But I’m right. We cannot be friends. So you’ve got to let this go, alright? Just breathe out 'n let it go.”

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says, one hand rubbing gently at your shoulder blades. “No more crying. It’s out of your hands. Aye?”

You shake your head, hands gripping his shirt.

But your tears slow and eventually stop. Cars pass occasionally. One of them honks at the sight of you both entwined on the side of the road, rolls down their window to let their passenger yell something suggestive, and it makes your face go hot. Johnny pulls away, nearly stumbling out into the road to give the car both middle fingers as it peels away. He slips on the damp asphalt and goes down hard on his side, taking the skin off his elbow and palm.

“Fuck, I’m hammered,” he laughs.

“Clearly,” you say, struggling to help him up and into the backseat.

Once in the driver’s seat again, you feel exhausted, emptied, like a washcloth wrung out and left to dry. The drive back to the apartment is silent, and when you’re in the parking lot, neither of you make a move to get out of the car.

You warn Johnny: “Simon’s asleep, so be quiet inside.”

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

There’s a tap on the glass of your window. It nearly makes you shriek—but it is only Simon, half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, bundled up outside the car door. You roll down the window sheepishly.

“Need a little help?” he asks, taking a drag and turning his head so the smoke doesn’t touch you. His eyes are on Johnny in the backseat.

You hold up your fingers with just a smidge of space between them.

#ghoap x reader #skin deep

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subcultureblues · 1 month ago

Text

Burnin’ Down The House

Steve finally psyches himself up to ask Eddie out, because really, what’s the worst that could happen? He makes sure everything’s perfect, goes to shoot his shot annnnnnnnd - Eddie’s fucking pissed.

My Secret Santa gift for the lovely @sunflowerharrington for the @steddieexchange (thank you so much to @paradimeshifts7 for the beta!) Sunflower’s fave tropes are : Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Miscommunication, Accidental Love Confessions

So buckle in boys…

———

They’ve been dancing around this for long enough.

It had been three months. Three maddening, excruciating, unbearable months of Steve and Eddie circling each other in this ridiculous, elaborate mating ritual. He had been kind of really hoping Eddie would make the first move; Steve’s new to this, he doesn’t know the protocol!

…But clearly that wasn’t happening.

Three months of smolderingly flirtatious banter, two very revealing conversations with Robin, and one only slightly over-dramatic gay crisis later - and Steve had officially had enough.

“Stop fussing. It’s gonna go great.”

“And if I crash and burn?”

“Which you won’t.”

“Which I won’t,” Steve echoed reluctantly, because by this point Robin had him trained like a prize-winning show pig. “But even if I’m fucking - casanova in cable-knit, if he’s just - not interested, and… he turns me down - “

“Which he won’t.”

“We don’t even know if he -“ Steve snapped. He ran a hand down his face, groaning in awful, self-inflicted agony. “I’m just trying to prepare myself, mentally, for the possibility of failure here. I mean what if - we don’t even know if he’s into guys, Robin.”

Robin snorted.

“Ok fine, and if he is? Doesn’t mean he’s gonna go for… “ Steve looked in the mirror again, still trying to get his hair to fall right. He squinted with an edgy huff.

“Steve,” Robin said in her most long-suffering tone of voice. She smacked her palms against both of his cheeks and squished. “He likes you.”

“Yeaf?” he said, muffled by the contortion of his face and his lips.

Robin nodded solemnly. She opened the car door and stepped one foot onto the driveway of her house.

“We’ve both seen the way he looks at you.” And the thing is, Steve had. When he thought he was being slick. The way his eyes settle on Steve, warm and unhurried. Like he was trying to take it all in. “Frankly the whole starcrossed longing thing - it’s getting old. And on my nerves. Just put that poor, pathetic man out of his misery and kiss him already,” she pleaded.

“Alright! I get it.”

“And I mean, seriously Steve. Honestly. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“No. You’re right.” Steve nodded, gesturing at her. “You’re right.”

Because yeah, she probably was right — which God, Steve hated when she did that...

“I’ll call you when I get home, ok?”

“Can’t wait to hear all about how you two lovestruck idiots finally get it together.” The corner of her mouth twitched and she reached down to reassuringly squeeze his hand on the steering wheel. It helped. A lot, actually.

Robin stepped out, closing the door behind her, then immediately shoved her head back through the open window. Steve opened his mouth to ask what she forgot this time.

“Do not forget to use protection.” She ordered, sounding distinctly like his mother. He took offense, raising his hands with an indignant look.

“I already told you - “

“Yeah, yeah. Your whole master of seduction plan to sweep the Freak off his feet.” She snickered.

“Romance him. Epically,” Steve corrected her. “My plan to epically romance him.”

“You’re not fooling anyone Slut Harrington.” Steve rolled his eyes. Robin grinned at him. It managed to calm his nerves enough that he could honestly smile back. “Call me, okay? As soon as you get home. I get to be first to hear the good news.”

“I will.” She started towards the front door. “Oh, and Robin?”

She turned back to him.

“How’s my hair?”

She hung her head in defeat.

“Jesus Christ…”

He pulled up to the Munson’s trailer just after sunset and honked when he parked outside. After maybe a minute, Eddie came sprinting out of the trailer, throwing open the passenger side door and launching himself into the Beemer.

“Go, go, go! The cops are right on our tail!”

“Think we can outrun ‘em?” Steve smiled, very slowly putting the car into reverse to back up and turn around.

“Obviously no. That’s why we have a getaway car, Steve. Keep up.”

“Uh-huh. Alright, outlaw. You got the stuff?”

“Made out like a bandit.” Eddie bounced his eyebrows, swinging an 8 pack of beer from his fingers.

“Eugh. Samuel Adams?” Steve made a face.

“You pay, you pick.” Eddie shrugged unapologetically.

“Fine. I got ice in the cooler back there.” Steve swiveled and braced his hand on the headrest of the passenger seat… and Eddie looked at him. In that way that he does; in subdued glances, furvative, just out of the corner of his eye. In the way that made hope light up like a sparkler in Steve’s chest. He leaned just a little deeper into Eddie’s space, eyes on the road behind them as he reversed the car, trying not to give himself away by grinning too much.

They had planned to head down to the quarry. It was nice, scenic. Perfect for this kind of thing. Steve knew about this one spot, a picnic table that overlooked the water. Real premium makeout real estate.

Honestly, Eddie was kind of ruining the ambiance Steve was trying to set here. He’d left one of his tapes playing from out of the car's open windows. Not loud, but still. They sat together next to the parked car, looking out at the black glass water below. Perched atop the table with their feet on the bench, sipping disgustingly cheap, but cold at least, beer.

If Steve blocks out the distant heavy metal screaming, it could pass pretty convincingly for romantic. The sky had cooperated with him, not a cloud in sight. Just an endless, timeless sea of stars. The moon was waning but bright enough they could see in the dark. But also not so bright it washed out the impression of the Milky Way above them. Still summer - which meant it was brisk but not chilly.

Perfect. Or - at least as close to perfect as Steve could really hope for.

“Ghosts?” Steve was saying, smiling and shaking his head. “Seriously?”

“What - so you’ll buy evil interdimensional wizards and - and demon bats from hell but you draw the line at ghosts?”

“Well, yeah. Difference there - is that I’ve never seen a ghost before,” he said, gesturing with his beer.

“So? That doesn’t mean there aren’t any!” Eddie was talking with his whole body again.

“Sure - maybe. But it does mean I don’t have to think about it,” Steve said, and Eddie threw his head back laughing.

Eddie took another long swing and they settled down, a comfortable quiet setting in. Steve glanced over at Eddie over the rim of his beer. Eddie was looking off into the distance, smiling. It felt… The timing felt right.

Steve set down his can carefully and took a deep breath (he’d popped a mint when they got here, and could only hope it would break through the bitter beer smell). He wiped his hands on his jeans so they for sure wouldn’t be clammy.

He braced a hand on the table behind Eddie’s back. Leaned into his space. Eddie went still, turning his head and blinking at him apprehensively.

“So…” Steve over-enunciated, and Eddie’s eyes immediately flickered down to his lips. It was brief, but Steve clocked it.

Steve smiled, made sure to let Eddie know that yeah, he saw that.

Oh, Steve’s so had this in the bag. He was great at this.

Steve unholstered ol’ reliable - his brightest, most charming smile. The one that always got girls blushing and tucking their hair behind their ears. He could really only hope it’d have the same devastating impact on Eddie.

“Keep looking at me like that Munson - I’m gonna start thinking something crazy.”

“What?”

“That maybe you like what you see….That you’re interested…” Eddie was quiet, studying his face very seriously. Three things for which he’d never been particularly known for. Or particularly good at for that matter. It was kind of intense. Steve slanted his eyes slightly down and to the side, not wanting to be thrown off his game.

Focus, Harrington. You got this. You got this because you’re super cool and smooth and good at this.

“So - come on, what do you say you and me just cut to the chase and go out already?” He said, light and playful.

He glanced back up at Eddie through his lashes and actually, physically, flinched when he saw his expression.

The look in his eyes was ice cold.

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Eddie said, putting a hand on Steve’s chest and shoving him right back out of his personal space. Steve tipped over onto the tabletop. He landed on his opposite hip, catching himself with his elbow. It took a second or two to process as he slowly sat back up.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed red with anger, the upset in his eyes. The way he had already turned his head away, like he didn't want to have to even look at Steve right now. How tense his posture was, sitting there leaning his elbows on his knees. Tapping his sneaker restlessly against the bench.

It left Steve floundering for a good few seconds.

“Yeah. You’re real funny, Harrington, you know that?” Eddie said, as quiet as he was tense.

“I -” Eddie looked over at him expectantly, mouth in an uncomfortably twisted-up frown. Looking like all he wanted in the world right then was for Steve to apologize or laugh it off. Or, more likely, to just fucking drop it. And Steve still hadn’t said anything.

Because to be honest, Steve was having a hard time believing it. Sure, he had been nervous. But like, - not that nervous.

He probably wouldn’t’ve had the nerve to put it all on the line if he wasn’t pretty damn sure the feeling was mutual.

It was just… The way Eddie always tried to rile him up. Make him laugh. Pull his pigtails. Like he couldn’t get enough of Steve’s attention. How he’d go way out of his way for Steve only to go all nonchalant and pink, play it cool when Steve tried to thank him for it. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Even those times when it was. And then there was always that distinctive tension. That undeniable charge.

Look. Steve Harrington knows flirting. Knows it when he sees it. And he had seen it floating on the periphery of almost every conversation they’ve had all the way back to when the Vecna fiasco started.

This whole fucking ordeal was brought about in the first place because twice (twice!) Steve had caught Eddie fixating on — gazing at — his naked chest.

“What?” Steve smiled weakly. “You can’t - you’re seriously telling me I just imagined all that…? That it was all just totally-“ his hands fluttered of their own volition, “in my head…”

Wrong thing to say. Somehow the worst thing to say, judging by Eddie’s reaction.

Eddie pushed off the table to stand, shoulders inflating as he took a large inhale and held it before letting it out slowly. It was controlled, like if he wasn’t careful he might go off like a bomb. Still, the look he was giving Steve was fucking radiation poisoning.

“Ok, what the fuck is your problem?” Eddie spoke in a low voice and jerked his chin defiantly.

Steve could practically hear it, the moment his heart dropped like a rock.

Eddie’s top lip curled up when Steve didn’t say anything, just sat there with his dumb mouth left open.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to imply that you were…” Steve rubbed at the clamminess on the back of his neck.

“Oh no? Then what did you mean to imply, exactly?”

Steve hesitated, and Eddie looked upset at how much that vindicated him.

“I mean…” Sure, small towns were small-minded. But not Eddie. Never Eddie. At least, Steve never took him for the type. Sure maybe the guy’s a little bit prickly, but he doesn’t judge a freak for being a freak. He welcomed all those rejected and abandoned by society. Is fiercely, loyally protective over them. It was part of why Steve fell for him, his enduring Sheep Dog nature. “…s’not like it’s that bad a thing to be, right?”

Eddie laughed.

“Oh, it’s not, is it?” He said it big and loud and sarcastic and defiant. Like the way he talked to the assholes and the jocks and the bullies, the ones that give him trouble at school. How he talked to the ‘Them’ not the ‘Us’. Like the way he never talked to Steve.

“Hey,” Steve said, defensively. He stood up, not liking the feeling of Eddie looking down on him right now. “Dude, why are you being like this? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Eddie’s features twitched, like he was exerting incredible amounts of restraint, and somehow this was his measured response.

“Hah. Well. S’ a good one. You’re a real riot…” He walked past Steve, roughly knocking into his shoulder as he did.

Steve stumbled a step. Eddie honestly hadn’t even bumped him that hard, but he wasn’t feeling very stabilized right now. He turned, watching Eddie march towards the tree line.

“Fuck you, King Steve,” Eddie said dismissively as he walked away. Steve was kind of floored. It took him a second to respond.

“I - Dude! Where are you even going?”

“I’ll walk!” Eddie yelled, not turning around.

Steve just watched him go. He wrapped his arms around himself. Suddenly realizing how cold he felt, even in his sweater. Even when it was still summer.

And Eddie he, he never acted like this.

Look, Eddie might have been kind of an asshole, and as of 5 minutes ago had decided he hated Steve’s guts… but he was still Eddie.

And Steve wasn’t gonna let him get lost in an occasionally monster-ridden forest.

He jogged to catch up. When Eddie heard him coming through the undergrowth, it seemed to make him storm away faster.

“Come on, man. Eddie! I’m sorry, okay? — Just. At least let me drive you home.”

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Eddie said, speed-walking as if Mr. Pack-A-Day could outpace the jock.

“Where are you even going?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“Eddie -“ Steve said, because this was, frankly, ridiculous. He grabbed Eddie’s wrist, tugging him back.

Eddie’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

“Eddie?”

“What!?” Eddie said quietly, stubbornly looking somewhere off to the side, waiting for him to say something.

If only Steve knew what the fuck to say.

“You really had me fooled for a second there… that you’d changed since school. Shows me, huh?”

“Hey, fuck you! You’re the one who’s being, like, honestly, just - really immature about all this.”

“Oh, I’m being immature?” Eddie practically yelled, a cruel smile splitting his face open.

“Yes!” Steve yelled back indignantly, because that would be a hard charge for Eddie to beat right now. Especially with that petulant death glare he’s still got on.

Steve looked away and took a deep breath, dragging a hand roughly down his face. He held it over his mouth for a second, just trying to get his head on straight.

He really wished his eyes would stop burning. He’d thought… he’d really, really thought. Oh god, he’d just messed everything up, didn’t he?

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, okay? Can we just drop it? You don’t have to - you don’t gotta freak out on me…” Steve tried. But Eddie just stared at him, then looked down, kicking at the ground with the toe of his sneaker.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole...” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m an asshole?” Steve repeated, offended and already exhausted from fighting. “Cause I asked you a question?”

“Cause where do you get off, that’s why. Fuckin’ - Am I just some kind of fucking joke to you? Is that it?”

“What - ?” Steve sputtered. “I don’t even -“ He tried so hard not to look as hurt by Eddie’s words as he felt. And when that got too impossible he just looked away. “You really think it’s that much of a joke, that I’d want to...”

“Come on! You think I don’t know this game? You figured out I’m into you, then what? What’s the play, King Steve? Huh? You ask me out so you can laugh in my face? Stand me up? Just hoping to watch me squirm? Well sorry to rain on your - “

Steve’s eyes snapped to Eddie.

“Wait, stop. Eddie - Stop! Just hold on for a second.” He held out his palms, trying to cut Eddie off mid rant. “You’re into me?”

Eddie looked at Steve like he was stupid.

“Yes!” He yelled. The ‘duh’ seemed to be implied.

Steve stopped. He stood up straighter. Smiled.

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie said, blushing again. “Fine. Yeah, you got me all figured out. A freak and a fag, the fucking - two in one special. Well, you know what Harring-whatareyoudoing?”

“Really?” Steve said again, swooping in close. Feeling bold or brave or, more likely, just plain stupi. He grabbed one of Eddie’s hands loosely in his.

Eddie looked down at the point of contact and then back up at him. Just so fucking lost.

“What is this?” Eddie said, squinting at Steve like he was an algebra equation. But that was okay. It had taken a few tries, but Eddie managed to pass with a C. Eventually. “This…” He took a shaky step backward. Shaking his head and trying to get his hand back. “This is fucked up, man.”

“Go on a date with me.” Steve took a step forward, following him, taking both Eddie’s hands in his.

“Stop messing with me,” Eddie said, looking almost afraid.

“I’m not messing with you. Go on a date with me.” Eddie was totally and completely silent. Eyebrows drawn together, eyes darting all over Steve’s features, trying desperately to read them. Steve gave him an impish grin. “You like me,” he said smugly, but his voice couldn’t help but soften. “I like you, too Eddie.”

“You’re straight!”

“Says who?” Steve shrugged with a shy grin.

Eddie’s mouth hung open as he stared at Steve with those big, doe eyes.

“O-Okay…? Sure. But, I still — why would you want to…” Clearly, Eddie wasn’t getting it.

“I like you, dude,” Steve said, pushing down the nerves. Wanting this to go well. Because God, if it went well…

Eddie pointed to himself, mouthing the word ‘me’ with just the most comical look on his face. Steve let out a small puff of laughter.

“Yeah… I’m like, kinda totally gone on you, man.”

Eddie was shaking his head ‘no’. Steve put his hands gently on both of Eddie’s cheeks to stop him as he nodded his own head ‘yes’.

Normally, he’d be worried about encroaching on Eddie’s space like this, considering tonight he had shown himself to be especially flighty. But the way Eddie was gripping his wrists, Steve probably couldn’t have backed off even if he wanted to. And he really didn’t want to.

“Eddie… you’re fun. And you’re funny. And you help me take care of the kids. You look out for other people, and I like how you're always singing under your breath, all the time. And how you’re so… just, passionate with the stuff that you care about. And — and you’re hot.”

Eddie gave him a bewildered look.

“The uh, bad boy thing it’s…” he huffed a breath, “it works.”

“Uh…“

“What do I gotta do? To prove it? C’mon,” he asked quietly.

Eddie's eyes immediately darted down to his lips. Just like they always did when Steve got him close. Only now, maybe he can finally do something about it. Steve smiled.

“Yeah?” Steve asked in a small, intimate voice. No one else was around to hear, but still, Steve wanted it to be just for them.

Eddie looked hypnotized by the way Steve was bridging the distance between them.

Steve kissed him, soft and slow and perfect. Eddie melted into it immediately, and they kissed like that in the dark for a nice, long while.

Steve pulled back to see Eddie’s reaction, finding he had gone completely frozen. His eyes dazed with shock.

Oh god, Steve might’ve broken him…

Steve held him by his cheeks again, gently tilting his lips up so he could land one more kiss.

“Eddie?” The two of them just looked at each other.

A moment passed. And then another. And then Eddie was back online and had Steve pushed up against a tree. Steve groaned when his back connected with it. He likes that way more than he should.

Eddie’s forehead was pressed against Steve’s. He had his hands all over Steve, touching and caressing and roaming over all the uncharted territory of his face, his neck. Like he didn’t know where to start now that he had permission, so he settled for everywhere at once.

“What the fuck. What the fuck, Harrington?” Eddie muttered before kissing him. This time it was Steve who melted. Eddie pulled back, leaning away from him.

“You're not fucking with me, right?”

Steve shook his head ‘no’, losing the fight against a far too honest smile.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered again. And then they were making out again, and Eddie was licking into his mouth, and his touch was restless, relentless, pressing into Steve’s skin, hands finding their way into his hair, under his shirt; and there’s that electricity.

It left him tingly all over. Steve moaned low.

“M’sorry I yelled at you.” Eddie pressed the words into Steve’s mouth.

“Make it up to me,” Steve panted.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie said, still repeating himself, and Steve could feel a warm breath on his lips. It smelt like cigarettes and cheap beer, but tasted like something that fell out of heaven.

Eddie’s hands slid down the curve of his back, slipping into the back pockets of Steve’s jeans, squeezing hard. Steve jolted, his breath catching.

“Fuck, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Eddie groaned, sounding agonized by the feeling.

Steve chuckled, winding his arms around Eddie’s lower back and dragging Eddie against him. He widened his stance just enough to coax Eddie’s thigh into the space between his legs so he could grind down on it.

Eddie leaned back to watch him do it, directing Steve against his thigh with the hands cupping him firmly from inside his jeans pockets. His eyelids were heavy, and there was something dark and hungry behind them.

“Fuck, Steve. That’s fucking beautiful, you know that?” Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, pulling Eddie against him — demanding another kiss.

Steve could feel Eddie getting hard against his hip. It hit him with a full-body shiver. He knew Eddie had to feel what this is doing to Steve, too. And that also made him shiver a little bit.

“Eddie, wait - “ Eddie retreated just enough to nestle his face into Steve’s neck, placing soft, almost apologetic butterfly kisses into the sensitive skin.

“I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?” he said, without even pausing.

“No, me too,” Steve struggled to say between too big, heaving breaths. “I wanna do this right, Eds. Take you out, pick you up in my car, let me buy you dinner.”

Eddie pulled back to look at him. He had that look again, eyebrows drawn together like Steve was a puzzle he might never figure out. The difference was, this time he allowed some of that vulnerability he was so terrified of seep out through the cracks.

Then slowly, very slowly, the corners of his mouth started to rise. He was smiling mostly with his eyes, though. It was so fucking beautiful Steve felt his whole chest clench tight.

“Tonight doesn’t count,” Steve said.

Eddie laughed brightly. “No?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Beer isn’t dinner.” Eddie kissed him again, slow and languid and simmering so hot that Steve felt his insides start to boil from the glow. “Wanna romance you for real. Please?”

“Fuck, Steve. How are you supposed to say that and expect me not to fuck you right here on the ground?”

Steve jolted, his abdomen clenching in white, hot want, Eddie’s words and the gravel of his voice sending a sharp thrill down his spine.

Eddie leaned back a bit, grimacing.

“Right, I don’t know if you’re - if you’d be into, uh -“ Eddie trailed off, unsure. Steve huffed out a laugh, leaning his head back against the tree. Still breathing hard, he looked at Eddie from down the slope of his nose. He let his eyes roam lazily, checking Eddie out. Taking in his messy hair, his shiny pink lips, his broad-shouldered leather, his pretty face, and the expression on it that was so incredibly horny it kind of took every scrap of Steve’s willpower not to do something about it. The corner of Steve’s panting mouth twitched up.

“You want to? Fuck me?” He said it almost like a challenge. Eddie laughed, like that was another one of those things that came with a ‘duh’. Like it should be obvious.

“I am but a man. And you… are…” He let his sentence trail off again, because he knew he didn’t have to elaborate. His eyes said it all, the way they roamed slow down Steve’s body.

He squeezed Steve’s ass again and pushed his thigh up, trapping Steve against it. Steve choked on a sound that died in his throat.

“Fuck. What is even happening...” Eddie said, closing his eyes. “I feel like I’m about to wake up from a dream right now with the world’s least ignorable hard on.”

“Dream about me often, Munson?” Steve asked, lolling his head smugly, really just joking around.

“Fucking - Yeah. Dude. Like, a lot. Fuck, the amount of times I’ve gotten off thinking about this exact…” Steve’s eyelids went heavy, his lips parting in a small exhale. He could feel his breathing start to flutter. “Sorry, too much?”

“You’re the one who better not be fucking with me this time.”

“You have no idea how close I am to just dropping to my knees and blowing you right here, just like, instinctually.”

“How close exactly?” Steve raised a lecherous eyebrow. He couldn’t help but blush a little. This morning, his highest hope was that Eddie liked him back —

That Eddie had been dreaming about him sucking Steve’s dick? Yeah. That one might go to his head a little.

Eddie laughed and hid his face in Steve’s neck again. Steve wondered if that was just an Eddie thing — something he could expect more of… if Steve played his cards right.

“Fuck,” he muttered against Steve’s skin. “Could you tell?” Steve made a questioning noise, nosing at Eddie’s big frizzy mop of hair. His shampoo smelt like clean, fresh pine. He let himself breathe in deep, already addicted. “About my big stupid crush on you I’ve had since forever?”

Steve bit his lip, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s skull. God, he felt like such a fucking doofus smiling like this with his dick rock-hard between them.

“Okay, I’m worried you really are fucking with me now,” Steve laughed. Eddie shook his head ‘no’ against Steve’s skin.

“Since high school,” he grimaced, leaning heavily into him. “Not once did I ever actually even let myself consider that you’d ever…. Shit…. I can’t believe I blew up at you like that. God, I’m sorry I’m such a fucking dick…”

“You liked meeee,” Steve laughed. He was barely listening anymore. Eddie had been crushing on Steve in high school! That had got to be like five points for the You Rule board, at least!

Eddie reached a hand between them, squeezing Steve’s cock. He squeaked in surprise, trying to resist the urge to find further friction.

“By the looks of things, you like me well enough too,” Eddie said, nipping at his ear lobe.

“Hey. Stop it, stop that,” Steve said, wriggling in his grip. “I told you. I really wanna do this right.”

“Gonna wine and dine me, Harrington?”

“Can I?”

“Depends. You put out on the first date?”

Steve chuckled.

Eddie emerged from the space between Steve's head and neck. His eyes were soft and warm, and he had the dopiest lopsided grin.

“What do you take me for?” Steve said, pretending to push Eddie away with no real force behind it. He wanted to keep Eddie right here, in his arms, solid and warm on his chest, smiling just like that for… for however long Steve could manage to make him feel loved. Reminding him how much he deserves it, the loving.

“Fine. But I call next. You want romance, Harrington? You better be prepared for the whole nine yards. I’m talking flowers, I’m serenading you at the door - because yeah, I get to pick you up for date two. Oh, I’ll be pulling out chairs… and opening doors, laying down my jacket to help you over puddles . All of it, till you’re just sick to death of it. Just you fucking wait…”

“I suppose I could learn to live with it…” Steve said, rolling his eyes before laying one last kiss on Eddie’s stupid, perfect grin.

fin ~

Merry Holidays Sunflower!

#steddiewinterexchange #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #Steve harrington #steddie ficlet #unstoppable idiot meets immovable imbecile #mine

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