#cw dogs being gross

[clems-grove]

Having irl cis (even queer) friends as a violent tranny is so weird sometimes so like you’re just gonna be weird about my body and identity. All of the time. Even when I tell you to stop? Oh okay I see I get it now

[coulsonlives]

can i

umm

what the actual fuck is wrong with people

[tacticalprincess]

cw blood kink, period sex🩸

könig who doesn’t just not mind period sex, but craves it. he’s overbearing and doting at the slightest inkling of a wince from you, at your side with chocolate and offers of massages for your back-aches. he really should be desensitized to all kinds of blood at this point, though you feel like he can sniff out yours from a mile away. the knowledge that you’re bleeding underneath your comfy clothes has his cock stiffing up in his pants, puppy dog-eyeing you until you convince him to let him fuck the cramps away. he flushes when you complain about how gross he is for liking it so much.

gets so engrossed in the sight of your sloppy, warm cunt coating his hard shaft in a pretty crimson sheen that he forgets this is supposed to be for you. loves how your face pinches up adorably in a mix of agony and pleasure while his cock knocks into your shedding, cramping uterus. you’re extra wet and docile for him - knees to your chest - the glide of his swollen shaft slippery and noisy, large hands pressing down on the bulge of himself in your tummy while he grinds deep inside your sweltering heat. you feel him twitch inside you every time your cramps make you clench around him, walls clinging to every protruding vein lining his thick meat. the notion of being inside you at such a vulnerable time has him shooting off inside you prematurely, but seeing his pearly cum leaking out alongside thick clumps of blood is enough to make him chub up all over again, ready for another round moments after pulling out.

[machveil]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Fic Recommendations Pt 2🎀✨

this post will contain sfw and nsfw content - nsfw below the cut! please support the writers!! they deserve a lot of love for sharing their fics with us<3 comment, reblog, and like their posts - gonna be real, I’d just binge their blogs because let’s be honest… everything they write goes incredibly hard

SFW:

starting strong with @tojisun! hugs and kisses, have coming home to�� Simon? and some subspace

can’t not include @gremlinmodetweeker and their Ghost Icks post

@simonsrileyhusband is up next with Teen!Simon helping Teen!Reader come out to their parents

a fan favourite, @khioneee’s fic about Simon’s instinct to protect

the start to a series that has ruined me, @majinbangus’s fic about Johnny getting you a ‘dog’

from @themotherofhorses, holding Simon while he cries

@simonbrain gave us Simon being good with kids

@chaosandmarigolds was fantastic and wrote Traditional!Simon Riley

@midnight-shadow-cafe, and their big, beautiful brain, served up Closer Than You Think

our lovely @xoxunhinged wrote about Simon taking you out and Simon being clumsy

aah!! @dante-mightdie is serving up some angst with Simon and BlueCollar!Simon Riley

@puff0o0 was so, so sweet and gave us kissing Simon’s gun and Simon with a cold partner

@fishsinsareacknowledged wrote about Simon destressing with you and hugging Simon

love this from @i-love-you-just-the-same, telling Simon “we’re getting married”

hi, dmitriene actually posted this as I was finishing up the masterlist so… it’s fresh!! Simon letting himself rest

and, from @leafavleo’s wonderful blog, push ups with Simon

please make sure to read content warnings (CW) and/or trigger warnings (TW)! your comfort comes first, check the fic before you read it<3

NSFW:

is it really a masterlist if I don’t include @codnasties? thought so, we’re indulging in a little Dom!Ghost taking care of his princess and CNC with Simon

@k6tzie gave us some CoD 🌽!links and Sub!Virgin!Ghost

we’re going to round back to tojisun! I might have a bias for their fics… maybe. listing them off in no particular order: DadBod!Simon Riley, Biker!Simon Riley, Simon bullying into you, Simon Riley’s breeding kink, loving sex, oral fixation, practicing for Simon and a follow up post - toji!!! love you, pookie<3

a GN! and Male!Reader writer, our beloved simonsrileyhusband again! Loser!Simon Riley x Older!Reader, Loser!Virgin!Simon, Loser!Simon Riley, Older!Simon, size kink, and sucking off Simon

hello, hello @simonrillleyyysss, we love Ghost on your period and (tbf it can be read as sfw, but it’s in nsfw just to cover my bases) sucking on Simon’s nipples

@simonriley09, smooches, Inexperienced!Simon Riley x Virgin!Reader and (specifically held off on reblogging just to put it in here first) public sex with Simon

back to simonbrain, Simon’s depraved and Simon and his harmless bird

OKAY. dante-mightdie popped off with Butcher!Simon Riley - can we make that clear? okay, Butcher!Simon Riley being a little gross, Butcher!Simon Riley taking you in the break room, camping with Butcher!Simon Riley, and Butcher!Simon Riley needs a hand

@yawnderu wrote a wonderful sex pollen fic

guess what… another sex pollen fic from @shotmrmiller

@lxvvie made my brain blue screen with grey sweatpants, little Lieutenant Riley, and it’s yours

we all clap and cheer, it’s @evilgwrl with Simon’s too big

@ghouljams… thanking you every day for Cerberus!Ghost

b-b-b- @bi-writes! mwah, Ghost doesn’t take his mask off

another one from @navybrat817 where Simon fucks you with the mask on

did someone say @dmitriene? I did! collaring Simon, Simon being gentle, and rough sex with Simon

big brain moment from @theorist-fox, Simon’s not a stallion in bed and I’m unwell for this

speaking of unwell, @lovelyghst wrote about his Jacob’s ladder

@lvrsrequ3st gave us Simon edges you

@girlyteengirlcore’s overstim with Simon fic, wonderful

Subtle Thirst by @blingblong55, tasty, yummy, scrumptious

@maskedbyghost’s fic where Simon recites his vows is so very good

so, we’re back to majinbangus… oh boy. Simon gets a bath and pulling Simon’s collar, but like, read through the series, I’m begging you

@nighttimealone wrote some humping with Simon, love to see it

“do you think you'll kill for me one day?” from @cherie-doll

@thedivinetexts gave us Simon sharing you with the 141

@khioneee wrote about Simon being too big and Simon’s voice

@beloveds-embrace wrote a little something, too heavy? never

@musouie wrote about how Simon begs

@konigsblog served up some Bull!Simon x Cow!Reader oh my god

and, last but certainly not least, an oral fixation from @fictionismyreality3

[monayen]

you said something about Nyon being one of the better head givers ... what about the rest of them ;3 ? maybe rank them PLZZZ - 🦋

Pussy Eatin' Headcannons (lol)

➷ Paring - Multi x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - explicit afab reader, oral (f. recieving) / cunnilingus, biting / marking, fingering

a/n - oh this is everything to me thank you for this ask. also throwing in the ratmen and satoru because i errr uhh CAN DO WHAT I WANT. i actually had a bit of a hard time ranking them specifically as i feel like #6-4 can be interchangeable if you think hard enough. but this is about eatin' pussy so have ur own thoughts frens

(from worst to best)

Tied for last place: Ratmen 3-5

These guys likely wouldn’t even know what to do with a pussy in their face

They’re used to rushed quickies, as they’re always afraid of being caught

Way too fast and sloppy when eating you out, leaves a mess of your own wetness all on their faces

It won’t be all that satisfying, so don’t expect to cum anytime soon. Because of that, they'll probably tap out after a while

They definitely prefer receiving head over giving it—after all, they’ll finish much faster than you. A shame, really

8. Micheal Jr

Like Ratmen 3-5, he lacks the time and experience to properly eat you out. The only reason he ranks higher is his sheer enthusiasm to do so

He wants you to squeeze your thighs around his face and tug his hair

Still messy and too quick, but with the right training and time, he might actually be decent at it. But that won't ever happen

7. Nyen

Rarely gives you oral which automatically puts him at a low spot

Which might be for the best, considering he ends up using too much teeth most of the time. Like he has literally bitten your clit before :(

His hands will also dig painfully into your hips and sides when he grasps onto you, which could make it hard to focus on the already sorta uncomfortable head

Definitely prefers fucking your throat and he’s clear about that

6. Randal

The neediest head you’ll ever receive. Laps you up like a dog and leaves you a sweaty, sticky mess

Loves come swallowing and is determined to lick up every last drop of wetness that leaks out of you

The 69 position is a must for him. Fucking your face while his tongue curls inside of you? The best (aside from actually fucking you)

"Head for head?” is something that unironically leaves his mouth way too often

Genuinely cannot get enough of it. Tires you out and still will stretch out his tongue for another round

Enough that it can actually be exhausting to deal with his constant need for your pussy to be in his face

Also bites, duh

5. Sebastian

Reluctant at first, wouldn't have ever propositioned if you didn't

Not because he thought it was gross or weird, just nervous to perform poorly and make a fool of himself

His inexperience makes him a bit awkward and clumsy, but his earnest desire to please you makes up for his lack of skill

Actually not bad at all when he gets into it though. Let his nerves settle and he’ll eat it like he's starving (which he is)

Likes for you to sit on his face and grind against him. Listen to his shaky whimpers against your flesh as he struggles to breathe properly. Don’t worry, he likes it!

4. Robert

Doesn't have an exact preference for giving or receiving, so a nice plus!

Again, he just has the similar problem the rest of the ratmen have: lack of time / opportunity

Though inexperienced, he’s much neater and more patient than his ratmen counterparts—not that it’s saying much, but it’s still an improvement

Has a tendency to nibble and gnaw at your skin, can get a bit too enthusiastic about it sometimes (ouch!)

Give him multiple tries to learn where the clit is, how to combo his tongue and fingers, and how to find a proper rhythm and I think he’ll do quite well :)

3. Satoru

Similar to Randal in how he loves to eat you out. Practically lives for it

He wants to try every single position possible (which is more than you think) and learn all the things that make your thighs shake

Never stops talking, even with his mouth full—mumbles against you, breathless words garbling out as he showers you with praise. He just can’t help it, you taste too good to stay quiet!

Again, can end up being a bit too much to handle if you're sensitive

A lot more accommodating than Randal though, if you need a break, he'll let you. It can be tiring to be folded with your legs in the air as he sucks on your overstimulated clit. You sweet thing ^^

2. Luther

Very delicate. Almost far too careful, treating you like a five course meal

Every part of you is so precious to him so he makes sure his long fingers and sharp teeth won't ever hurt you

His tongue likes to move in slow, deliberate strokes, thumb rhythmically rubbing against your clit as firm hands grip along your inner thigh

His ability to focus on a specific task means he’ll be down there for a while, so just keep your legs steady on his shoulders, pet ♡

1. Nyon

Gives the best head.

Doesn't complain, doesn't wait for you to initiate, isn't too fast or slow, knows all the right spots and patterns

He picks up on what you like quickly. Incredibly attentive to your tastes, loves to see you melt and moan when he eats you out just right

Secretly prides himself on making you come just from his mouth. Why shouldn't he? He tries very hard for you, Родная<3

Gets so much satisfaction from giving. Fully devoted to making you feel good until you’re completely spent

He doesn’t tend to ask for anything in return, content enough with just settling his face between your thighs. Ignore that wet spot on his crotch… you just get him so excited when you tug at his hair!

[yanderefarm]

yandere prisoner introduction

cw;; gore, nsfw, violence towards reader, violence, blood, knives, murder

his name is 7. it was given to him by a camper who found him when he only had 7 tally marks on his skin. that camper became the 8th.

he doesn't have a home or a family as far as he or anyone knows of. he's lived in the woods by that campsite for what could be his entire life.

he's been picking off campers who visit those secluded cabins for years getting increasingly more violent and intense with it.

he's very violent and bloody. he was enjoying killing your cabin mate to the fullest when you first woke up.

you noticed him and waited quietly until you could get away. you hit him with your lamp as he climbed over top of you and then bolted out the door.

he currently has 19 tallies on his shoulders. you're supposed to be 20.

he also got a tattoo of your initials on his shoulder.

he's madly in love with you for being the only person who has ever escaped him. he sends you letters in his messy handwriting covered in drool and other fluids. they detail all kinds of graphic things he wants to do to you.

one time he sent a letter with blood on it and detailed how he had to take care of another inmate but he made sure not to kill him for you. you're the only one he can kill.

you decided to go to see him in prison after moving back to your hometown and he was just as gross and off-putting there. he would get so excited and act like an eager little puppy everytime he saw you again. before asking if you got his latest gross letter detailing how he wanted to make love to your corpse.

he actually started to behave better in prison after your visits started. he couldn't see you if he was put in solitary.

after only 10 years in prison he was being released on a technicality. everyone expected you to be with the other families and be completely outraged but you went on several interviews saying that you forgave him. talking about how you would kindly give him shelter.

yeah that's not exactly right. you set up the cabin for all manner of tortures. that's where you'll both live until you rot away together in the place it started.

he thinks it's romantic. he loves you so much it doesn't matter what you do to him. he's happy to be with you forever.

he'd be really happy to know he haunts your nightmares.

he got most of his tattoos in prison. that's also when his hair became so long but its always been messy.

he gets really jealous but he likes to play it off like he's not. he'll especially mock you with the fact he killed your boyfriend at the time because he's so jealous that you still care after 10 years.

he'll kill anyone who tries to interrupt your time at the cabin. he'll escape and then come back once it's over asking you to put the chains back on.

its unclear if he actually wants to kill you anymore.

nsfw

he could top but he's not allowed to. he's better as a whiny drooling bottom.

he confesses to you only all the horrible things he did to people's bodies either during or after their deaths. he got off on the violence but it isn't enough for him anymore.

he likes your violence even more than the violence he inflicted. he'll moan to exaggerate and piss you off but he's always rock hard whenever you even hit him or look at him with disgust.

he's like a dog in another way too. he'll hump anything you give him. let him hump your leg, stuffed animals, pillows, bedframes, anything that gives him any friction.

his favorite position is your hands around his neck as you bare down on him. he doesn't even care if you're fucking him, he could cum from you choking him alone.

big tits. big muscles. big guy. big dick. big whore.

he always cums so much and he drools even more. sex with him is always messy.

he would love it if you dissected him and played with his body.

he'll cum when you kill him.

[starlinehoney]

cw: fingering, male sub, humping, innocent!art, slight religious themes, reader is very sexual and art is very virgin, art thinks of Patrick while with you which could mean nothing. Took inspiration from @artdcnaldson and her virgin!art au.

NSFW under the cut

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

I love innocent!art I DONT CARE IF ITS CANON

Art had never touched a girl like this before. He’d kissed them, and sometimes they’d touch him through his shorts, but he was always too nervous to go further. From the way Patrick talked about it, he didn’t know if he was prepared. He doesn’t know how to be assertive or dominant. He likes to be sweet, he likes to be.. taken care of.

Of course, he’s watched porn. He’s seen the girls who step on guys and spank them and make fun of them, but that’s just porn. And he’s honestly not sure he wants that either. He just wants to make whoever he’s with feel good, and he.. hasn’t exactly learned how to do that.

But you.. you showed him a whole new world. You were like some sort of sex goddess.. you just knew how to take care of him. You knew exactly what he was thinking— you let him just.. explore you. You were perfect.

He’d liked you for a while now, and you weren’t exactly shy about how you wanted him. So one night, you finally got him into your apartment. It took some puppy dog eyes, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t resist.

Just as he feared, you’re immediately on top of him, kissing him with such.. need. He’s never felt that before. Most girls are always hesitant.. more slow, cautious movements. You just immediately took over, and that made the blood rush straight from one head to the other. He felt lightheaded, and your lipgloss was so sticky and you smelled so good.. he was overwhelmed and fidgety, you could sense his nervousness from a mile away.

“…are you a virgin?” He hears you mutter against his lips. He pulls away slightly as he watches an almost wicked grin grow on your previously sweet looking lips. He blinks a few times at the question. What does he say to that? It’s embarrassing. You know the answer by how he flushes from the tips of his ears down his neck, and somehow, your smile only grows.

He sees how you slightly bite your lip. He can’t help but think you’re a little too excited by the idea of him being a virgin— the look on your face reminds him of how Patrick looked when he found out Art had never jerked off. The face of someone who was about to change his life.

“have you ever touched a girl before?” You ask sweetly, softly. There’s an almost motherly tone to your voice, and it makes his head all fuzzy. He shakes his head after a moment, stuttering out a small “no” as he bats his long eyelashes up at you. He’s so hard it hurts, and all he can focus on his how you’re pressing against him while straddling his lap. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so they just rest at his sides. He wants to touch you, feel you, worship you.. but that’d be too much, right?

He feels your hand touch his own. God, they’re probably all gross and clammy. Now that’s all he can think about. He’s about to start a small apology for his nervous state when he feels his fingers press against something warm and wet. His eyes flit to where his arm leads and he sees his hand underneath your skirt. “You want me to—“ he asks, seeming almost concerned. But when he looks up, you just.. nod. So simply, without a care in the world. And suddenly, he can’t remember why he was so nervous. You’re here..you’ll teach him. You’ll take over where Patrick left off.

He feels around and stops when he hears you make a small noise “was that bad?” He asks ashamedly, but regains his little dignity when you frantically shake your head. He furrows his brow slightly when you tell him to keep doing it, but does as you ask. You’re the expert.

He runs his slender fingers over the raised area over and over and over, eyes trained on your face as he watches you lose your composure. “Inside�� put them inside.” You say as you hold back a small moan and he nods, searching eagerly for your entrance. He runs his fingers over the slick skin and finds it rather quickly, slowly inserting his middle finger. He moans at the feeling just as you do— it’s so pleasant inside of you. It’s soft and warm, and so.. close, you’re constricting around his finger like you never want it to leave.

He begins to feel around there, too. Pressing against a particularly squishy spot that piques his interest as you grind on his palm and his lap. He feels himself getting more and more warm, and he feels an all too familiar knot building in his stomach.

Guilt creeps in as he gets closer and closer to orgasm. You haven’t even touched him and he’s about to soil his boxers. How pathetic. Not to mention all he can look at is how hot you look like this. Flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, your boobs in his face. There’s a soft light coming from your desk lamp that shines through your messy hair, and he swears that you’re a god, or an angel.. or something. You can’t feel this good, and look that way, and be.. a person. People have flaws, but you’re just.. perfect.

Your moans get more frequent and loud, so much that he can now hear you over his own whimpers and whines. He wants to tell you to stop, to avoid the humiliation of cumming in his pants. But you feel too good, and he can’t resist the thought of cumming with you. It’s like an obsession now, it keeps replaying in his brain and he has to have it be his reality.

He hears you chant his name and give him a quick warning of your impending orgasm before planting your lips back on his. He whines into your mouth as he tips over the edge and you groan as you do the same. You’re humping against eachother like dogs in heat, and there’s something so beautiful about how you made eachother feel so much with so little.

As you come down, he’s still humping against you, despite the encroaching overstimulation. He wants to feel you as much as possible. You smile “does that feel good?” You ask in that motherly tone, regaining your composure with impressive ease, and he stops like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. He flushes and mutters soft apologies into your shoulder, letting out a pathetic whimper when you tell him to keep going.

He learns a lot that night..

[auspicioustidings]

Any version of Soap in any position of power would be soooo disgusting, calling IT Security reader at all times of the day and telling her that the speaker on his computer doesn’t work, while he’s clearly streaming some porno in the background 😭😭😭

You get it Lumi, he's a sick freak :) You also sent this while I happen to be working through 1k requests so bonus short for you <3

Back Chat

Words: 1k

CWs: non-con groping, just all around gross awful Soap

Sergeant John MacTavish was the reason you had poured over your contract for any get out clause that didn't cost you a fortune. You came up with nothing. The military had paid for a high end training course for you on the provision that if you left the role within 2 years then you had to pay every penny back.

Plus this job paid well and the benefits were great. You didn't even mind having gruff military personnel seeing fit to give you a bollocking over the phone because you would be following procedure whether they liked it or not and they could file a damn ticket if they wanted their issue looked at. Generally they were an OK bunch at heart, but rough around the edges and used to recruits eager to please them. When they realised your lack of any rank also excused you from being ordered around by anyone but your actual boss they usually mellowed out.

Of course you had made the mistake of chewing out one such gruff man after he called in a temper demanding that his laptop be fixed as a priority. Not even his work laptop, no he wanted his personal laptop fixed.

“Look MacTavish was it?”

“Sergeant MacTavish tae you.”

“No it isn't. I am not one of your soldiers. I work in IT for the military, your laptop is not military property so I'm not touching it. Use your big boy Sergeant wage and buy a new one.”

“Listen here ye wee bitch-”

You hung up on him and got on with your day right up until he physically showed up at your office on base. You handled IT for multiple bases, you had not considered that the person you had chewed out would actually work on this one. Oops.

He was a big motherfucker as well. Handsome. Crazy scary dog energy. Definitely not your usual soldier with his lack of uniform (unless jeans and a t-shirt that was so tight he was liable to tear out of it was uniform these days) and out of regulation haircut. You scrambled to try and stand but he was already looming over you in your chair, leaving you no space to do so as he settled his hands on the armrests and leaned over you to get into your face.

“I'll need tae settle for you then hen. Better make it good.”

“Excuse me?”

“The lassie on my laptop begs tae get it up the arse. Is a good girl for a thick cock pounding her tight cunt. Even when she's fucked oot her nut and ruined she still gags around a man down her throat and swallows like a proper bitch.”

You were flooded with fear and arousal. Nobody had ever spoken to you like that and you weren't entirely sure he was joking. He wouldn't actually do anything to you right? He was just being a dick because he wanted his laptop fixed. Just trying to intimidate you.

“And I bet she gets paid a lot more than me MacTavish, back off.”

Oh no. There was a feral gleam in his eye and a rabid grin that showed those sharp incisors. He clearly relished your response.

“Then I'll need to buy ye with, what was it? Right. My big boy Sergeant wage.”

He leaned in close and took a deep breath. Christ he was sniffing your currently greasy and messy hair. You hadn't showered in like 2 days, you were fucking IT, it wasn't like people usually came to physically see you in your little den.

“...I'll fix your fucking laptop oh my God just bring it by.”

“Atta girl” he all but panted into your ear before tugging at the lobe with his teeth and then fully tounging at your ear hole.

The sensation was truly the most awful thing you had ever felt. Your skin crawled and your body shivered uncomfortably as you tried to push him away from you. He chuckled and you choked on your own saliva as he firmly smacked your pussy before pulling away.

“I'll bring it right doon.”

You were left completely gobsmacked in your little office, your body hopped up on adrenaline and your cunt throbbing from the spank it had gotten and from the sick part of your mind that found the whole thing depraved and disgusting but sort of titillating.

When he brought the laptop back he hovered behind you while you worked on it, making you sweat. It was an easy enough fix and you sighed in relief and carefully avoided eye contact when you told him it was fixed.

“Ye’ll check it over, cannae be sending me away with a half done job.”

“You can see that it's working.”

He leant over, arms surrounding you so he could scroll over to open a video file. It was of a woman being railed hard from behind, drooling into the pillow and babbling for more. The wet squelch was disgusting, the man spitting down on her and smacking her already red ass.

“Speakers are fucked.”

You squirmed in your seat.

“I can hear it just fine.”

“Aye? What are ye hearing then?”

You remained silent, eyes fixed on the wall instead of on the screen. At least you were silent until he drew a yelp from you by groping one of your tits.

“Told ye, if ye cannae prove that it's fixed I'll need to settle for you. Bit shorter, softer and dirtier than my lassie mind, so got tae give it yer full effort.”

“I-It's working!”

“Prove it, what ye hearing?”

He made you replicate the whole script from each broken moan to the begging to the degrading. He was only satisfied when the whole video had run its course, by which time he had a hand on either tit, rough with how he groped and tugged.

“See now? Wisnae so hard to follow a Sergeant's orders was it?”

“No” you mumbled, crying out when he gripped your nipples through your shirt and twisted. “No Sergeant!”

He let go then, closing the lid of the laptop and standing with it to leave.

“Got an LT having trouble with his phone, he's naw as friendly as me though so best limit the back chat soldier.”

[talkbycolor]

jester-shaped fucktoy

A/N; have you ever had sex with a clown? It sounds like honk honk with every thrust

Pairing; "Damon" x AFAB!Reader (im starting to consider to make the reader no tits, no pussy, no dick, just a barbie doll with a hole man)

CW; this is a little gross ngl, just sweaty sex / unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, just like the hentais teached me / rough sex, heavy overstim, fucking like animals just like the song / circus scenario, porn without plot / this is just smut but hey, dont be shy and request something / this counts as an AU?

You were never the main attraction of the show, a jester whose only function was to demonstrate clumsiness in presentations, a cute clown.

So how did you end up spread-eagled in your dressing room?

There was a man in reddish clothes thrusting into your fat pussy, you didn't even know his name, you had barely finished the show that night when he showed up at the door of your trailer proclaiming to be a big fan.

"AH SHIT! FUCK! RIGHT THERE!" You moaned as your trembling hands tried to hold onto his shoulders, you screamed so loudly that your circus buddies could probably hear you from their trailers, the guy was huge compared to you, he grunted and howled every time his thick penis wedged itself between the folds of your abused Damn, it was like having sex with a wolf instead of the adorable fan who had sheepishly introduced himself a couple of minutes ago.

Because you had just had a performance, you were so sweaty and having sex right now only made it worse, you were melting in his arms as he fucked you against the dresser in your dressing room, practically dripping as your clown makeup ran down your cheeks, combined with sweat and pleasurable tears from being fucked so well.

"P-Please, PLEASE! I'M GOING TO PISS!" You whimpered, your body reacting on its own, saliva dripping down your chin as you begged him to slow down, your ass ached from the clash of skin and your peach was as red as your lipstick.

"Hey, is everything okay in there?" Someone knocked on the door of the trailer, which shook a little from the intense movement of the event that was happening inside. The stranger with fangs only growled when he heard a new voice wanting to interrupt the fun.

"Everything's fine! t-everything is perfect, give me a second!" You warned, putting all your effort and self-control into ensuring that your words didn't come out like the desperate screams of a whore who was being fucked at that moment.

The person outside the dressing room had probably understood the situation long before hearing you so no one else asked again.

Making out wildly with a fan inside your trailer while he put his penis in your hole was not something you had in mind due to the hectic life you had.

But hell, it wasn't something you turned down either.

Not long after, you choked a scream in his throat as you reached your orgasm, feeling like you were choking on the stranger's tongue, your breathing was erratic and your body was shaking violently, you had already come but he didn't stop, moving his hips like a dog. wanting to knot and fill you completely.

"You'd look so adorable swollen with my seed, you wouldn't mind me inseminating you, right?" He spoke between grunts, they weren't even coordinated thrusts anymore, his voice sounded so agitated as he panted like a dog in search of his orgasm.

"This fucking pussy is all mine, I'm going to fill you so many times that you won't be able to appear in any performance for a whole week, you'll spend those days getting out all the semen that I'm going to put in you" He said as he gently chewed your ear, his tongue going shamelessly on your sweaty skin, biting your neck until leaving several marks in shades of carmine and violet.

At that point he was just desperately licking every drop of sweat from your body, he was also dripping and not just semen, the splash between skin was a combination of precum and sweat, and the entire trailer smelled of sex.

"But how easy, you offer your ass to every fan who talks to you?" That sounded a little more threatening, like he was genuinely angry and the thought of you being with others was enough to make him furious.

So furious that he grabbed your hips until he left violent marks.

"F-FUCK! P-PLEASE! I HAVE NOT BEEN WITH ANYONE, ONLY WITH YOU!" You moaned between whimpers at the delicious pain, now he moved with more force, you could almost swear that you felt the head of his penis making an effort to enter your cervix.

Overexertion made you a stupid whore, you had urinated yourself even when he was pounding into you, isn't that pathetic? You were drooling shamelessly and your head was ringing as you didn't even recognize what was happening, you just knew that he felt too good despite having your cunt numb from the amount of stimulation he was receiving.

Grinding his hips against your entrance finally brought about his orgasm, cumming in large quantities until your belly looked a little more swollen, proud of that work he spread your legs in a perfect split, you were quite flexible after all.

As for you? A trembling doll that only let out pathetic gasps and his head was too screwed to be able to say coherent words, you even laughed softly.

The guy brought his forehead together with yours and kissed your lips, your lipstick was already a disaster so you returned the kiss more than gladly.

"I'm Damon, and I was serious about being a big fan…can we go on a date?"

He introduced himself even though you probably couldn't even figure out what was going on, you could only whimper with a satisfied smile.

"I… sure" You smiled exhausted.

♡

[fastboatsmojito]

🕸️𖤐 Promptober Day Six - Knife Kink 𖤐🕸️

| a/n; switched around a few days on the schedule because this has been marinating since September and driving me crazy <3

Promptober schedule here!

| cw; 18+ smut btc, please please be safe, this is fiction!!! Knife play obviously, only Halloween-y because of the weather, afab! Gn reader, degradation, Scott being mean and nasty, a little dacryphilia, a splash of hair pulling, size kink if you squint, slapping (once), he talks to you like a bad dog for a second my fault, no mention of condoms - b safe !! Matching each others FREAK

| wc; 1,666 <3

He’s doing it again, pulling the folding knife out of its meticulous place in his pocket and sliding it open in the seat next to you. He never used it unless he had to but you saw it often enough for it to make your head spin, and without fail anytime it was out your eyes were glued to it.

To his fingers gripping the handle with more care than was usual for him, it was hard to look away when that attentive, analytical side of him came out.

This time simply for the invisible-to-anyone-that-isn’t-a-clean-freak string attached to the hem of his shirt, cutting it off quick and clean as you stared, eyes locked on the silver tucked between his fingers.

He looked up at you as you dazed, low voice finally emerging you out of your brain.

“Why do you do that?” He asked simply, watching you blankly as you froze.

“Do what?” You weren’t completely sure what he was asking, blindly hoping that the way his hand slightly twitched around the knife in his grasp wasn’t a sign he could suddenly read your mind and every filthy thought encompassing it.

“Stare at me like that every time I use this.” He’s carefully pointing the blade at you now, eyes following it before landing back on your own. He doesn’t sound mad but he might as well be the way you’re shifting in your seat like he’s scolding you.

“I don’t-“ You shake your head, scrambling to find the words that just won’t come out, he’s being frustratingly direct and it’s only adding to the familiar ache you tend to feel around him.

“Don’t lie. Just answer the question.”

“I just, um-“ Your eyes moved to your hands as you spoke, the eye contact suddenly too intense to handle.

“I think it’s kinda hot- when you use it.” Your words were pressed against each other, coming out just above a whisper as you anxiously tapped your fingers against your thigh.

“Use…” You sighed as he pushed you to say exactly what you meant, your face heating up at his suggestive tone.

“Your knife.” You look up only after you say it, subconsciously pressing your thighs together as he examined your every reaction, pausing even the movement of his jaw to observe your own.

His hand still holding the knife paired with his stern voice and intense stare was quickly turning you into a puddle, and it wasn’t not obvious.

“Right.” He nodded simply, gauging your reaction. Everything seemingly frozen in time resumed, the stationary gum in his mouth back to keeping him focused, his fingers pushing the knife closed before shoving it back into his pocket.

For a second you were scared he thought it was gross, shamefully watching as he opened his car door to get out. Half expecting him to call you a fucking freak, and he usually would, but you figured he was either into it as much as you were or uncharacteristically sparing your feelings to use it against you later.

He sighed at your uncomforted expression and leaned over to unbuckle your seatbelt before getting out and walking over to open your door.

“Come on.” He tilted his head towards the motel rooms just behind him, reassuringly placing a hand on the back of your neck as he guided you into his room.

——

It wasn’t long before you were on the bed under him as he sat on his knees between your open legs, gasping when he flicked the knife open and rested it just under the hem of your underwear.

The quiet pattering of the rain against the windows and the lull of your shared heartbeats kept you just grounded enough to not slip all the way into your head.

Into the steady chill outside that was cut off by the door, and brought back in again through the cool blade lying on your skin. Into the comfort in knowing that you were safe even with the unavoidable threat of something so sharp against something so fragile.

It felt suffocating in the same way your head gets fuzzy when you go just a few seconds too long underwater, an agonizing instinct to pull yourself back up and a louder, sharper, sicker need to see how long you can stay under.

“I won’t hurt you on purpose but you have to be still, okay?” Your eyes were stuck on the smooth silver, humming when his other hand moved to the nape of your neck, pulling your hair just enough to bring your now tear-brimmed eyes back to him.

“I mean it. Don’t need you bleeding out all over the bed, got it?” You nodded until the hand still gripping your hair tightened.

“I got it, I trust you.” You both knew you meant it, you’d be scared if anyone else held your life in their hands like this but this is Scotty - a nickname he’d only ever let leave your mouth - he was always so precise and observant, you knew you had no real reason to be worried.

“I know.” The hand behind your head suddenly soothing, the dull side of the knife slowly dragging down your leg as he leaned in to kiss you. It was soft, sweet, everything you knew he wasn’t about to be and you basked in it, always savoring every second of sweetness he spared before giving you what you really wanted - what you needed.

You whined when he pulled away anyway, desperation falling over you as he took his time, hand behind your head moving down to your hip to keep you still as he moved the tip of the knife to your inner thigh.

You weren’t sure exactly what he was about to do but even in the low lit room you could see the faintest smile on his face. Every move he made felt calculated, like he’d planned every second of it in his head days before.

He gripped your waist tighter before he tipped the knife down so the width of it was just against the wet spot on the fabric between your legs, closely watching the way your mouth fell open at the sudden cold.

The silver gift you got for him - that he swore he wouldn’t wear out of the house - fell out from his black undershirt, glistening against his neck. Your hands moved from the bed either side of you to appreciate the jewelry you knew he’d look good in - he wasn’t always great at talking about how he felt but he knew just well enough how to show it.

He carefully brought the knife away from you and lightly trailed it all the way up your body, over every part of you it could reach, finally drawing over your collarbone before slowly creeping back down again.

You lost count of just how many times he’d done it - you couldn’t possibly be wetter and he couldn’t possibly care less - admiring the soft pleas falling from your mouth, knife-less hand now on the side of your face as his thumb wiped away the tears of frustration pouring out of you.

“Scott, please-“ You begged for what felt like the millionth time, he was clearly enjoying tantalizing you, sighing and pulling back and finally bringing his hands to drag the ruined fabric down and off of you.

You pouted when he closed the knife and set it down on the bed, shaking his head and pointing a finger at you when you moved to sit up.

“Stay.” He said firmly, bed creaking just so as he stood up to free himself from his pants, eyes focused on your own as you waited on him. He could do this for hours and he had, letting you whine and beg and cry for it first. He wouldn’t this time, noticeably impatient as he resumed his previous position over you.

Before you could ask - or more accurately beg, he sat down on the bed, head resting against the headboard before signaling for you to come up with two fingers. He promptly grabbed your hips so you were sitting on his lap before reaching for the closed knife once again.

Your bare cunt was situated on the bulge under you, your hands planted on your thighs. He wrapped the still-closed knife wielding hand around you to lift you up, lazily pulling his dick out with the other. It was irritating how easy it was for him, so casually showing off his strength when you were alone.

He covered himself in the slick dripping out of you, groaning when he swiftly sat you down on him, keeping you motionless over him with a hand at your waist.

He flipped open the knife with his other hand away from you, undeniably feeling you clench around him when he finally brought the cold blade up to your skin again. He had the perfect view in this position, enough control over where his hands were precisely placed to keep you safe even with a knife at your throat.

“I knew you were far from innocent, sweetheart, but this is really fucked up.” You barely heard it over the rain that was rapidly hitting the windows. Ignoring the filthily mocked nickname and filthier implication, you let go of the breath you’d been holding since you confessed your dirty little secret.

His sharp comment finally leaving his mouth and taking with it all of the worry running through you that, even while literally inside of you, he’d think less of you for it.

You were practically just cockwarming at this point, pawing at his chest to try and convince him to fucking move already. You knew he’d be moving your hips for you soon but you complained anyway.

Rolling your eyes and hastily circling your hips at his seeming lack of urgency, earning yourself a cautionarily soft slap on the cheek.

“You’re mean.” You cried, almost throwing your head back in protest before he held the blade under your chin to keep you steady in place.

“Careful. Thought I told you not to move. Be good and stay still for me so I don’t have to explain to everyone that you asked for this, yeah?”

<333

[lees-chaotic-brain]

your dog did what?!

summary: they react to your dog chewing up used feminine products (feat. gojo, shoko, ino, choso, and nanami)

wc: 1.7k

cw: crack, fluff, reader has a period, kind of gross, use of pet names (sweetheart, babe, love), reader is referred to as "my girl" and wears makeup in nanami's part, swearing, gojo just being overly dramatic

a/n: if you would like to see part two with megumi, nobara, yuuji, and inumaki, or would like to see another part with haikyuu characters, look here to see how you can sponsor it!!! also this entire fic is 10000% @pandora-ophelia-blog's fault (jk ily)

jjk masterlist | blog navigation | sponsor a wip!

gojo satoru

“Who’s a sweet boy? Yes, you are! You are! Oooh, what’cha got there, huh? Wanna show daddy?” 

You could hear your boyfriend cooing at your dog in greeting as he stepped through the front door, and you smiled to yourself as you continued reading your book. Then:

“EEEUUUUUGGGGHHHHH WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK????”

Your boyfriend came hurtling around the corner launching all six feet three inches of himself into your lap, as he pointed accusingly in the direction he came from.

“BABY. YOUR DOG!!! HE-OH MY GOD I CAN’T EVEN SAY IT!”

He gives a full body shudder and clings to you tighter, wrapping his infinity around his foot and using it to keep your dog away from the two of you.

“BEGONE YOU FOUL BEAST!” He made exaggerated gagging sounds. “GET AWAY FROM US!!”

“SATORU!!” You shouted over his panicked screeching. “STOP YELLING.”

“But babeeeee.” He nuzzled into your neck still fending your dog off with a single socked foot. “You don’t even understand what this HORRID creature did.”

“Get off me you stupid lunk.” You push him off your lap, ignoring his indignant squawking, completely over his dramatics. “What could he have possibly done that’s that bad?”

“HE. ATE. A DIRTY TAMPON.” He flops around on the floor like a fish out of water, unable to find a better means of properly expressing his disgust. Your nose scrunches up, and you look down on him with annoyance.

“I mean, yeah it’s gross. But it’s not like he hasn’t done it before? It’s just kind of a thing that some dogs do.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS???”

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, your dog leans down and licks your boyfriend's face, dangerously close to his mouth.

“AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

shoko ieri

“We’re returning the dog.” 

You look up from your phone as your girlfriend enters your bedroom, shedding her lab coat. Setting your phone down next to your pillow, you stand and give her a kiss. “Hey. Watch it. That’s our child you’re talking about.”

She huffs, leaning against you as you give her a hug. “Then I assume you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Wordlessly, Shoko takes you by the hand and leads you to the bathroom, opening the door and revealing the state of your bathroom. “This. It looks like shark week in here.”

You choke back a laugh at her phrasing, taking in the disaster that your bathroom currently was. Just then, your nine month old puppy trotted in wagging, excited that his entire family was home. Scooping him up, you press a kiss to the top of his furry head and present him to your girlfriend.

“Just look at him Sho. Can you really look our son in the face and tell him you’re giving him away?” You give her puppy eyes over the top of his head. “Look at how sweet he is! Who’s a good boyo, you are, ahhh I just love you so much!”

She looks at you in exasperation as you coddle and coo at the little bundle of fur, trying and failing to hide the admiration in her eyes. Finally she relents.

“I suppose since you love him so much we can keep him-”

“Yay!!” You dance around the cramped hallway holding the dog up. “You hear that? You get to stay! You know why? Because she looooves us! That’s right! She-”

“But you have to clean this up.”

“Boo.”

ino takuma

Walking out of the grocery store, you accept an incoming facetime from your boyfriend, answering with a smile and a cheerful greeting. “Hey baby, what’s up-”

“My dearest darling girlfriend.” He cuts you off, speaking as soon as you answer and not pausing to listen to what you’re saying. “The love of my life. Could you possibly please explain to me why I came home and our apartment was covered in bloody fabric?”

“What?” Concerned, you stop loading your groceries into your trunk and squint at your phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Show me.”

Obediently, he flips the camera, giving you a clear view of the red shreds scattered across the ground. You tell him to bring the camera a little closer, so he does and realization hits you over the head like a sledgehammer.

“Oh…um, so I don’t know how to tell you this…” You hesitate, knowing what you were about to tell him would most likely send Ino into hysterics. “But, uh, those are dirty pads that the dog chewed up…”

The other end of the phone is silent for a solid thirty seconds before he speaks again, surprisingly calm.

 “Say sike right now.”

You wince. “I can’t…”

There’s another moment of silence, and you watch as your boyfriend goes through all the stages of grief in a matter of seconds. Then he takes a deep breath and pulls himself together with a forced smile before hanging up.

“Give me a second babe, I gotta go call Nanamin and ask for some advice.”

choso kamo

You were cuddled up with your boyfriend on the couch after a long day, soaking in the warmth and simple domesticity of the moment when he spoke over the show.

“Earlier today your dog was chewing on something bloody and had made a huge mess so I cleaned it up.” You sit up, pausing your episode. “Cho baby, what?”

He shrugs. “It appeared he had gotten into the bathroom trash can, and at first I wasn’t going to bring it up because it was no big deal, but the more I think about it the more I worry.”

He furrows his brow, his bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “That wasn’t all…your blood, was it?” Mistaking the confusion on your face for offense, he backtracks rapidly.

“Not that that would be a problem! I was just concerned because of the quantity of blood. I know it’s not healthy for humans to lose that much blood so I got a little scared. I want to be able to help you if you’re hurt.”

“No baby, I'm not mad.” You reassure him with a soft kiss. “I’m just confused. I don’t know why there would be blood in the trash can, or why the dog would eat it. You said it was the bathroom trash can-oh.”

Suddenly you look embarrassed, fidgeting with your fingers. “Don’t worry about it Cho. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you had to clean it up. I’ll make sure I secure the trash can better next time.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He senses your shift in mood and he doesn’t like it. “Are you okay? Can you at least tell me where the blood came from so I don’t have to worry?”

Haltingly, with your cheeks burning, you explain how a period works to him. Despite knowing that it’s perfectly natural, you couldn’t help but feel a little shy for no reason at all.

“So yeah.” You finish. “That’s what it is. Gross isn’t it…”

Peeking up to gauge his reaction, you notice that he’s staring at you, aghast. 

“That happens…every month?” He looks mildly horrified. “And it hurts you?”

“Well I mean yes, but everyone has to deal with it so it’s really no big deal-”

“And it’s happening to you right now? Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks so heartbroken, your chest hurts. “I just didn’t want to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother! I want to take care of you! What did you say helped again?”

He leaps up from the couch, muttering as he paced back and forth before planting a quick kiss on the top of your head and running out of your apartment.

“I’ll be right back! I need to go buy some things!”

nanami kento

You’re in your bedroom putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear your apartment door open, letting you know that your boyfriend was there to pick you up for your date. 

“Give me one second!” You call out, carefully curling your eyelashes. “I’m almost ready, just doing up my makeup!”

“Erm, darling?” You hear your boyfriend call out from the other room. He sounds a little off. “I hate to disturb you, but can you come here for a second?”

Carefully applying an even coat of mascara to your curled lashes, you get up from your vanity, despite not having finished your highlighter or lip gloss. Knowing your boyfriend he wouldn’t be bothering you unless it was important. Your bare feet pad softly against your wooden floors as you leave your bedroom and enter the main area.

“Yeah, babe? What’s going…” You trail off, noticing what your dog had been up to while you were getting ready for date night. “Oh…”

Oh indeed. From where you stood in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the carnage scattered across your floor. Your dog had gotten into your bathroom trash can, and there were shredded pads galore all over your apartment. Used shredded pads.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment as you survey the crime scene. “I-I’m so sorry. She does this from time to time but normally I remember to put the trash can out of her reach. This is so embarrassing. You can just wait outside while I finish cleaning this up-”

In your humiliated frenzy you begin banging through your cabinets, pulling down your latex gloves and a trash bag preparing to clean it. “Just go wait in the car, this will only take me a few minutes-” You’re interrupted by your boyfriend taking the latex gloves and trash bag away from you.

“Hey, love. It’s okay.” Nanami leads you back towards your room, putting on a pair of gloves. “I’ll clean this up. You just relax and take your time getting ready.”

“But Ken-” You protest, looking back over your shoulder as he guides you with a warm palm pressed against the small of your back. “It’s gross and-”

“I don’t mind.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Trust me. I wouldn’t offer if I did. Don’t worry about it.”

He looks you up and down, a small smile spreading across his face. “Do whatever you need to get ready. I just want my girl looking all pretty for our date, alright?”

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa @pandora-ophelia-blog

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!

[konigsblog]

I’m sorry this is a ramble but this thought plagues me and I just can’t write so . Spare me my agony here; older stalker Konig.

He sees you at work, some pretty young thing at a seedy diner or bar, barely old enough to be employed there at all. Too young to be working, you’re something he thinks should be housed away and pampered like some dumb pet, so silly of you to not settle down already. Low hanging fruit is what he takes you for, with how naive and innocent you seem; no concept of the world, of seedy men like himself with too much time and money on his hands, his red flags too visible to anyone who knows what to look for. And you poor, poor thing have no clue what he’s like, his faux charm and large tips and solid build blinding you of his true intentions.

He watches, becomes a regular, gets to know you and make small talk and leave fat tips and cheesy compliments that make you giddy and flustered despite the odd air he has about him or the way your coworkers whisper that he’s no good. Eventually his regular appearances turn into him staying til close, then offering to walk you home his possessive streak covered up by vigilant protectiveness that leaves you dizzy with his little touches to your arm or the small of your back, the nearly parental way he kisses your forehead at your door.

Little did you know he’s been planning the whole time; memorizing your work schedules, your daily schedule, the things you eat or drink, places you go on your days off, watching you through your apartment window or sneaking in when you’re out of the house to raid your dirty laundry or leave a gross surprise of his cum in your leftovers. He’s a shadow in your life, always lurking in the background of every scene no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Eventually he’s sneaking in when you’re asleep, so silent for such a behemoth of a man, so he can paw at your soft and prone form while he pants and spills into his hand like a dog in rut while you’re none-the-wiser, unaware of the way he smears his soiled hand on your skin, your cunt, your pillow or sheets.

When he finally takes things further, too determined to do anything but hoard you all to himself, he’s so sweetly condescending as he relays just how long he had planned everything, how cute and stupid you were to never realize what he had been doing all this time, the bits of himself he left around your apartment, on you, inside of you as a precursor to him claiming you fully. You’ve already consumed so much of his seed, you’ll be fine taking it from the source like a good girl Schatz, nicht? Sure his cock is big, but he knows the best ways to stretch your tight hole already, so you’ll be fine! Just stop thinking and let him have you already, he’s worked so hard for you, your the center of his world. His stupid little Liebling, pathetic and confused as she struggles against her bindings and his hands, no choices left but to plead until her voice dies and give herself over to him, because nothing could convince him to accept no as the answer.

anon, my jaw is on the floor, i absolutely adore older stalker-könig and his creepiness. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

CW: RAPE/NON-CON, AGE GAP, STALKING. 🪦🕊️

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+

my brain rots at the thought of könig sliding inside for the first time, holding your wrists down beside your head as he begins rocking gently. the way he cocks his head to the side almost mocking you, taunting you for being so easy, so pliant, and so vulnerable and naïve around him. the faux sympathy and empathy leaves you longing for his sweet praise, but when you're slapped for falling for the mask he puts on, you sob harder with his slicken cock hammering against your cervix, stuffed inside that inexperienced cunt. it's as if you wanted this to happen, to be used and controlled as if you were a puppet, with your inappropriate and flirty comments after each cheesy, overly sweet compliment he gives you, unaware of his seriousness, how this was a part of his plan to reduce you to a mutt, with your purpose being to serve a man, könig.

he hides himself so well, and you take the bait, falling for the façade of a gentle, older male with sweet intentions. looking back, you can only let out pitiful and pained cries as you connect the dots and realise your stupidity, finally realising what you fell for, how stupid you must look on your back begging for him to stop when he'd given you so many hints and chances to flee, your voice becoming quiet and strained as you plead. the rough texture of his old, scarred skin over your mouth to silence you, against your soft and supple skin, your body shaking with each thrust, showing you what you're worth, what your purpose truly is.

könig shows you what reality is, getting you out of your stupid head, that's doing you no good as he continues with his violation and assault. he teaches you that life isn't fantasy, how you don't know everyone and their intentions or who they truly are, or how you'll fall for it and become a wolf's prey within seconds due to your kindness and naivety, how you never accuse anyone and hope they mean well, too naïve for your own good and assuming the best about everyone. leading you to be forced to take every inch of the man's experienced, hung cock, with your eyes glistening and horrified, and the smell of him on your bedsheets reminding you, or the cum stains along your shirts and panties.

or, perhaps the bruises and marks he leaves along your skin as a warning, or maybe as a sign of ownership - who you belong to, who owns you.

how could you be so foolish? :(

[boynarcing]

A Certain Euphoria

leon s. kennedy x male!reader

wc. 1.7k

cw. incest, dad/son incest, OOC(duh), implied abuse, alcoholism, mutual interest (mostly from reader in this one), internalized homophobia

note. sort of continuation from this fic right here… no smut (yet) sorry but uhm there are some implied sexual acts? also the writing is kind of boring I think .. sorry excuse how bland it is please lol… feedback always appreciated :3 || title is A Certain Euphoria by Strange Boutique

You squirm, wriggle your hips and scoot your bottom back, but no matter whatever you try to do, you can’t seem to find a comfortable position on the thick muscle of your father’s thigh.

Yeah, his lap.

You were on your dad’s lap at your grown age. Willingly, too.

It didn’t take much for him to be able to coax you, just some sweet words and playful teasing and you were at his beck and call like a mindless dog.

That’s normal though, isn’t it? To be this close with your dad. You’d rather he baby and coddle you than beat you, which is why you try your best to stay on his good side. It doesn’t take much to set him off; one small, snide comment and he starts bugging out like a gas station cokehead. Plus, it’s not good for an old man like him. His heart could give out or something. Who’d take care of you then? Not your mom, that’s for sure.

Large hands steady your hips, squeezing gently.

“Relax,” Leon coos, nosing your nape, the action making you shiver. He’s so touchy, so brazen. A part of you flusters, unsure of what to make of his attention. It’s sweet, but it makes you feel dirty. Not gross dirty, but an “I feel like I shouldn’t be this close to my dad” type of dirty. You’re a boy, after all, aren’t you? Boys don’t get all sappy and sit on each other’s laps. Maybe you should be more worried about the dad part, though. Being gay is the least of your worries, and not something you should think about at this point in your life.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat searing your cheeks, making you sweat. “I’m just kinda uncomfy.” Honesty is the best policy, you remind yourself. Pushing back against your dad, you turn your head slightly to nuzzle your cheek against his chest apologetically, acutely aware of the fact that you had accidentally bumped your ass into his groin. Your heart skips a beat, but dad doesn’t say anything, simply tightening his hold on you and kissing your cheek, making you wilt with disappointment.

“Gonna have to deal with it,” Leon grumbles, arms wrapping around your waist, keeping you caged against him. “I want you close.”

You let out a huff, but otherwise say nothing. It’s sweet, you think. Your old man has quite the soft spot for you, and you don’t want to overthink his intentions, so you stay put and rest the back of your head against his firm chest, eyes focused on the TV ahead. One of Leon’s hands slips from your waist to your belly, fingers squeezing gently at the soft skin, coaxing out a sharp inhale from you.

Your hands follow, meekly grabbing onto your dad’s hand and tugging feebly, halting those curious fingers. “Don’t do that,” Your brows pinch together, a mixture of embarrassment and warmth pooling in your lower abdomen and down there. It’s just instinctual, you think. You hope. You can’t control yourself when it comes to stuff like that. You’re just sensitive is all. You can’t get touched in certain places or ways without pitching a tent. You just can’t.

This brings you back to your first time in the locker room with the guys. Some random boy had patted you on the hip playfully, but his hand had lingered for a tad bit longer than you would’ve liked, and you swore he gave you a little squeeze too. Needless to say, it was humiliating when everyone noticed your poor attempt at hiding the boner that had decided to pop through your underwear.

Word had somehow got out too, and dad ended up hearing about it. He went on the whole “boys your age go through changes” spiel, and you almost considered suicide that night.

Anyways.

Leon takes offense to your attempt at redirecting him, his grip growing strict. He doesn’t scold you, much to your surprise. He just looks at you as if you were a child throwing a fit, brief amusement swelling in his eyes. “I’m your dad,” he says. Yeah, you know that, dad, and the sky is blue. “don’t gotta be embarrassed around me, tiger.” You cringe at the nickname, face scrunching up as if something sour had snuck its way into your mouth. He squeezes again, and you gasp this time.

“Yeah, no, I know, but-“

“But nothing,” Leon cuts you off, pinching your side and making you squeak.

You focus on the lingering sting instead of complaining, hand trying to soothe the irritated skin with small rubs. “Sorry,” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut when he squeezes again and again. Over and over.

His pinkie dips beneath your waistband, and you start to feel your head go fuzzy, your briefs tightening painfully around the crotch area. It hurts so good, and your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, seeking friction. Oh god, you’re going crazy and he’s not even doing anything that provocative.

Touch my dick, touch my dick, please.

He doesn’t. Instead, his hand slides over to your chest, fingers splayed out to feel as much of you as he could. Disgruntled, you pout, letting out a weary sigh and slumping against your dad in defeat, his hard chest pressing into your back. His body isn’t what it used to be, softened after years of drinking, but you can feel what slight muscle he has left. For a guy his age, he should be proud, you’ll give him that.

He leans forward and rests his chin on the top of your head, the weight making you tilt downwards slightly. His hand movements still and you frown, confused. It’s silent for a minute, the only sounds in the room coming from the television’s stereo. Some cheesy flick is playing on screen. A girl chews her gum lazily before popping it, eyeing a male character coquettishly as he speaks. You can’t bring yourself to focus on the corny dialogue, lost in thought.

The silence draws out, and for a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong, but then dad speaks, his voice gruff and his eyes fixated on the film ahead, “Think you can get me another cold one, sweetheart?”

You can’t say no to that. Not if you want to keep your face looking pretty.

You nod, giving an anxious little hum before scooting off his lap. Leon taps his foot impatiently, glancing over at you pointedly as you scurry off to the kitchen.

The lack of warmth makes you shiver, goosebumps spreading across your skin when the icy air within the fridge lashes at you. The top layer is the only one that isn’t scarce, filled to the brim with the kind of alcohol dad likes, some of the bottles gifted by his suck-up coworkers. You can tell by the rich designs on the front and the fancy fonts (and definitely not by his habit of skimping out on things). One of them still has a bow attached around the neck. A charming man is a charming man, you suppose.

You take the easiest one to open and rush back, handing Leon the bottle before hopping onto his lap again, sighing in relief when his body heat starts to seep into you once more. Your ears manage to catch the small grunt he makes when he unscrews the cap and brings the opened top to his mouth. The large gulp that follows makes you lick your lips, a subconscious craving for something to quench your thirst. Water sounds nice right now, you think.

Eyes flickering back to the TV, you try to follow along with the poor plot, only to startle and yelp when cold glass is shoved and squeezed between your thighs, the alcohol bottle held upright.

“Dad-“

“Shh,” Leon shushes, tugging at a few locks of your hair near the back of your head, a silent warning. “The table’s too far to reach from here. Just hold it for me, okay?”

You make sure to squeeze your thighs together extra tight now, not wanting the bottle to slide out of your grip. That’d be life-ending. “…’kay.” You nod, feeling heat tingle all over your face, melting down to your chest. You squirm slightly, trying to get used to the cold somehow without being too dramatic. Leon notices, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval, annoyed by your fidgeting.

With a swift movement, he brings the bottle back and slides it up your inner thighs until it presses firmly against your crotch. Luckily, your shorts protect you from the full extent of the chilly surface, but some of it manages to seep through the fabric. A soft whimper slips through your parted lips, but you don’t complain. You can’t, you remind yourself. Besides, you’re grateful he doesn’t shove it up your ass instead, because he could, and he would.

You try to focus on your task as a drink holder and continue to keep dad’s bottle secure between your legs, but no matter how hard you try to be good, you’re unable to keep from squirming and giving subtle pushes with your hips against the glass. You could lie and say you didn’t mean to, but the truth is you just can’t help yourself, not around dad. It’s almost like you’ve got a knack for it. For being a little needy. But that’s not a crime, is it?

Leon’s hand comes down and grips onto the neck of the bottle, yanking it out without second thought to take another swing, ignoring the little “uufh!” that escapes you.

You look back woozily, head fuzzy. Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he takes three big gulps, the burn of fresh whiskey making his face screw up funnily. He pats your hip with his freehand, and falls back against the couch with a groan, bringing the bottle down to recline against the armrest on his right. Blinking up at him, you tilt your head in a silent question.

Leon’s gaze lingers on your face for a second or two before he lets his eyes flutter shut, his head lolling back against the couch. “Hmpff,” he yawns, “daddy needs his sleep, kiddo.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he pats the top of your head with a gentle palm before you could even manage to get a word out. You lean into it. you always do. Even if he was dismissing you as if you were a toddler incapable of thinking for yourself.

“Go to bed,” He murmurs groggily, pushing you off his lap with small nudges, “I’ll join you soon…” He’s already snoring.

[eaterofman]

I <3 You!: Serial Killer Yandere x Detective Reader

This was your chance to shine, to finally rise up in the pecking order... but have you bitten off more than you could chew?

The answer is yes, yes you have.

CW: Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Violence NOT directed towards reader, Manipulation, Mild gore/grossness towards the end

A/N: I have learned how to make aesthetic moodboards like the cool blogs. I am unstoppable.

Of course you took the case, why wouldn't you?

You were sick of being at the bottom of the food chain, forced to run meaningless errands and getting stuck with the paperwork for the rest of the division.

This was your big break. Finally an opportunity to prove your worth.

How hard could it be?

He knew you were watching him.. or at least, watching the aftermath of him.

And what a beautiful aftermath it was, specially tailored, just for you.

He hadn't known who you were before all this. He'd even been insulted at first when he learned the detective on his case was some nobody that'd been tossed on his kills like a stray dog being offered a bone.

He really had been planning on making you his next target, spitting on the face of the department that decided that he was so unimportant that his work was only deserving of an amateur. He'd show them what happens when he's underestimated-

...but you'd thrown yourself onto his case with a diligence he wasn't quite prepared for. You were taking him seriously, treating the lowlifes he brutalized as important as the rich bastards the rest of your department was worried about.

It was cute.

Despite your efforts, you were nowhere near discovering who he was. He wouldn't let you, at least, not until the time was right.

No, he would make you great, just as you would make him known, and then and only then, would he reveal himself to you. The two of you were so intricately connected after all, both of you unknown to the world around you.

By hell or high water, the city would know the both of you. He'd make sure of it.

You wearily rested your head on your desk, pressing your face into the wood as your eyes blinked in and out of reality.

You were tired.

You wouldn't admit it to your colleagues, you refused to show weakness. You knew what happened when sharks smelled blood in the water. Showing them, that after all these years of being relegated to coffee running and borderline secretarial duties, that you couldn't handle the first case you'd been trusted with?

No, you wouldn't let yourself be thrown back to the bottom again. You were going to prove your worth to the team.

But the disappearances weren't disappearances anymore. They were clear murders at this point, and they were escalating.

What had started as simple disappearances with no confirmed body had evolved into... statements, for lack of a better word. Brutalized bodies proudly displayed in a clear mockery of your efforts.

The killer was getting bold.

It seemed at first as though they were getting sloppy as well, a few times you had stumbled across a victim that had obviously been alive just a few moments before you'd gotten to them, blood still fresh and their eyes still hauntingly gleaming at you.

No, the killer wasn't getting sloppy. You weren't any closer to finding them then you were a year ago.

This was intentional. They wanted you to see it. Despite their brutality, they were careful, never leaving any trace of themselves behind.

The case had escalated to the point where the rest of your division had to acknowledge it. At first, your colleagues simply hadn't cared about a few disappearances of the city's less respected residents. It was practically a joke when they assigned you the missing persons case, like a wild goose chase you couldn't possibly in.

Despite this, you'd put your all into the case. Even if your colleagues didn't care about the occasional missing prostitute or tourist, you did. They were still people, even if they didn't make headlines.

Your division still didn't actually care about the people when they assigned a more advanced detective to your case. No, they cared about their reputation. A serial killer on the loose did not bode well for their public appearance.

You were happy that attention was now being directed towards what you'd known to be a problem since the beginning... but it was too little too late in your opinion. It wouldn't change the fact that lives were lost because you lacked funds and access to necessary equipment and time.

As your eyes drifted shut, you figured that even if this new detective took over your case completely, it'd be okay as long as the killer was stopped.

You didn't need to known, after all, you just needed to protect your city.

That was enough for you.

White hot anger broiled in his chest, threatening to explode as he paced his hotel room.

There was another man with you, another detective.

No, not a detective, a piece of trash that didn't recognize how important the two of you were.

The piece of shit thought he was better than you, than him.

After all the effort and work he had put into gaining notoriety, the fucking pigs had stepped in, placed an intruder between the two of you. Worse yet, an intruder who would surely take all the credit from you.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he eyed the two of you investigating the display he'd arranged for you from his vantage point, watching you be forced into the role of a sidekick, he played with the knife in his hands.

This would be his best work yet.

Just as you had feared, you'd been relegated to side work once your more senior colleague stepped in.

At least you hadn't been completely removed from the case, you supposed, but it had still been a bitter pill to swallow. You'd worked so hard, only to be pushed aside and undermined once again.

You wouldn't have even minded as much, if he'd at the very least listen to what you had to say.

Instead, you'd gotten lectured like a small child, chastised for not solving such a simple case.

You chewed on the words as you walked, coffee in your hands from yet another chore you'd been forced into running.

The bastard had even made you pay for it.

"Forgot your wallet my fucking ass..." you mutter to yourself as you stomp up the stairs to the small office your superior had claimed for the investigation.

Or at least, his part of the investigation. You typically weren't allowed to "cramp up his space" while he "worked". You were used to getting kicked out into the general shared office space to work on the additional paperwork he deemed himself too important to touch.

You knock on the door, hoping to not have to struggle to open it with your hands full of hot coffee.

But there's no answer.

Of course there isn't, god forbid he actually gets up off his ass and helps you for once.

You roll your eyes and go to reach for the doorknob... only for the door to crack open on its own. Huh.

You shrug, turning to hip bump the door open the rest of the way. Easier for you, you supp-

You're snapped out of your thoughts when you step in something... wet. Back still turned, you jump in surprise at the unpleasant sound of wet carpet smooshing up against your shoe.

"Ew, what th-"

You stop mid sentence, now facing the inside of the room. You drop the cups your holding in your hand, barely registering as the brown liquid mixes with the now deep red carpet.

There's blood everywhere.

Soaked into the carpet, splattered onto the walls, dripping from the desk your colleague is sitting at.

Or what remains of your colleague, at least.

Most of what was once him is now covering the small office space, you feel bile rising in your throat.

Even in your shock, it's hard not to notice the oddly pristine, brightly colored paper in the space where your superior's face used to be.

You refuse to step into the room to get any closer to it, survival instincts howling at you to not getting any closer.

But you don't need to, you can clearly make out the almost childishly placed paper cutout letters on the paper.

You feel your stomach contents finally leave your body, mixing with the other fluids on the ground.

The message of "I <3 You" mocks you from the other side of the room as you scream, falling backwards as your mind tries to process what you're seeing.

The killer was just here, had to have been you were only gone for twenty minutes at most and-

-and he knows you, you realize with dread.

You scream.

[ghosttotheparty]

slice me open and make me my own also on ao3 cws: self harm & self harm scars (not graphic; healed at time this fic takes place); past unhealthy/reckless sex; referenced child abuse (implied to be severe but isn’t explained in detail); some sort of morbid/gory imagery; tattoo needles

Eddie isn’t the same anymore.

He’s a taxidermied dog. Stuck into place with pins and needles, stiff and gross and depressing. He’s always been good at pretending, but after the world doesn’t end, after he doesn’t bleed out in his kid’s arms, he gets better. Forces smiles onto his face and brightens his eyes just enough to make the air shift around him, to make the people who are apparently his friends now soften. Back off a little.

For the first few weeks none of them will leave him alone. Bringing him water and painkillers and bandages and feeling his temperature and setting blankets over him so carefully he feels like antique furniture in an abandoned house. They bring him food and open windows so he’s got fresh air. The kids come over after school just to say hi, just to hang out, but Eddie knows it’s because none of them can really believe that he’s alive. He can’t either, if he’s honest. He kind of hates it.

He doesn’t tell them that, obviously.

When he’s alone, he stares at himself in the mirror. There’s a full-length one in his room that he used to use to check his outfits in, making sure his bandana wasn’t scrunched up in his pocket, his hair wasn’t tucked into his shirt, his sweaters were hanging off his body properly. The mirror isn’t for that anymore.

He can’t really be bothered to make sure his outfits look right. It doesn’t matter anymore. People stare at him the same no matter what he wears.

The light in his room is dim, always has been. He leaves it on all the time, as soon as the sun starts to go down. He’s scared of the dark now, just like when he was little. When he was a kid, the dark meant he couldn’t see the bottles littering the floor. Now his heartbeat gets too loud when the lights are off. It gets too fast, but it feels too slow, and suddenly the sheets under his body feel slick with blood and his stomach hurts and he can hear Dustin crying. So he leaves the light on.

It sucks when he can see.

The lamplight is dim enough that he can manage to fall asleep, but bright enough that when he opens his eyes he can see across his room. Can see the cracks in the ceiling, the stains from the rain. Can see the paint chipping from the posters he’s taken down. Light means he can see if something is hiding in the dark. Light means he can see himself.

He stops in front of his mirror, skin still wet with water, hair still dripping, towel tied around his hips. He never means to stop here, never really wants to, but he can’t help it. The carpet has indents in the shape of his feet. He doesn’t notice water falling from his hair, spotting the ground.

The light from the lamp makes his skin look more golden than it is. He’s paler than he used to be. He doesn’t go outside often, even when the sun is bright, high in the sky, even when the kids are playing in Steve’s pool or going to the park to push Max in her wheelchair as fast as they can. He stays in his room with the curtains drawn.

He doesn’t like being seen anymore, not like he used to, when he would stand on cafeteria tables and shout at the top of his lungs just so people would hear him, even if it pissed them off. When he used to draw as much attention as possible so his sheep would be left alone.

People stare now, and it’s worse than before.

Even he stares.

There’s a scar on his face.

It’s big and red and angry. He’s been waiting for the color to fade, for it to be pinker or browner, for it to blend in a little more, but it won’t, no matter how much cream and vitamin E oil he puts on it. It’s stiff, pulls his skin tight, keeps his cheek in place even when he smiles. The shape of it is off, almost W-shaped, like a child grabbed some markers and scribbled on his face as he slept. He hates it.

He hates it even more than the rest of his scars.

The ones on his neck, slashed through his skin like there should be text printed under his jaw: Cut along the dotted line.

The ones that cover his body, take up more real estate than his tattoos. On his chest, the zombie head he saved money for months for is gone, replaced with flesh that isn’t even his, jagged and bumpy and weird looking. There’s a dip at his waist that looks like someone scooped his flesh out with a spoon, and it’s so sensitive that he sometimes covers it with tight bandages just so the fabric of his shirt doesn’t brush against it. Some spots are thicker, built up scar tissue that stand out against the rest, darker and redder and number. He can’t feel anything on the left side of his waist. Nerve damage, the doctors said.

Eddie turns slowly, looking at his shoulders, at his back. The scars go around him, stretching his skin when he twists around to look. The knobs of his spine press through his skin like they’re trying to get out of him, and he gets it. He doesn’t want to be in this body either.

He lets the towel fall to the ground, where it pools around his feet. There are scars on his legs, on his thighs and knees and shins. (Which he doesn’t get at all. Why the fuck would they go for his knees? He joked with Wayne when he finally came home from the hospital, At least they didn’t get my ass. And Wayne, of course, said dryly, What ass?)

He can’t walk properly anymore. Like he’s heavier on one side. His feet drag and it hurts to stand for too long. He has a cane now. He jokes about with Wayne, offering it to him when his back is stiff, teases that he needs it more, but he can tell Wayne hates that he needs one before Wayne does.

It’s grey. Silvery, kind of, standard hospital issue. It clicks when he sets it on the ground the same way his knee does when he bends it.

He’s all wrong. Disfigured. Ripped apart and stitched back together. He’s fucking grotesque, like some gruesome abstract portrait, something that doesn’t quite look human. He wonders if the bats somehow left a little of themselves behind when they fell to the ground around him.

So he hides. Wears sweaters that are too big for him, that hover over his skin when he stands up straight, sweatpants that he has to cuff so he doesn’t trip on the fabric. He lets his hair fall to hide the scars around his neck, sits with his chin set on his palm so his fingers can cover his cheek, slouches on the sofa and pulls the collar of his sweater up to hide behind it. And he’s a fucking coward.

Running. Hiding. Tucking himself away behind his cracked ribs and pretending it’s fine that he can hear them creaking like the floor of an old house. When he goes to bed, drawing his knees to his chest and ignoring how they click, ducking his head down so his chin is under the collar of his sweater, arms wrapped around himself and ignoring how his skin stings, he can pretend he’s something else.

It’s a Tuesday night when Steve Harrington shows up to the trailer by himself for the first time.

It’s past midnight. Clear, cloudless skies, the moon half-full. One of the days just between summer and autumn. Wayne is at work and Eddie is alone, curled up on the sofa with a book, ignoring the way his hands are shaking a little. They do that all the time now. He hates it.

Steve knocks tentatively, carefully, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone up.

Eddie doesn’t check who it is before he opens the door, and they look at each other. It’s almost awkward, but not quite.

Steve only comes over with the kids. Keeps them in line as they clamber around the living room like hyperactive puppies, tidies up after them because he can’t be bothered to nag them.

They’re both quiet as they look at each other. Steve’s wearing a red sweater, and he looks handsome even though his hair is falling around his face and he’s wearing shorts that look like they were sweatpants that he cut off with scissors. And Eddie hates himself for thinking it.

He steps aside wordlessly, and Steve comes inside. Toes his shoes off and nudges them aside so they’re not in the way as Eddie shuts the door behind him. He sits on the sofa and looks at Eddie as he follows, and Eddie is oddly grateful that he doesn’t jump up to help, to hold his arm out to him or hover needlessly, hands out to catch Eddie. He’d rather just fall.

Steve moves when Eddie reaches the sofa, shifts aside so Eddie doesn’t have to make his way between the sofa and the coffee table. Eddie sits heavily, exhaling.

They’re close. Eddie can feel the heart of his body through their clothes, and he wants to close his eyes, to savor it. He’s always cold now. He’s dreading winter.

Steve’s foot nudges Eddie’s, and Eddie looks. Steve’s skin is darker than Eddie’s, warmer looking. Fuzzier. Softer. He’s wearing socks that are different shades of blue. Eddie nudges him back. His socks are mismatched too, striped and colorful in a way that looks out of place with his black sweatpants and grey sweater.

Both of them have their hands in their laps. Eddie’s hands are tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, and Steve has his fingers curled and twisted together like he’s hiding them.

“Hi,” Eddie says finally. He hasn’t spoken all day, and his voice breaks a little, breathy and soft and weak.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back.

“What’s up?”

Steve is quiet, and Eddie glances at him. He’s looking down at their feet, pressed together, and he looks tired. Tired in a way he doesn’t usually, when he comes over with the kids and laughs and bickers with them, rolling his eyes fondly and leaving them with Eddie to do the dishes or make lunch. His eyes are shining dully, like he’s looking through their feet instead of at them, and he looks like he isn’t really there.

Steve shrugs after a few moments, like he’s only just processed the question.

“Got lonely,” he says softly.

“And you came to see me?” Eddie says, and Steve cracks a smile, looking at him.

He shrugs again when he looks away, tugging his sleeves down over his hands and twisting the fabric into his fingers.

“…They don’t get it,” he says quietly, whispering.

Eddie closes his eyes.

Savors his warmth, like he’s standing in sunlight again.

He nods, pressing his foot against Steve’s more firmly.

“No,” he breathes. “They don’t.”

Steve leans toward him a little bit, bumping their shoulders together, and it makes Eddie’s stomach do a somersault, sends a shock through him. He doesn’t open his eyes, pressing against him, and Steve sighs softly, leaning against him. Falling against him. Eddie catches him.

He’s wrapping his arms around the sun, holding him tightly and burying his face into his hair, and they’ve never done this before but somehow it doesn’t matter. Steve’s hands find Eddie’s arm, emerging from his sleeves just to hold him, and he holds Eddie just as tightly, like they might both fall apart, crumble to dust if they let go. Eddie sways with him, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he could give himself a headache.

And Steve leans against his chest with a soft breath, drawing his legs onto the sofa and curling up against Eddie’s body like he’s trying to be small, to take up as little space as possible. Eddie pulls him closer in a way that would make anyone else scold him. Don’t hurt yourself. Steve just lets him.

Steve tucks his face into the crook of Eddie’s elbow. Eddie presses his into the back of his neck. Steve’s shampoo smells fancy, like citrus and flowers. He wonders what he smells like. Maybe cigarettes. Probably weed.

“Do your scars hurt?” Steve whispers after a while. Eddie can feel his heart beating. It’s beautiful.

“All the time.”

Steve exhales. Eddie thinks his eyes are closed.

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again. Eddie lifts his knees onto the sofa and curls up against him, letting their bodies twist together like a puzzle. Steve sets his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie opens his eyes.

He can feel the heat of his palm through his sweatpants, and he suddenly wants to take them off, to feel Steve’s hands slide over his bare skin even if he can’t stand the idea of Steve’s eyes on him.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Steve asks softly.

“Please.”

Steve’s body relaxes against Eddie’s, and he exhales again as if in relief. Eddie squeezes him. It makes his scars ache.

Eddie looks at him when he falls asleep. Leans back to see his face, to touch his cheek as lightly as he can without stirring him. Steve shifts in his sleep, slipping down into Eddie’s lap until Eddie is holding his head, cradling it, gazing down at him.

Steve takes a deep breath, slow and steady and clear, and Eddie watches his chest rise and fall, watches his lips twitch a little like he’s trying to smile.

Eddie sets his hand over Steve’s chest carefully. He can feel Steve’s heart beating beneath his skin.

It’s a nice feeling.

Eddie closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the back of the sofa. He can hear Steve breathing. It makes his throat tighten and his eyes sting, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to.

When he wakes up, it’s still dark outside. Steve’s hand is on his, holding his hand in place on his chest. Steve is still asleep, but he’s closer now, sitting up a little with his face tucked into Eddie’s neck, his nose nudging along the serrated scars. His breath is warm.

Eddie closes his eyes again, squeezing Steve without thinking, and Steve nuzzles into his neck with a soft sigh, rubbing his nose against him like a cat. Eddie smiles sleepily.

The sun is bright, shining red through his eyelids.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, letting his legs extend down the sofa with a soft groan as his muscles stretch, and it takes a few moments for the world to settle in, to seep into his skin. He can hear Wayne and Steve talking, which isn’t odd, really. They’ve gotten along since they met at the hospital, always bickering and teasing because they like opposing baseball teams. What’s odd is hearing them both this early in the morning.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight, and he starts to sit up even though he doesn’t really want to. His knee clicks as he swings his legs off the sofa, looking around to see Steve and Wayne in the kitchen. Steve is at the stove, cooking something as Wayne leans against the wall next to him, talking.

Wayne is smiling a little. It’s an absent smile, barely there, but it’s beautiful. Eddie doesn’t remember the last time he made Wayne smile.

Eddie sits there for a little bit, watching him. He can’t really hear them; they’re talking quietly, almost whispering to let Eddie sleep. It takes a minute or two for Wayne to realize that Eddie is sitting up, looking at them.

“Speak o’ the devil,” he says lightly, and Steve looks over his shoulder at Eddie, eyes shining.

“You’re talkin’ ‘bout me?” Eddie says roughly, rubbing his eye as he uses the armrest of the sofa to push himself up. He holds back a wince because he knows Wayne is watching him.

“Just that you snore like a chainsaw,” Steve says lightly, looking back at the stove as Eddie hobbles over to them.

“I do not,” Eddie argues childishly, and Steve glances at him. His eyes flicker over his body, and Eddie is suddenly oddly conscious of his limp, of his unsteady weight and stiff limbs. But Steve just smiles and looks away.

“Yes, you do,” Wayne says, making space for Eddie to join them, so Eddie can lean against the counter. “You sound more like an old man than I do.”

“Whatever.”

Eddie looks at Steve’s hands. His palms are scarred, but Eddie can’t see them from here, while Steve is mixing some eggs on a pan. The scars are from the bat’s tail, the one Steve grabbed so he could slam the bat into the ground. It flashes in Eddie’s mind, the dark of the Upside Down, the way the bats’ skin shined, the flickering red lights in the sky. The sound Steve made as he swung the bat in the air, the sound it made as it hit the ground. The sick squelching as Steve ripped it half, the spray of the black blood.

Eddie blinks, his vision clearing as Steve scoops the eggs into a bowl, and he remembers it’s a Wednesday morning. Steve is making eggs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Wayne says. He touches Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and it takes a moment for the touch to register. He’s turning to look at him just as he lets go and disappears down the hallway.

Steve cracks another egg. Eddie flinches at the sound, the crunch of the shell against the counter, and he almost expects the egg to come out red.

“You okay?” Steve says lightly, looking down. He whisks the egg in another bowl with a fork, the metal clicking against the glass of the bowl.

”Uh,” Eddie says slowly, pausing, watching the egg become a soft shade of orange. “Yeah, no, I…”

He exhales.

“Sorry, I just… I always feel weird in the morning.”

Steve hums. He pours some milk into the bowl, whisks it into the egg, and Eddie watches the orange soften even more.

“Sorry about last night,” Steve says as he’s pouring it into the pan, his voice cutting through the warm hissing of the egg on the heat of the stove. Eddie blinks.

“For what?”

“Just… I came over and dumped all that on you.”

“All what? Your loneliness?”

Steve scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything, and Eddie’s never seen him look like this. Almost shy. Bashful. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes as he mixes the eggs on the pan, biting his lip. Eddie stands there, watching until he’s scooping the eggs into another bowl before he’s reaching out and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. He doesn’t even notice himself doing it until Steve is looking at him again, setting the pan down on the stove.

Steve turns toward him, leaning against the counter, and he glances down at Eddie’s hand when he lets go of his sleeve.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says quietly. “If you… If you just don’t wanna feel as lonely.”

Their eyes meet again.

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, and his expression softens, his cheeks pink. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“You don’t mind,” Steve says softly. “If I come over at night and act like a fuckin’ baby.”

Eddie scoffs, and he finally reaches out and grabs at his sleeve again, tugging him closer with it. Steve lets him, half-smiling, stumbling forward.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says again. He looks down, watches as Steve’s hand shifts and his fingers spread so Eddie’s can lace with them as he lets go of the fabric of his sleeve. Steve’s hand is warm.

“I, uhm…” Steve pauses, curling his fingers around Eddie’s. “I’m taking Max to her physical therapy appointment today after the kids get out of school.”

Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at their hands, and he kind of looks like he’s asleep again, his expression soft and relaxed. His lips part for a moment before he speaks, hesitating.

“Can I come over after I drop her off at home?”

Eddie smiles. His scar stretches.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Please.”

Steve suppresses a smile. His cheeks are pink again, and Eddie thinks pink might be his favorite color now. Which is insane.

“I can bring a movie or something,” he says lightly, like he’s hopeful, and Eddie wants to cry suddenly.

“Sure,” he says. “Bring something good.”

“As if I’d bring anything bad.”

“I don’t know, man, I’ve seen what you put on at the video store—”

Steve scrunches his nose adorably and lets go of Eddie’s hand to hit his shoulder playfully. Eddie giggles and smacks his hand away.

And they talk about movies.

It feels stupid in the grand scheme of things. They fought monsters, survived the fucking apocalypse. They’re marked by it, for life. And now they’re standing in Eddie’s kitchen, teasing each other about their favorite movies, eating eggs. (Steve likes Back To The Future, which takes Eddie aback for a moment, but then Steve casually says he also likes Fast Times, which checks out, Eddie thinks.) Eddie leans against the counter after a little bit, giggling quietly, taking his weight off his knee, and then sets his bowl aside and reaches to hold the edge of the counter, trying to pull himself up to sit atop it. But he can’t.

He used to be able to. He annoyed Wayne with how much he did it, just pulled himself up onto the counter and kicked at Wayne playfully while Wayne tried to work. He’d do it at his friends’ houses, sit on counters or washing machines or anything else that wasn’t a chair, wasn’t made for sitting on.

Steve is saying something when he notices the way Eddie struggles, and his speech doesn’t pause as he sets aside his own bowl and steps up close, reaching to Eddie’s thighs and pulling up. Eddie’s heart beats faster in his chest as Steve lifts him onto the counter easily, effortlessly, standing for a brief moment between his legs before he steps away, still talking. Eddie’s knee already feels better without the pressure of his weight on it, but something else aches when Steve steps away and leans against the counter opposite him. Eddie’s stomach flutters again.

He helps Eddie down when they finish eating, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding his arm, and even as Eddie winces, bracing himself, his face flushes with warmth, and he feels like he’s fourteen again, partnered up on a class project with a pretty boy. Nervous.

They go out back while Wayne goes to sleep in the living room. They sit on the old sofa Eddie and Wayne put out here two years ago; it’s stained and the springs are pushing through the worn down plush of the cushions, but somehow it’s still fucking cozy when Eddie sits in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, looking at Steve as he talks, as they light cigarettes with Eddie’s lighter that’s probably not even going to work tomorrow judging by how many times they have to flick it to get it to light.

They face the trees. Eddie sees Steve’s eyes scan the treeline a few times, smile absent on his face as he listens to Eddie speak, like he’s searching for something, like he’s on lookout. He doesn’t seem to find whatever he’s looking for, and he looks back at Eddie every time, his expression softening in a way that makes Eddie’s bones ache.

Steve leaves around two thirty to get Max, and Eddie sits outside again. He hasn’t gone outside in a long time, he thinks, at least a week or so. He doesn’t even like leaving his room, much less the trailer. Doesn’t like feeling people’s eyes on him, doesn’t like to be seen. He doesn’t like knowing what people think.

But he supposes sitting here is better than nothing.

It’s quiet here, out of the way. He can hear birds singing. It’s a nice sound. He hadn’t realized he’d missed it. The leaves are starting to change colors, becoming warmer as the air becomes cooler.

And an odd sense of peace envelopes him, a sort of peace he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. He lights another cigarette, sighs the smoke out of his lungs as he watches the leaves shiver in the soft breeze, wraps his arms around his legs and rocks back and forth.

The sun is shining golden across everything, a shadow cast across the ground that hides him in the dark as he watches the trees shimmer. It occurs to him that it’s beautiful. He’s lived here since he was a kid, since he could piece sentences together, since he could understand what his father meant when he called Eddie a piece of work. And he’s never looked at the trees like this, appreciating them, admiring them. They’re so bright. Alive. And it’s like Eddie can feel them breathing, can feel their roots in the ground under him, twisting into the earth and carving their paths. There are animals in there, Eddie knows. He’s seen deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds. He can’t see them now, can’t hear the branches snapped beneath hooves or grass brushing against fur and hair, can’t hear leaves rustle against the flutter of wings. But he knows they’re there, living and breathing. Dying and returning to the earth. Giving life to moss and grass and bugs, blossoming with life even in death. Oblivious to Eddie sitting here, smoking a cigarette, stubbing it out on the armrest of the sofa.

Steve comes back after a while. Sits on the sofa next to Eddie and looks out at the woods with him, and Eddie wonders what he’s thinking about. If he thinks the same things Eddie does.

Steve is quiet as he moves a little closer, until their shoulders are pressing, and Eddie shifts a little, ignoring the stretch of his scars and the twinge of pain in his hip as he leans toward Steve and rests his head on his shoulder. He swallows, his breathing catching in his throat as Steve rests his head on Eddie’s, his stomach fluttering. He hopes Steve can’t hear his heart pounding.

“I brought Fast Times,” Steve says after a little while, his voice soft like he’s being conscious of how close he is to Eddie’s ear.

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t, I brought The Dark Crystal.”

“Thank god.”

He can hear Steve’s laugh in his fucking skull, and he wants to keep it there.

They watch the movie after Wayne goes to work, after the three of them eat dinner in the living room. Eddie expects it to be weird, eating dinner with Steve there, but it isn’t. He and Wayne get along perfectly like they always do, and Steve insists on doing the dishes before Wayne can even stand after finishing his food. And Eddie wonders for a moment if Wayne is gonna offer to adopt him. But Wayne just gives Eddie this look that he can’t quite decipher.

Eddie makes popcorn while Steve does the dishes. Leans against the counter as he listens to the microwave hum, watching the way Steve’s back twists as he leans to set aside the dripping wet dishes. A kernel pops, and it startles Eddie out of it. He tears his eyes away from Steve, turning to face the microwave, watches the popcorn bag turn in circles.

Steve is humming quietly. Eddie can barely hear it at first, but his voice comes through the microwave and the clinking of the utensils as he drops them onto the towel on the counter. He can’t quite place the song. He probably doesn’t even know it. But he doesn’t think he cares. He closes his eyes, a hand resting on the counter to hold himself up as he listens to Steve hum softly, ignoring the pain in his leg, the sound of the microwave and the popcorn and the water running in the sink. Steve has a nice voice.

They sit too close to each other on the sofa after Steve sets the movie up. Their legs press together, the popcorn bowl balanced on Steve’s knee. Eddie keeps glancing at him, looking at how the movie reflects in his eyes, at the soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Steve falls asleep first again. Head on Eddie’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady, arms wrapped around himself, legs tucked up against Eddie. Eddie pays more attention to him than to the rest of the movie, even though he isn’t doing anything. He listens to him breathe. When the movie ends and the screen falls to static, Eddie can hear Steve’s heartbeat when he listens closely.

It lulls him to sleep. He holds Steve’s arm, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie loosely, his face pressed to the top of Steve’s head, nose buried in his hair.

And that’s how it goes.

Steve comes over at night. He brings movies. Eddie makes popcorn. Sometimes they talk over the movie, bickering or teasing, imitating the characters in silly voices. Their legs tangle, resting over each other’s laps, and their fingers brush in the popcorn bowl, and they rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. and even when Eddie’s stomach flutters so much he feels sick and his breath gets caught in his chest, it all feels fine.

Eddie can’t sleep sometimes. He’s kept up by sounds in his head, claws scratching at the inside of his skull like nails on a blackboard, quiet chittering and snarling that sounds like it’s coming from every corner of the room. He knows it’s not. He listens to Steve breathe when he can’t sleep now. Feels the way his chest rises and falls against Eddie’s side or against his hand when he places his hand over his heart.

Steve holds the fabric of Eddie’s sweaters in his hands when he sleeps, grips them in loose fists and tugs him closer in his sleep. He’s really cute. His cheek squishes against Eddie’s shoulder or chest, and his lips twitch like he’s dreaming, like he wants to smile.

Some mornings Eddie wakes up to their fingers tangled. Like they’ve taken each other’s hands in their sleep, like it’s normal for them, even unconscious. Like it’s how they’re supposed to be.

And he knows it isn’t normal, whatever this is.

But he can’t really bring himself to care; nothing in his life has ever been normal, especially not in the past year. What’s the harm in this?

Besides the obvious, he supposes. The way his heart aches almost twenty four-seven now, just knowing that Steve is going to come over, that he’s going to let Eddie lean against him and wrap his arms around him.

The seasons change. The leaves turn red and fall, leaving behind bare branches, and they coat the ground like they’re trying to keep it warm. The trailer gets colder, and Eddie’s sweaters get heavier until Wayne finally repairs the heater. Steve still comes over even though Eddie knows that his house is probably, definitely, warmer. Even though at his house he’s got his own bed with his own blankets.

Eddie doesn’t complain, obviously. It’s nice with Steve here. Warmer. Safer, somehow. He doesn't mind the dark as much when he can hear Steve breathing.

He likes the sight of Steve’s coat and scarf hung up by the door like they belong there. Steve keeps forgetting his scarf, but Eddie kind of suspects it’s not an accident. Like Steve wants to leave something behind, something to come back for.

Eddie wears the scarf when he smokes outside, looking at the naked trees and watching the snow fall. Steve’s scarf is soft, fuzzy and warm, wrapped around his neck, his chin tucked into it. It smells like Steve, like citrusy cologne. Eddie plays with the soft fringe at the ends, twisting it around his cold fingers. The smoke drifts from his lips into the air, blowing away in the cold breeze.

When Steve joins him, he’s smiling by the time he’s sitting on the sofa, and Eddie’s cheeks flush with warmth as he hides his face under the scarf.

“What?”

Steve shrugs, and he lifts his arm to set it around Eddie’s shoulders, sliding his hand to his elbow and pushing enough that Eddie lifts his hand, raising the cigarette to Steve’s lips. He watches him take a drag, heart pounding, and he can feel the heat of his skin from how close his fingers are to his mouth. It feels good.

“Your cheeks get all pink when you’re cold,” Steve says as he exhales the smoke into the air in front of them. Eddie watches it fade into the air, longing for it before he processes Steve’s words, and his cheeks turn more pink.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says lightly, looking at Eddie, his arm still around his shoulders. Their faces are close. Eddie ignores it, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, face burning. Steve just laughs. His hand touches the scarf around Eddie’s neck, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Eddie glances at his hand, his eyes catching when he sees a flash of red, and he reaches with his free hand, touching Steve’s fingers and pulling as he turns to look. His nails are painted red. ”When’d this happen?”

“Girls’ night,” Steve says lightly. “The other day. Max picked the color, Erica and El painted them for me.”

Eddie suppresses a smile.

“You’re invited to girls’ night?”

“Mm. ‘Honorary girl’ is what Max calls me.”

Eddie laughs softly, brushing his thumb over the shiny paint. It’s smooth.

“It looks good.”

“Shut up.”

They have dinner with Wayne, who doesn’t say anything about the nail polish. Eddie accepts his hair ruffle before he leaves, scrunching his nose and recoiling as Wayne’s rough hand grabs his head. Steve is smiling.

Steve goes to Eddie’s room while Eddie takes a shower. It’s a quick shower, like always, but Eddie wishes he could stay there for longer, under the warm water, eyes closed. The water feels good on his scars, soothing in a way that nothing else is.

It’s freezing when he steps out of the shower, and he grits his teeth, his muscles tightening as he reaches for his towel, drying himself quickly. He scrubs his hair dry with the towel, shivering, and he pulls on his boxers and sweatpants, grabbing his sweater as he keeps scrunching his hair in the towel, and he leaves, headed for the welcoming warmth of his bedroom.

He doesn’t realize he’s still half-naked until he steps inside and Steve looks up at him. He freezes, a shiver hovering over his spine, and Steve lowers the comic book he’s holding, looking at Eddie’s body.

Just looking.

Eddie lets the door close behind him, and he lowers the towel, the cold ends of his hair brushing over his back a little bit. He looks down, his face hot, and he can feel Steve’s gaze on him, scraping over his chest and his arms and his stomach. His scars.

Steve gets up quietly, setting aside the comic book, and Eddie wants to hide.

But he can’t, not as Steve approaches him slowly, eyes looking over his marred skin, his eyes shining. He doesn’t look like he’s judging him, like he’s sickened or disgusted. He’s just looking.

“Do they hurt?” he asks softly after a few moments, his voice breathy, almost whispering.

“The water helps,” Eddie says, avoiding his eyes.

“You should come over to mine sometime,” Steve says lightly, and Eddie meets his eyes. “We have bathtubs.”

Eddie cracks a weak smile. A bathtub sounds nice.

Steve goes quiet again, looking at Eddie’s arms. There’s a rough, mangled scar on his upper arm, various shades of red and brown and pink, and Eddie hates it. He hates all of them. But Steve doesn’t seem to mind them. His expression stays light.

Until it shifts a little bit, his head tilting a little, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinks, his eyes focused on a spot above the scar, and Eddie’s stomach falls. His eyes burn as Steve’s hand lifts, touching the spot tentatively, his thumb stroking over the scars there, tracing the thin, straight lines.

“What are these from?”

Eddie looks at him, but he’s serious. Confused. Curious. He really doesn’t know. And Eddie feels fucking sick.

“Me,” he says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him again, his eyes shining. His hand is warm on Eddie’s arm.

“Why?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he looks at where Steve’s hand is touching him, looking at the deep, rich shade of red against the paleness of his scars. Steve’s skin is golden and warm, especially compared to Eddie’s. He shrugs a little bit.

“Just… to feel something.”

Steve looks at the scars again, brushes his thumb over them softly like he’s trying to make them fade.

“Why this, then?” he whispers quietly. “Why not something that… feels good?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t deserve to feel good.”

Steve is quiet, and then his hand lifts, touching Eddie’s chin and pulling gently to make him look up. Steve is a little shorter than him, and he’s looking into Eddie’s eyes intently, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s angry.

“Yes you do,” he says quietly.

Eddie looks at him. The scars around his neck are deeper than Eddie’s. But they healed nicer. Smoother.

Steve’s hand moves to his cheek, touching his scar, and it’s soft, and sweet, and almost tender, and Eddie feels like he might collapse. And then Steve is leaning in, their noses nudging against each other, and he kisses Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes close, and the towel and sweater in his hands fall to the ground, and Steve’s mouth is warm on his.

Steve pulls away too soon, and Eddie’s eyes flutter open to see him. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks are rosy, his lips parted as he stammers something out before he speaks clearly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I— I wasn’t thinking, I— God—”

And then he’s stepping back, his hand falling, and the world is ending all over again. The sky is falling, the ground is opening up, and each of Eddie’s scars is burning.

His hand reaches out and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt, and he tugs him back in roughly, their mouths crashing together. Steve gasps and his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist.

Eddie hasn’t been touched there in a long time. Not since his stitches were removed. The pressure of Steve’s arms over his scars makes his breath catch, and it’s nice even though he can’t feel it as well on one side. He knows it’s there.

A weak sound escapes Steve’s throat, and Eddie swallows it, tilting his head to kiss him harder. Steve’s hands grapple at Eddie’s back, fingernails digging into his skin in a way that stings and lights Eddie up inside. He exhales sharply, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and tugging as gently as he can, pulling and pushing him. Steve goes with it, pliant like he’s melting into Eddie.

And then Eddie is frantic, eyes burning, kissing Steve like he’s dying again, like this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do, and Steve kisses him back just as desperately, arms moving to wrap around his neck, eyelashes brushing against his skin, tongue pushing past his lips. Eddie’s fingers find the hem of Steve’s shirt and tug at it, and they separate for a moment as Steve reaches down to tug it up over his head. And Steve’s chest is bare, soft and squishy and fuzzy with hair that Eddie wants to bury his face in.

Steve kisses him again, tossing his shirt aside carelessly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, and Eddie groans weakly when their skin presses. He pushes Steve back, and they stumble together until Steve’s back hits the wall with a quiet thud.

“You— You gotta tell me if you want me to stop,” Eddie says breathlessly, hands holding Steve’s waist tightly. He’s soft.

“I don’t,” Steve chokes.

Eddie pushes Steve against the wall harder, and he reaches for his wrists, pinning his hands above his head. Steve whines again as Eddie’s teeth catch his lip and tug.

Eddie tears himself away and presses his face into Steve’s neck, kissing and licking and biting. Steve’s skin is salty, and Eddie is starving. His whole body aches.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes.

“No.”

Eddie groans again, grabbing Steve’s wrists in one hand, holding him in place as he ducks his head and presses messy kisses across his chest. Steve swears under his breath, and the sound of it creeps under Eddie’s skin. He kisses Steve’s throat, and when he hums, Eddie can feel it on his lips.

He tightens his grip on Steve’s wrists and kisses down his neck, over his shoulder and under his arm. Steve whines, his voice weak, and Eddie swears softly, taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of Steve’s skin. It makes him ache. Their legs entwine, and Eddie presses his knee between Steve’s; he’s hard, and he makes a soft noise at the contact. Eddie’s other hand touches his waist.

His scars are softer than Eddie’s. And they’re sensitive, apparently, because Steve lets out a high-pitched whine, and he squirms against the wall, shifting his hands just enough to hold Eddie’s hands tightly, his fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

Eddie drags his fingertips over Steve’s scars, pinning his wrists against the wall harder when his back arches and he grinds against Eddie’s knee. They’re both breathing hard, and Eddie is already sweating a little bit, sliding his tongue up the underside of Steve’s arm.

“Let me touch you,” Steve gasps, straining against Eddie’s hand. “Please, Ed, I wanna— I wanna touch you.”

Eddie exhales sharply and lets go of his wrists and reaches for his waist. Steve’s hands are warm as they run across Eddie’s shoulders, his arms, his chest and stomach and waist. Eddie feels like he’s about to fucking detonate, like every cell in his body is vibrating, like he’s blurring. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, biting down on his skin and listening to the way he hisses, his fingernails digging into Eddie’s back.

Steve’s tongue tastes like the candy he and Robin like. Like artificial cherries and strawberries, fruity and sweet and fucking delicious. Eddie groans softly, grabbing Steve’s neck and holding him in place, his palm pressed to Steve’s throat, and Steve whines again, leaning forward, pressing into the touch. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue fall so Eddie can suck on it, and it’s ridiculous and depraved and kind of gross, but Steve moans softly, his hands holding Eddie’s waist. He has calluses on his palms, and they scratch Eddie’s scars a little bit, but it feels good.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes when he finally pulls away, staying close enough to brush their lips. Their mouths and chins are both slick with their spit. Steve keens when Eddie slides his hands over his chest and across his back, when he reaches to his ass and squeezes. “Tell me to stop.”

Steve shakes his head, his back arching again.

”Fuck me,” he says breathlessly, and his eyes meet Eddie’s, shining brightly. “Please.”

Eddie falters, squeezing his ass again.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. Steve nods desperately, reaching up to Eddie’s face and pulling him into a brief kiss. “I don’t— I don’t have condoms.”

“I’m clean,” Steve says, his eyes fluttering like he’s trying not to cry. “I got tested a few weeks ago, I haven’t…” He trails off, swallowing, and he looks shy all of a sudden, like he’s scared.

“Me too,” Eddie says softly. “I— I’m clean, I got tested ages ago, I… Yeah.”

Steve nods, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, leaning in so their lips brush.

“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, kissing him and gripping his ass firmly.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Take your pants off.”

Steve stumbles to the bed as he pulls his jeans and underwear off, and Eddie has to tear his eyes away so he doesn’t get distracted as he gets the lube from his bedside table.

“How do you want me?” Steve asks, hesitating.

“Wanna kiss you. On your back.”

“Okay.”

He goes easily, and Eddie pushes his sweatpants and boxer down, stepping out of them and kneeling on the bed in front of him, touching his knee. He exhales slowly, skimming Steve’s body.

He’s so beautiful.

Scarred and golden and perfect.

Eddie leans down and presses his face into his chest, taking a deep breath, sliding his hands over his thighs and feeling the soft hair on his skin. He can feel Steve exhale. Steve’s hand touches the top of Eddie’s head, running through his hair, catching in the tangles and knots from the rough manner in which Eddie dried it with the now discarded towel.

“You’ve bottomed before?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Steve nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Eddie nods, squeezing his thighs and pressing a chaste, absentminded kiss to Steve’s chest. Steve spreads his legs so Eddie can find his way between them, rubbing his thigh soothingly as he reaches for the lube with his other hand. Steve reaches to grab a pillow, shoving it under his head so he can see Eddie as he spreads lube over his fingers.

He watches. His hair is floppy and falling in his face. (It’s longer than it used to be. And wavier. It’s pretty.) His cheeks are flushed with color, and his lips are kissed red.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie breathes as he reaches down and rubs his finger over Steve’s hole. Steve’s cheeks darken.

“Please.”

Steve’s eyes close when Eddie presses his finger inside him, and he exhales, his head falling back.

“Fuck.”

Eddie smiles a little, watching his chest rise and fall, and he leans forward, kissing Steve’s belly. Steve hums, touching his head again.

“‘S good?” Eddie checks, glancing up at him as he moves his finger. Steve bites his lip with a stifled groan, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Fuck, ‘s good, thank you.”

Eddie scoffs.

“More,” Steve says after a few moments. “Gimme another.”

“What’s the magic word?” Eddie teases, nipping at the softness of his belly.

“Please,” Steve whines, squirming, pressing against Eddie’s finger. Eddie grins. “Please, Eddie, I want more—”

Eddie slips another finger in, and Steve gasps, his back arching.

“God.”

“‘S not my name,” Eddie says lightly, and Steve lets out a giggle, reaching down and grabbing Eddie’s other hand where it’s resting on his hip. Their fingers tangle and Steve squeezes. Eddie swallows, his stomach fluttering as he looks down at his own fingers pressing in and out of Steve, stretching him open gently.

“Are you…” He hesitates. “Are you sure you want it raw? I can pull out—”

“No, please,” Steve chokes, tugging at his hand. “Please, I want it. Want you to come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. He lets go of Steve’s hand to reach for the lube again, dousing his fingers before slipping in a third, and Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t think you were queer.”

Steve laughs again, lifting a hand and motioning with his fingers for Eddie to hold his hand again. Eddie does, stretching Steve open gently.

“Very,” Steve says softly, letting his head fall back again. “Realized when I— when I was, like, fifteen.”

“You’ve never gone with a guy?” Eddie asks curiously, gazing at him. Steve shrugs half-heartedly.

“Not… Not seriously. Hook-ups and stuff.”

Eddie pauses, brushing his thumb over the side of Steve’s hand.

“Would you want to go with a guy?”

Steve smiles almost deliriously, tugging Eddie’s hand until it’s resting on his chest.

“Are you asking me out while your fingers are in my ass?”

“…Maybe?”

Steve grins at the ceiling, squeezing his hand.

“Can you kiss me, please?”

Eddie leans over, letting go of his hand to catch himself as he hovers over Steve’s body. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, holding him close, and he wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, pushing a hand into his hair as their lips touch. Steve groans as Eddie pushes his fingers into him deeper, opening his mouth for Eddie to lick inside.

They’re both panting when they part, their noses brushing.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since March,” Steve whispers, fingers brushing over the scars around Eddie’s neck.

And then Eddie is crying.

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip as his eyes burn. Steve’s hands touch his face, pulling so their foreheads are pressed together, and Eddie has fucking butterflies. It’s ridiculous.

“Always wanna see you,” Steve whispers. “Always wanna hold your hand and sit on your lap and shit.”

Eddie laughs weakly, spreading his fingers open and making Steve moan softly.

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie breathes. “Have been for ages, you… You’re one of my favorite people.”

Steve whines quietly, and his lip trembles. Eddie’s vision is blurred from tears, and when he blinks, one falls to Steve’s cheek. Eddie pulls his fingers away and pushes them back in, shifting, spreading his legs so his weight isn’t on his knees.

“Love seeing you,” Eddie says softly, thrusting his fingers slowly. “Love waking up to you in my bed. Love seeing you hanging out with Wayne. Love seeing you in my sweaters.”

Steve sniffles, his eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie kisses him.

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

Steve scoffs tearfully, looking up at him.

“Thought you hated me.”

“Yeah, a little,” Eddie admits. “But you were hot.”

Steve hums, biting his lip as he smiles, and that’s hot too, and Eddie is losing his mind.

“Can you fuck me, please?” Steve says after another moment, and Eddie remembers what he’s doing, where his fingers are. That Steve’s bare body is beneath him, begging for him.

“You’re so polite,” Eddie says quietly.

“I…” Steve trails off, his cheeks flushing, and he looks away like he’s shy. Eddie smiles, leaning down to kiss his neck as he pulls his fingers away.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, reaching for the lube. Steve nods. ”You ready?”

“God, yeah.”

Eddie smiles. Steve looks down as he spreads the lube over his dick, biting his lip with a soft moan, and Eddie holds his thigh, pushing it up.

Steve’s head falls back again as Eddie rubs the tip of his dick against his hole, and he nods at the ceiling, reaching to set his hand on Eddie’s. Eddie pushes in slowly, exhaling.

“You feel so good,” he says softly. “So warm.”

Steve lets out a weak moan, writhing.

“So deep,” he groans. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘s so big.”

Eddie leans over him, moving slowly, squeezing his thigh. It gives under his fingertips, soft and squishy, and a small part of Eddie wants to tear him open, to press into his flesh, into his muscle and blood.

“You’re amazing,” Eddie murmurs. Steve’s cheeks flush with color again. Eddie grins. “So fucking good, aren’t you?”

Steve nods desperately.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “‘M good for you.”

Eddie groans, grinding into him, spreading a hand out over his stomach. Steve reaches down to hold it with his other hand, holding his wrist tightly, clinging to both his hands like he can’t stand to not touch him. Eddie watches him, fucking him gently, slowly.

Steve looks like he’s fucking blissful, his expression relaxed, mouth hanging open. His skin is flushed all the way down his neck, and his lips are shining with spit, and he’s a goddamn vision. Eddie shifts them, pushing at Steve’s leg so it’s over his arm, and Steve’s eyes flutter open as he looks up at him, watching him lower to kiss him.

“God, Eddie,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, his hands sliding across the top of his back. Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s, biting his lip briefly, letting go of his thigh to hold his face. “You’re so beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs, brushing Steve’s hair back as he moves a little bit faster, but Steve grabs his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes, and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears, his eyes shining.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice wavering. “You’re beautiful.”

Eddie’s throat tightens. So he just kisses him. Steve lets him, burying a hand in his hair and tugging gently, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, his breath catching as Eddie fucks him. The bed creaks when he goes harder, bumping the wall a little bit.

Steve is whining, and when Eddie lifts his head, he sees that he’s crying. There are tears falling down his temples into his hair, sparkling in the golden lamplight. He looks holy.

Eddie leans down, pressing his hand over Steve’s chest, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.

When he sits up, he holds Steve’s hips tightly, looking down at where they meet. At the hues of their skin, at the different shades of their scars. Steve grabs one of his hands. The red of his nails looks even darker against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie leans back, pulling Steve against him as he fucks him, and Steve lets out a wail, clapping his other hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Eddie reaches to grab his hand, pulling it away from his mouth and guiding it to his hip so he can hold both together. He watches the way Steve moves with each thrust, the soft bounce of his belly and his chest and his thighs, and he can’t help but grab at him, sliding his hand over his body to grope and squeeze and touch him, because he can. Because Steve nods and moans and arches into the touches, squirming and writhing on the bed, his legs around Eddie’s hips.

Eddie thrusts harder, grunting quietly, listening to Steve’s gentle sob, and his knee clicks. He hisses quietly, wincing, but he doesn’t falter, doesn't want to stop just because of his stupid fucking knee—

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and he’s looking up at him now, his eyelashes wet. His voice is slurred a little, like he’s been drinking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, panting. “Fine.”

“‘S your knee?” Steve says, glancing at how Eddie is kneeling, at the spread of his legs. Eddie blinks, his chest aching.

“Yeah, it’s— it’s fine.”

“Lemme ride you,” Steve says, touching his shoulders, pushing gently, starting to sit up. “I— It won’t hurt your knee, it’ll keep, like, your weight off of it.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, at the earnest shine of his eyes.

“…Okay.”

He pulls out. Steve sits up, pulling him into a kiss, and it makes Eddie dizzy. He sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, hugging him, letting him push him to lay down, and he lets out a soft, relieved breath when his knee relaxes. Steve swings a leg up over his lap to straddle his hips. Eddie groans.

They part with a slick sound when Steve sits up, reaching for the lube bottle, and Eddie opens his eyes blearily, watching him. He stifles a groan by biting his lip as Steve spreads the lube over his dick, and Steve smiles as he moves back into place, reaching behind himself in a practiced motion, guiding Eddie’s dick to his hole.

“Eddie…”

“Jesus, Steve.”

Steve pauses, pressing his hands to Eddie’s chest as Eddie holds his hips tightly. He presses down firmly, biting his lip, and then he rises and lowers himself slowly, groaning.

Eddie smiles softly up at him, nodding, and he squeezes his love handles, groping him tenderly. Steve huffs out a soft laugh.

“God, Eddie, it’s…”

“Alright?”

Steve whines, nodding.

“So deep,” he groans. “Can feel you in my fucking throat.”

Eddie laughs softly, running his hands over Steve’s waist.

“You’re gonna give me an ego.”

Steve hums, his eyes closed like he’s blissful, smiling lazily as he rolls his hips.

“Deserve it.”

Eddie gazes up at him. His hair is a disaster, and his skin is flushed, and—

“You’re so beautiful,” Eddie breathes. His eyes burn. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and time slows down. Steve’s hair falls in his face. He exhales. Eddie’s fingers tighten on Steve’s skin. “I love you.”

Steve’s hands press over his skin, sliding over his scars, and he leans down, kissing Eddie hard. He holds Steve’s neck, falling still as their lips part and their tongues slide and Steve groans into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie wants to roll them over, to press Steve into the mattress, but he can’t move.

“Fuck, I love you too,” Steve gasps when they part, breathing hard. “I love you too, I love you too, I—”

Eddie buries his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling him into another kiss, gripping his hair tightly enough that he lets out a strained sound, a weak moan, grinding against Eddie slowly. Eddie moans softly, sliding a hand to grip his ass, squeezing and pressing so he does it again.

“Oh, God,” Steve groans, his hands sliding over Eddie’s chest. “So fucking good, Eddie—”

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps, his head falling back, pressing into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as Steve moves with intent, bouncing up and down. Steve’s hand lands on the headboard of the bed suddenly, and he whines, bracing himself. “Jesus, fuck, baby—”

Eddie holds his hips tightly, gazing up at him.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, and Steve looks down at him, his eyes glassy. “Come on, baby, come on my cock.”

Steve sobs, grabbing Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip, squeezing so tightly it hurts.

“Fuck, I’m—”

His eyes squeeze shut. He makes a strained noise, a weak groan, and Eddie gazes up at him. In awe. Reverent. His hair is wild, falling across his face, and his skin is flushed from his cheeks to his chest. He looks up at the ceiling with another moan, exposing his neck, the line of his throat, the beautiful spots on his skin.

And Eddie wants to bite him, to tear his skin open and bathe in his blood, let it stain his own skin and teeth. Which is demented, fucking insane, but Eddie’s hands tighten on his hips, fingertips digging into the softness of his flesh, and Steve lets out a rough groan, almost growling. He presses down, and his hand releases the headboard, landing on Eddie’s chest hard. It stings like a slap, immediately soothed by Steve’s palm, pressing firmly, trembling.

He chokes Eddie’s name as he comes, rolling his hips, tight around Eddie, and Eddie’s vision blurs as his back arches.

“Fuck—”

Eddie sits up, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist, holding himself up on his other hand as Steve hugs him tightly, breathing hard. His come is on Eddie’s chest, and it spreads over both their skin, warm and wet.

“Oh my god,” Steve says weakly, his voice breaking. He slides his hands to hold Eddie’s face, ducking his head so their noses are nudging. “Eddie.”

Eddie hums, panting, shifting his hips, pushing his come deeper into Steve even as he begins to soften. Steve moans softly, breathing against Eddie’s mouth.

“Feels so good,” he mumbles, his voice slurred like he’s drunk.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah. S’ warm.”

Eddie hums again, and he reaches up to touch Steve’s face, to guide him into a slow kiss, exhaling slowly as their tongues slide lazily. Steve lets out a breathy hum, shifting his hips slowly, but Eddie hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Gotta pull out,” he says quietly. Steve whines but lets him, shifting onto his knees and lifting himself up enough for Eddie to pull out.

“Shit,” Steve breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as his head falls back again. “God, it’s…”

Eddie looks up at him reverently, and he slides his hand around his ass, watching him carefully as he finds his hole tentatively. Steve nods, holding Eddie’s shoulders tightly, and Eddie slips two fingers inside, his stomach fluttering at the feeling of his own mess leaking from Steve’s body.

Steve moans quietly, relaxing and burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breath hot on his skin even as his sweat cools. His arms wrap around him, holding him close as Eddie moves his fingers slowly, gently, and Steve nods into his neck, shifting his hips.

“Gonna make me come again,” Steve mumbles. Eddie smiles.

“You think you can come on just my fingers?”

Steve nods again, whining, pressing his forehead against the side of Eddie’s neck. His hair tickles Eddie’s face, but he doesn’t care.

“C’mon, baby,” Eddie murmurs after a while, when Steve starts to move against his hand, spreading his other hand over the small of his back, and he licks at Steve’s shoulder, humming at the taste of his sweat. “Be good for me.”

Steve whines suddenly, nodding desperately into his neck, moving so he’s almost riding Eddie’s fingers, swirling his hips and tightening his legs around Eddie’s lap.

“Yeah,” he whimpers. “Wanna be— Wanna be good for you—”

Eddie hums, biting his lip, pressing against the small of Steve’s back to prompt him to keep moving.

“Fuck, come on, Stevie,” he breathes. “Come for me. Get me messy with it.”

“Fuck, oh my god—” Steve gasps, lifting his head to kiss Eddie clumsily before he pulls away, reaching to grab at his dick. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs softly, watching Steve’s cheeks somehow flush darker, smiling fondly. “Come on me.”

Both their heads are ducked, their hair tangled, and Eddie listens to the way Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he comes again, directing his dick so it lands on Eddie’s stomach, on his chest. Eddie swears under his breath, rubbing Steve’s back gently, fucking him with his fingers a few more times. Steve is shaking, panting, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again.

“God,” he says breathlessly. “You broke me.”

Eddie laughs softly, moving his fingers so gently he’s barely moving them at all. Steve moans weakly, catching his breath.

“Can still feel my come in here,” Eddie says softly. Steve groans.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie stops, his fingers still inside him, and he rubs his back again, tracing his spine.

“We should probably clean up.”

Steve whines petulantly, burying his face in Eddie’s neck again, tightening his arms around him like he’s trying to hold him in place, and Eddie’s face squishes against his shoulder as he smiles.

“Come on, baby.”

“Don’t wanna,” Steve whines. “Not yet, just…”

He exhales, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie hugs his waist, letting his eyes close as he squeezes him. He can feel Steve’s heart beating under his skin, pressed so close to Eddie it’s like they’re sharing it, like they have one heart between the two of them.

Steve comes down after their shower, his vision clearer even though he’s tired, smiling lazily at Eddie between kisses. His smile widens when Eddie kisses over his scars. When Eddie lowers his face so he can rub his cheek against the softness of his chest, Steve giggles brightly.

They lay in bed. Eddie lays on his stomach, exhaling into his pillow. His hair is damp again, and Steve pulls it carefully so it’s not covering his face. It’s quiet, especially in the absence of the spray of water that echoed around the bathroom. Steve lays facing Eddie, setting an arm over his waist, so close his hand is touching the blanket they’re atop, his chest pressing to Eddie’s side. His skin is warm against Eddie’s.

Eddie closes his eyes, letting his arm hang off the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of Steve breathing. They’re quiet so long Eddie wonders if Steve is falling asleep. He knows he’s not yet. He can tell.

Steve takes a soft breath before speaking.

“…I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie pauses, the words setting themselves down in his skull.

“What’d’you mean?” he mumbles, his face squished against the pillow.

“…Love,” Steve says softly, barely whispering, moving his hand to drag a light line over Eddie’s waist, tracing the edge of a scar. “Didn’t know it could feel…”

Eddie moves, turning his head to look at him. Steve lifts his hand to move his hair again, flicking it out of the way when a curl falls into his eyes before he touches his waist again. Eddie likes how it feels when he touches him there.

“Feel…” Eddie murmurs, gazing at him. His hair is still wet, just beginning to dry. Steve smiles a little bit, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “‘S easy. I didn’t think it could feel so easy.”

Eddie just looks at him, gazing at his face, at his eyelashes and moles, and Steve moves closer to kiss him gently, bumping their noses together clumsily. He stays closer, bending his arm under his head, his other arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, and Eddie opens his eyes to look at him. His eyes are still closed.

“I always thought it took effort,” Steve says finally, his eyes still closed, his voice soft and breathy. “To love. ‘Nd be loved. Always thought I’d have to try.”

Eddie exhales, and he pushes himself up so he can lay on his side. Steve opens his eyes at the movement, lifting his arm and hovering until Eddie settles. Eddie touches his face, brushes a strand of hair back and caresses his cheek, tracing a line between two of his moles.

“You don’t have to try,” he says quietly, smiling softly as he touches Steve’s bottom lip. “‘S so easy to love you.”

Steve smiles, his eyes sparkling, and his cheek squishes against his arm, and he’s so precious Eddie wants to squeeze him like an almost-empty tube of toothpaste. He grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, keeps his touch gentle on Steve. Steve gazes back at him. Turns his head to press a chaste kiss to Eddie’s hand.

Eddie’s chest tightens. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so full of something, doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so fucking intensely. Like he’s going to combust, like the world is ending.

“What is it?” Steve whispers, like he can see it on Eddie’s face. Eddie shrugs weakly, blinking tears back.

“…Love doesn’t feel like a big enough word for this,” he breathes. His throat is tight.

Steve looks at him. His eyes glisten suddenly, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Eddie doesn’t wear a shirt as often as he used to. Before Steve.

He still gets cold. Still wears his sweaters and hoodies and buries himself under blankets and pillows.

But after his showers, when the steam is still lingering in the air, the heat still in his skin, he leaves himself bare. Wears boxers or sweatpants and lets his chest remain as it is, lets his scars be seen. It’s only Steve and Wayne that ever see him, but it’s still something.

He sees Steve’s eyes linger on his scars sometimes. He can never tell how he’s staring. If he’s gazing, fond, or staring, horny, or just… looking. He seems to do that a lot. Look at Eddie.

It’s a hot night. And Steve is looking at him again.

They’re on the sofa, watching a movie like they always are, but Eddie can see Steve in his peripheral vision, head resting on the back of the sofa, face turned toward Eddie. Steve isn’t wearing a shirt either, but even in the dim, bluish light of the television screen, he still looks more golden than Eddie.

Eddie rolls his head against the back of the sofa to look at him, half-smiling, but he doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He’s looking at Eddie’s arm, near his shoulder, at the neat scars, paler than the rest of his skin; they kind of look like they’re glowing in this lighting.

Steve seems to feel him looking, and his eyes flick up to meet Eddie’s. He smiles shyly, adorably.

“What?” Eddie says quietly. Steve looks at his scars again and shrugs.

Eddie still can’t read his expression, the shine in his eyes, and he reaches for the television remote, shutting it off. Steve wasn’t watching anyway.

He turns toward Steve.

“Talk to me.”

Steve looks at him, his expression shifting into something shy, almost nervous, and Eddie doesn’t want him to feel like that, to feel like he can’t say whatever it is. Eddie moves closer, until his knee presses to Steve’s.

“Baby.”

Steve looks at him. Twists his mouth thoughtfully, hesitating, and then he’s reaching out to Eddie’s upper arm, touching him lightly, carefully.

“These scars,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“…When did you first do it?” Steve asks softly, finally meeting his eyes again.

Eddie hesitates, looking at how his eyes are shining. He hasn’t even talked about this with Wayne. (Wayne knows, of course; he’s done first aid a few times, silent as he wrapped Eddie’s arm and pressed a kiss over the bandages before gathering Eddie into his arms and holding him until his tears stopped. It’s been enough, even without any words exchanged.)

“Few years ago,” he says softly. “On and off for a while, just… when things were bad. Then after… everything. A little more often.”

Steve nods, and he looks at the scars again, touching them, caressing them.

“When… When was the last time?” he asks, almost whispering.

Eddie pauses again.

“Few months ago,” he confesses. “…Before you started coming over more often.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, like he’s processing it, and then he looks at Eddie again, blinking. And Eddie half-shrugs, smiling shyly.

“I’d rather hang out with you than cut myself,” he says quietly, and his voice shakes a little bit, like he’s confessing his undying love for him, like he hasn’t already done that.

Steve suppresses a smile, biting his lip, but he looks at the scars again, and his smile fades. He looks like he’s thinking, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he reaches out to nudge Steve’s leg.

“What is it?” he asks softly. Steve exhales.

He hesitates.

“…Will you do it to me?”

Eddie blinks. His ears might be ringing.

“What?”

Steve meets his eyes, and he looks scared—

“You don’t—”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, taking Steve’s hand from his arm and holding it tightly. “No, I— I’m not gonna do that to you.”

Steve nods, squeezing his hand.

“Okay,” he says softly, looking at Eddie reassuringly. “‘S okay.”

Eddie exhales shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat, holding Steve’s hand between both of his own, looking at him intently. Steve nods again and leans forward, nudging their noses together and then kissing him softly.

Eddie closes his eyes and exhales again when they part, pausing, pressing their foreheads together.

“Why?” he asks quietly, weakly, lifting his head to look at Steve, who kind of looks like he’s about to cry. “Stevie, please,” Eddie begs softly, rubbing his knuckles. “Why?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Steve says, his eyebrows furrowing and then unfurrowing the way they do when he’s trying to stop himself from crying.

“Try,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward, ducking his hair a little bit to meet his eyes.

“I…”

He looks down, at their hands, and he moves, shifting to cross his legs as he faces Eddie, adjusting the fabric of his sweatpants with his free hand before he holds Eddie’s with both of his own. He takes a deep breath, shuddering as he exhales, and Eddie waits for him, gazing at him as he taps Eddie’s knuckles as he thinks.

“I… So.” He pauses again, mouth open, eyes glassy and unfocused as he looks at some spot on Eddie’s chest. “…A lot has been done to me,” he starts, his voice thin, wavering. Eddie nods, squeezing his hands. “Upside Down shit, and— and before all of that, and I…” He stops, swallowing, his lip quivering. “I never wanted any of it.”

Eddie nods again when he meets his eyes, brushing his thumbs back and forth over his knuckles gently, tenderly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gathering himself.

“I…” He takes a shuddering breath, and Eddie’s chest aches as he looks at him, the almost-blank shine in his eyes. “After everything, and— and before we started hanging out,” he adds, interrupting himself, looking at Eddie intently, like it’s important. Eddie nods. “I used to… I started going into the city, just to— to get out of Hawkins, to get away from everything.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, listening.

“So… I was at a bar,” Steve says, fidgeting with Eddie’s fingers now, twisting them around his own. “Just to get a little drunk. And this… this guy started hitting on me.”

He glances at Eddie nervously, and Eddie ignores the way his stomach twists, rebels against the idea of another man looking at Steve. He nods encouragingly, keeping his expression soft.

“And I thought…” Steve shrugs a little bit, looking away again, at their hands. The nail polish is chipping on his nails. “‘Why not?’ ‘Nd I went with him to his hotel.”

Eddie’s stomach falls, and his eyes widen, his hands stilling on Steve’s, and Steve seems to realize the conclusion Eddie’s drawn, because he looks up quickly, squeezing his hands.

“He was nice,” he says reassuringly. “It was— It was okay, it’s not… that. He was a little rough, but we… Hang on.” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, lifting a hand to rub his cheek harshly. Eddie reaches to stop him, moving his hand down to caress his cheek gently, the way he deserves.

“Just talk,” he murmurs. “I’m listening.”

Steve nods, swallowing, his eyes gleaming, and he takes a moment to collect himself.

“He was nice,” he says again. “He… asked about my limits and stuff, made sure he didn’t do anything I’d hate.” Eddie nods, listening intently. “He was rough, but I liked it. He used a condom. Checked in to make sure he was using enough lube and everything, and… he was nice after, too, brought me water, made sure I was good. And I knew I’d never see him again, so…” He shrugs, blinking his eyes rapidly to stop his tears.

Eddie sets a hand on his leg, squeezing his thighs gently.

“And then, like, the next week, I… I wanted it again?” he says, but he sounds unsure, like he’s just thinking all of this for the first time. “Not just… the sex, but…” He exhales sharply, frustrated, but Eddie doesn’t say anything. “I went back. To a bar, a queer bar. I let some guy fuck me.”

“…Let him,” Eddie says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him, and then he shakes his head.

“Not like that,” he says, moving a little bit closer, squeezing his hand. “Not— It was consensual, I swear, I— I wanted the sex, I was horny, I just…” He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes searching it like he’s looking for a script. “They were rough. I wanted them to be rough, I wanted them to slap me around and leave marks and leave me sore the next day.”

Eddie nods when their eyes meet again, ignoring the twist in his stomach again.

“But it… God, I don’t know how to explain this,” Steve complains, laughing humorlessly, dropping his head and rubbing his cheek again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “If you need a second to… articulate.”

Steve exhales and nods, pausing.

“…It’s not that there was something I was craving,” he says finally, his words slow and careful. “It’s not that… Like. I wanted them to bite me, or to— to fuck me really hard, or… you know, whatever. It was…”

He’s quiet for another moment, eyes unfocused as he thinks, and then—

“I can defend myself,” he says. Eddie blinks in confusion, but he’s quiet. “If they do something I don’t like, I can— I can stop them, even if they don’t want to. I’ve never had to,” he clarifies, looking at Eddie intently.

“But if I did have to, I could. And I… I couldn’t do that when I was a kid,” he continues, his voice cracking, his eyes gleaming. “And I could barely do it in the Upside Down, but I— I can do it now.”

Eddie nods, and he might kind of get it.

“So it’s not that I really wanted anything in particular, but I— I wanted to let things happen to me.”

“That makes sense,” Eddie says softly, and Steve immediately looks fucking relieved, his expression softening, his chest falling as he exhales.

“So I… I let them. I was safe,” Steve says, nodding almost to himself. “We always used condoms, I— I wouldn’t have followed them to some sketchy van or anything. When they would… bite me, or leave hickeys, I would let them. Told them not to do it on my neck, just ‘cause…”

Eddie nods, half-smiling. Everyone would give him hell.

“But I let them. Let them spank me and push me into the mattress and hold my hands behind my back, and…” He trails off, swallowing. “And I… felt like I was in control, even though I wasn’t.”

Eddie nods again, squeezing his hand again.

“I get it,” he says quietly, and he’s about to ask about the cutting, but he pauses. “…When we have sex…”

Steve scoffs, leaning in and kissing him chastely.

“I don’t let you do anything,” he says quietly. “I make love with you.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, and they’re both giggling, leaning close enough that their lips brush. Steve kisses him, lingering, touching his face, holding him in place, and Eddie does the same, holding Steve’s face between his hands.

They both exhale when they part, pressing their foreheads together.

“So,” Eddie says quietly, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. “The cutting thing.”

Steve nods.

“Tell me,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve sighs, his hands falling to the sofa between them, his fingers twisting, and Eddie kisses him briefly before he reaches to hold his hands again.

“I have a lot of scars,” Steve says. “From the Upside Down, but… I have a lot from just…” He trails off, and Eddie looks at him, at the tension in his jaw, and absent shine in his eyes.

He squeezes Steve’s hands when he exhales sharply and inhales shakily, and Steve looks at him, but he looks panicked, like he’s just woken up from a nightmare. Eddie just nods, squeezing again.

”Breathe for me,” he says softly. Steve nods back at him, hesitant, taking a slow, deep breath.

“From…” he tries again, but he can’t, and Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I know,” he whispers. “‘S okay.”

“I didn’t want them,” Steve chokes, and when he blinks, tears cascade down his cheeks, somehow beautiful even in his agony. “I didn’t let them, I didn’t get— I didn’t get a choice,” he says adamantly, gesturing vaguely, and Eddie nods, blinking tears back. “I want a choice—”

“Stevie,” Eddie interrupts, reaching out his face, brushing his tears away, nodding. “Breathe for me. I’m right here.”

Steve looks at him. He doesn’t look panicked anymore, but his breaths are hiccuping and stuttering, too fast, too short. Eddie nods, inhaling slowly, demonstrating. Steve copies him, and his gaze drifts in a way that means he’s lightheaded.

“You got it,” Eddie murmurs, holding his head and guiding it so their foreheads touch. Steve slouches against him. “There you go, baby.”

“…I want a choice,” Steve says weakly after a moment. Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut as he cradles him.

“I know,” Eddie whispers. “But I won’t hurt you like that, baby, you don’t deserve that.”

“…You do?”

Eddie’s eyes open slowly. It takes a moment for him to lift his head, to look at Steve, but Steve looks like he’s expecting it, the stare that Eddie fixes on him. Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

That yes, he deserves it. And Steve doesn’t. Because he’s the best of them all, this perfect fucking human that’s never deserved any of the shit his life has handed to him. That Steve only deserves sunlight and nourishing rain and Eddie deserves destructive winds and hail.

And it’s like Steve can read his fucking mind, and it’s like Eddie can read his, and they’re arguing silently, looking back and forth between each other’s eyes. Eddie clenches his jaw. Steve shakes his head.

And then they’re wrapping their arms around each other, tugging each other close, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut again, his eyes burning as he hides his face in Steve’s neck. He tries not to, but he cries.

He knows Steve doesn’t agree that Eddie deserves it.

He knows Steve loves him. And that he loves Steve, and that he would never think Steve deserves anything like that, anything that would hurt, anything that would leave a mark like that.

And he knows that Steve feels the same way about him that he feels about Steve. Which is incredible to think about. Reciprocation.

That Eddie Munson is loved.

Steve’s hand runs down Eddie’s spine tenderly when he feels him crying, because Eddie’s tears find their way to Steve’s bare skin. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Steve kisses his shoulder, and Eddie can feel the way his lips are chapped, the slight sharpness of the touch, and he’s never been kissed there before.

Steve’s taken a lot of his firsts. Eddie wants to give him all of them.

Eddie exhales shakily when he stops crying. They pull away and press their foreheads together, breathing slowly, holding each other’s faces.

“…What if I gave you a tattoo instead?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, and then he lifts his head, looking at Eddie with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Really?”

Eddie smiles tiredly, tilting his head fondly.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “Your choice. Permanent, in a different way.”

Steve smiles hesitantly, like he’s waiting for a punchline, like he thinks Eddie is joking. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek softly.

“Would you do that for me?” he asks in a small voice. Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly, before revising. “Almost anything.”

Steve giggles wetly, and Eddie wipes a tear from his cheek.

”What would you want?” Eddie asks gently, but Steve shakes his head.

“Want you to decide,” he says, reaching to hold Eddie, his thumbs brushing over the insides of his wrists where the skin is thin and sensitive. “I don’t— I don’t want anything, I wanna let you.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, kissing him softly. “Something small. Simple.”

Steve nods, his eyes shining almost excitedly.

“I’ll think of something,” Eddie says lightly, smiling absently. “Get some supplies.”

“Have you done it before?”

Eddie nods, gazing at him, admiring him. His eyelashes are clumped with tears.

“I did my friend Jeff’s for his birthday a while ago,” he says somewhat absently, his eyes skimming Steve’s face. “Gave him a flower on his arm.”

“That’s cute,” Steve says lightly. Eddie just nods.

“I love you so much,” he says abruptly, looking into his eyes. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says softly.

“I adore you,” Eddie says adamantly, and Steve giggles again, hunching his shoulders, leaning in to let his forehead knock against Eddie’s lightly.

“I adore you too.”

He kisses him lightly. And then harder, holding his face, his lips firm on Eddie’s. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, reaching to slide his hands over Steve’s waist, appreciating the softness, pressing his fingers into his flesh and squeezing gently. Steve hums low in his throat, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, tangling his hands in his curls.

Eddie nips at his bottom lip, pressing a hand into the small of his back, tugging gently, shifting to hover above Steve. He pushes him back gently, licking into his mouth, and Steve lets out a soft moan, falling onto his back, legs around Eddie’s hips. But after a moment he stops, tugging Eddie away by his hair, smiling up at him.

“We are not defiling Wayne’s sofa.”

Eddie groans, letting his head fall to Steve’s chest, and he can feel Steve laughing, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“My room,” Eddie says when he lifts his head, grabbing Steve’s hips and tugging him into his arms, dragging him to the edge of the sofa and lifting him up. Steve laughs, clinging to him. “C’mon, sweet thing. Away we go, with respect for Wayne’s sofa.”

”And no respect for your bed.”

“Absolutely no respect.”

He tosses Steve onto the bed after kicking the door shut, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he laughs again, sighing. Steve’s hands are warm as they crawl over his back, his nails scratching lightly, and Eddie reaches for his waist as he holds himself up on his forearm, letting his fingers tangle in Steve’s hair. He squeezes, kneading, pulling, smiling when Steve exhales and melts under him.

Steve’s back arches. He lets out a breathy sound, his voice soft and quiet, and Eddie tilts his head, kissing across his cheek, his jaw, nudging his face under his chin so he can kiss his neck. Steve tilts his head back to give him space, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s curls and holding on tightly. Eddie finds his ear, kisses his earlobe softly before nibbling it, suppressing a smile when Steve shudders. He lingers there, sucking gently, licking, listening to Steve’s breath catch.

He’s writhing a little bit, squirming under Eddie’s body, wrapping his legs around his hips and holding him close. Eddie lifts his head and tilts the other way, leaning to the other side to do the same, licking over the shell of his ear, teasing him. Steve whines weakly, pulling his hair, pulling him closer.

“God, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

He finally pulls away, leaving one last kiss on the curve of his ear before he kisses his cheek and gazes down at him.

His cheeks are flushed pink and pretty, and his eyes are glassy when he opens them.

Eddie leans down and kisses him. Squeezes at his waist again before sliding his hand over his skin up to his chest, groping and squishing as Steve giggles under his breath. Eddie shifts down, kissing down his neck and over his chest slowly, each press of his lips intentional and careful. Steve holds his head, his grip on his hair softening.

Eddie keeps his eyes open as he kisses him. Glances up at him, watches his eyes flutter shut, watches his expression shift when Eddie lingers at his chest, tonguing at his nipple for a moment, watches him turn blissful. He looks at his skin, golden and scarred and spotted and perfect. Eddie kisses his scars, traces them with his lips, drags his tongue between his moles like he’s playing connect-the-dots. He pauses with his face pressed into Steve’s chest, listening to the beating of his heart, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath.

He stays for a moment, exhaling, and Steve hugs him, dragging his fingers through his hair gently. When Eddie opens his eyes, they focus on his torso, on the sligh dip just between his belly and his chest, between his pecs. Eddie looks. Leans to press a kiss to it, lingering for a moment, and he wants to mark it, to leave something here where his lips are resting, wants the permanence.

Which might be grossly possessive of him. That he wants to mark Steve’s body, like he wants his signature here, like Steve belongs to him.

But Steve wants it too.

He asked for it.

Eddie will do it here. Leave his mark.

He presses another kiss to the spot, exhaling slowly, before he moves again, dragging his lips over Steve’s belly, kissing and biting gently until he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. He slips a finger under it, tugging lightly, looking up at Steve.

“Okay?” he whispers. Steve looks down at him, eyes shining brightly, and he nods, sitting up, letting go of Eddie’s hair so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Eddie glances at his belly, at the soft rolls that form when he sits up.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Please.”

Eddie smiles. He lowers his head and mouths at him over his sweatpants, grinning when Steve sighs. He kneels between his legs to pull the sweatpants away, to toss them aside and rub at his thighs. He’s so soft, in every fucking way, and Eddie’s never loved softness like this before.

Everything in his life has been sharp. Angled and rough and jagged, like a broken knife, like the rooftop of a crumbling building. And Eddie had grown accustomed to it, had grown almost fond of it. It was his, the cruel, brutal thunderstorm. Everything from the floods to the flashes of lightning, from the broken bottles and splintered door frames to the empty cabinets and cigarette smoke. It all belonged to him. It was handed to him, shoved into his palms and left to rot.

Steve softens his edges like shards of glass left to the tides of the sea. Smooths him down so nicely he can’t hurt anyone. Not even himself.

Eddie closes his eyes as he takes him into his mouth, listening to Steve swearing under his breath, mumbling something about the warmth of Eddie’s tongue. Eddie shifts, lays on his front and lets his legs stretch across the bed, relaxing. He bobs his head slowly, easing into it, sighing when Steve’s hand touches his head gently, his fingers pushing into his hair. Eddie touches his legs again, pulls so his thighs are over Eddie’s shoulders, holding him in place.

Eddie hums under the weight of his legs, wrapping his arms around his hips, squeezing at his sides, and he prompts Steve to move, to lift his hips and fuck into Eddie’s mouth. Steve does, holding Eddie’s head in place gently, looking down at him to check, to watch carefully. Eddie meets his eyes. Squeezes. Lowers his head, drags his tongue over the underside of Steve’s dick, and holds his breath.

Steve uses him. Grips his hair and drags his head up and down carefully, fucking into his mouth, into his throat, cursing and grunting as Eddie suppresses gags, choking. His eyes fill with tears, and he’s drooling, but he thinks he might be in heaven. He loves doing this. Letting Steve take it, letting him take what he needs. Making him feel good.

Steve gasps for breath when he pulls Eddie away, writhing under him.

“God, Eddie, I’m— I’m gonna come—”

Eddie groans, nodding, reaching to guide Steve’s dick back to his mouth, slapping it against his tongue, gazing up at Steve. Steve’s stomach tightens, and he groans, and he’s coming into Eddie’s mouth, somehow cradling his head gently even though he’s squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie is falling in love with his softness all over again.

He closes his mouth, pushing himself up and letting Steve’s legs fall from his shoulders, and he moves to hover over him, touching his mouth softly, prompting him to part his lips.

Steve smiles tiredly, opening his mouth. Eddie leans down and opens his own mouth, lets Steve’s come fall between them, watches it spill onto Steve’s tongue. Steve hums quietly, sliding his hands over Eddie’s body.

Eddie kisses him, licks into his mouth, spreads the come around, and it’s disgusting, sickening, filthy, but Steve just moans softly, hugging Eddie’s neck.

And in spite of it all, of how gross it is, they’re tender. Sweet. Eddie sighs into the kiss, tilting his head and bumping his nose against Steve’s. Steve exhales sharply, and then he’s giggling like he’s high, like he’s delirious, and Eddie smiles at him fondly.

“I love you,” he breathes softly. Steve is still giggling, but he pulls him into another kiss, his teeth catching his lip. Steve hums quietly.

“Love you too.”

Eddie slides his hand over Steve’s chest, rakes through the hair on his skin lightly, and he presses his hand into the spot, and Steve smiles even though he doesn’t know.

They do it in the living room of Steve’s house. It has clearer lighting, cool-toned instead of warm, overhead and even. Steve finds an old massage table in storage a few days before, and they laugh at the squeaky hinges as Steve sets it up. Eddie would help, but his knee hurts today. He can barely bend it. He’s wearing a brace, and he’s using a crutch, which he doesn’t usually use. Steve wanted to postpone, to do the tattoo another day, when Eddie doesn’t hurt as badly, but Eddie refused. He’ll be fine.

It doesn’t hurt as much when he rests his weight on his other leg and the crutch.

Steve sits on the edge of the table, swinging his legs adorably. He looks at Eddie’s set up, at the stool they’ve dragged from the kitchen bar, the surface covered in plastic wrap, at the almost medical-looking materials. His eyes linger on the needles, still sealed, and he seems apprehensive.

“You okay?” Eddie checks, setting his crutch to rest against the table. He washed his hands after tying his hair up, and he wants to push Steve’s hair back, wants to cradle his face, but he refrains. Steve meets his eyes, and his expression instantly softens. He smiles.

“Mhmm,” he hums lightly with a nod. “‘M okay.”

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes.” Steve swings his legs again. “Where are you gonna do it?”

Eddie suppresses a smile. He gestures with a tilt of his chin.

“Take off your shirt.”

Steve grins. Tugs his shirt up and over his head, shaking his hair out as he sets it aside.

Eddie reaches out and trails his finger over his skin.

“Right here.”

Steve looks down. His smile widens and becomes a little shy as he looks up at Eddie.

“You like that spot,” he says softly. Eddie nods.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to tell you what I’m gonna do?” he says softly. “You really wanna see it when it’s done?”

Steve nods, smiling.

“When it’s permanently on your skin?” Eddie reiterates, raising his eyebrows, watching Steve’s eyes narrow under his smile. “Forever?”

Steve nods again, eyes gleaming like he’s going to cry.

“Yes,” he says again, breathless. “Forever. Please.”

Eddie leans in and kisses him, keeping his hands away, and Steve holds his face, sucking on his lip for a moment.

He sighs when he lays down flat, his eyes fluttering shut. His stomach rises and falls slowly, and Eddie gazes at him for a moment before he reaches to the stool and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. He’d gone to an actual tattoo studio to ask where to get the supplies. The needles, the stencil and tattoo ink. The artist was nice, had given him tips and advice, and Eddie had even taken notes, even though he’s done it all before. Just in case.

Eddie sighs as he picks up the razor, looking at Steve’s chest.

“This is devastating,” he says, and Steve finally looks at him, opening one eye with a soft, “Hm?” His eyes find the razor, and he bursts into laughter.

”You’re so dramatic.”

Eddie sighs wistfully, gazing at the soft curly hair, and he leans down letting his cheek rest against Steve’s chest. He suppresses a smile when Steve giggles brightly, his belly moving, sighing again, heavier, as dramatic as he can. Steve touches his head, shaking him playfully.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous to be in love?” Eddie asks, ridiculously, lifting his head and sending him a fake glare. “Is it ridiculous to have passion?”

“It’s hair,” Steve says with a laugh. “It’ll come back.”

“Thank God.”

Eddie sighs once more. He leaves to wet the razor, carrying some paper towels, and Steve’s eyes close again as Eddie shaves his skin, careful to stay only in the area he’ll be tattooing.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Steve says quietly. ”Had to shave for swimming.”

“I can’t believe they would do that to you. We should sue for emotional damages.”

“I was fine with it.”

“My emotional damages, Steve.”

Steve snorts. Eddie grins, wiping his skin with a damp paper towel.

“I should keep it,” he says, glancing at the hair that stuck to it. “Put it in a locket.”

Steve lets out a Hah! and he claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut. Eddie giggles, setting aside the paper towel and razor.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“They call me the freak for a reason, darling love of mine.”

The stencil is purple. The ink is black.

Steve takes another breath as Eddie prepares the needle, ripping it out of the paper and plastic wrapping, and Eddie looks at him, pausing. But he’s relaxed, one of his arms hanging off the table lazily, and when Eddie steps up close again, leaning against the edge of the table, Steve’s hand finds his leg, slides up to his hip and just holds him gently. Feeling him there.

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, eyes tracing the stencil, holding the needle, his hand hovering above Steve’s skin.

“Yes.”

Eddie gets to work. He does it slowly, carefully, leaning against the table, eyebrows furrowed in focus, head ducked a little bit to look closely. Steve breathes slowly, still holding Eddie’s hip, his fingers tucked into the waistband of his boxers. Just holding him.

It’s so quiet. They hadn’t put on music or a movie or anything before setting up, but Eddie doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t think Steve does either. It’s sort of meditative, the soft silence between them, the steady up and down of Steve’s chest as he breathes. The tiny feeling of the needle piercing his skin. He wipes the excess ink away as gently as he can, watching it disappear, leaving the marks injected into him to stay.

He stands up straight occasionally to stretch his back, to tilt his head back to stretch his neck, reaching to dip the needle in the ink again. Steve breathes so steadily despite the pain that he would seem to be asleep if it weren’t for the way he’s holding Eddie’s boxers. Eddie’s feet are sore after a while, but he barely notices.

It takes three layers until it looks right. Eddie stares at it intently to look for any spots that the ink is uneven, but he doesn’t see any, and he reaches to set the needle aside. He gazes at Steve again for a moment and then leans down to press a kiss to his chest just over his heart. He lifts his head and looks at him, and he’s looking back, his eyes glassy and half-shut. Eddie smiles.

Steve lifts his chin, gesturing silently to ask for a kiss, and Eddie smiles, moving closer to the end of the table, still keeping his hands away until he can bandage the tattoo. He kisses him gently, the angle a little awkward because he’s leaning over him, and Steve finally lets go of his boxers, lifting his hands to hold Eddie’s head as he hums softly.

Eddie is breathless when they part.

“You’re done?” Steve whispers quietly, his voice breaking a little bit from disuse. Eddie hums affirmatively, lifting his head to look down at him. His eyes are closed. He takes a deep breath, and it shudders as he exhales.

“You feel okay?” Eddie murmurs. Steve nods.

And then he smiles.

His eyes flutter open, and Eddie knows the tattoo has to hurt like a bitch, but Steve looks fucking peaceful. Relaxed and content and a little bit sleepy.

Eddie can’t suppress his own smile, gazing down at him.

“Can I see?” Steve whispers.

“Of course.”

Steve sits up slowly, sighing as he winces, and Eddie holds back from reaching out to help him. He watches, leaning against the table, watching Steve kick his legs lightly in the air like he can’t help himself. It takes a few moments for him to look down at where his skin is aching.

At the circle of ink on his sternum, dark and bold against his golden skin, the skin that’s reddish pink now, irritated. The circle shifts with him as he moves, and it’s oddly beautiful, to see the movement of his skin, of his body, so clearly and distinctly.

Eddie bites his lip, looking at him nervously as he stares at it. And he waits, and then the silence is deafening instead of comfortable, and Eddie can hear his own heart beating.

But Steve’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him, suppressing a smile.

“Why a circle?” he asks lightly, and Eddie wants to cry.

“Uh,” he hesitates, tearing his eyes away and reaching for the plastic wrap again, ripping a piece off and gesturing for Steve to sit up straight. Steve does, looking at him, waiting. “It’s kinda stupid.”

“‘S my tattoo, Ed,” Steve teases, kicking at him gently. Eddie scoffs. “Tell me.”

Eddie takes a breath, his face warm as he carefully rips the plastic wrap and tape, pressing them to Steve’s skin gently.

“Just… ” he says, hesitating, suddenly shy like he wasn’t just pressing a needle into Steve’s skin repeatedly. He avoids Steve’s gaze as he layers the tape and plastic wrap, smoothing it down.

“Deja vu,” Steve says softly, and Eddie glances up at him, shooting him a smile. It’s been a while since they’ve done anything like this, patching each other up so carefully. Eddie remembers it. Remembers his tongue teasing the edge of his mouth in focus as he wrapped Steve’s midsection and arms in gauze and bandages, as he inspected the wounds for any sign of infection. As Steve did the same for him, all in murmured, gentle quiet. Like they were both skittish, kicked dogs, emaciated and wary of human hands.

Eddie blinks as the realization hits him. They’re not like that anymore. Scared of each other, of speaking out loud. They crave each other now. Maybe that had back then too, and they just hadn’t noticed, too distracted by the dark and the ache in their skin.

“‘S all of us, I guess,” he says finally, mumbling a little bit. “The Party. This little circle of people that…” He shrugs, looking at the tattoo, distorted through the plastic. “Have been through it all together. People that you love.”

He looks up, exhaling. Steve looks at him. And he smiles slowly.

“‘S beautiful,” he says softly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Eddie turns away, finally pulling off the plastic gloves, and Steve reaches for him, tugging him closer by his shirt.

“What else?”

Eddie blinks, his cheeks flushing with warmth again.

”What d’you mean?”

“C’mon,” Steve says, tugging again, smiling. “I can tell there’s something else. Tell me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile. He knows his cheeks are red from the way Steve is grinning, head tilted fondly, and Eddie looks away, reaching to pull some hair across his face, but his hair is still tied up out of the way.

“Tell me,” Steve says again, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and he does that fucking thing, that puppy-dog shiny eyed almost-pout that could make Eddie walk barefoot across broken glass and burning coal.

“It… I don’t know,” Eddie says bashfully, and Steve takes his hands, leading them to his waist so Eddie is finally touching him, holding him. His skin is warm. “Circles are, like, endless, and…” He shrugs again, shy. “…So is this.”

Steve is quiet.

His hands slide up Eddie’s arms, up to his shoulders, and then his hands are on his neck, touching him freely without his hair in the way. He touches Eddie’s jaw with his thumbs, gently guiding his chin up as he leans in to kiss him.

It’s a slow kiss, intentional and lingering, his hands holding Eddie in place gently. Eddie’s stomach flutters like it’s their first kiss, his hands tightening on his waist as he steps forward weakly. Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s hair, cradling the back of his head, and it’s such a tender touch that Eddie wants to cry.

Steve pulls away to gasp for breath before he pulls Eddie in closer, moving to grip the front of his shirt tightly. Eddie hums, pressing a hand into the small of his back, and he wants to pick him up, to lift him and carry him to the sofa, but his fucking knee isn’t working—

He groans in frustration, and Steve giggles into his mouth, sliding his hand up to his neck, holding him gently.

“Sofa?” he says breathlessly, kissing him clumsily. Eddie nods, lifting a hand to hold his face as he kisses him back.

“Do you like it?” he asks abruptly, looking at Steve. He’s a little blurred because Eddie’s eyes have tears in them, but he can see him smile.

“I do,” Steve says softly, touching their foreheads as he catches his breath. “Thank you, baby.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Steve whispers, kissing Eddie softly. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Eddie exhales, nodding, bumping their noses together, and he kisses him.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Steve Harrington. It’s like it’s brand new every time, like he’s discovering something fucking revolutionary.

No one’s ever felt this before. Eddie knows it. Because no one else in existence has kissed Steve Harrington like this, have loved Steve Harrington like this, has been loved by Steve Harrington like this.

This is all Eddie’s. It’s his prized possession. The most precious thing he’s ever owned.

“You did so good,” he murmurs as they’re making their way to the sofa, stumbling over each other’s feet, moving slowly to accommodate Eddie’s knee.

“Did I,” Steve breathes, holding Eddie’s face, turning them so Eddie lands on the sofa first, pushing him so he’s laying on his back, his bad leg stretched out. Eddie gazes up at him as he climbs onto his lap, leaning to kiss him messily.

“Mm. So good, baby, you…” He moans softly, sliding his hands over Steve’s waist, smiling when the plastic wrap on Steve’s chest crinkles as he leans down. “Took it so well, baby, I know it hurt.”

Steve nods with a soft whine.

“It did hurt,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiles against his mouth, biting his lip.

“My little masochist.”

Steve giggles brightly, tugging at Eddie’s shirt so he sits up and lets him pull it up and off. Eddie’s hair is falling from where it’s tied in a messy bun, and Steve reaches around to pull the elastic out of his curls as he tosses away the shirt.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs as Steve kisses his neck softly, biting and licking sweetly. Eddie lets his head fall back, his eyes closed, his hands sliding over Steve’s back, pressing his fingertips into the nape of his neck and tracing the line of his spine so lightly it makes him shiver. Steve hums softly when Eddie’s hand finds his ass, his back arching beautifully.

Steve kisses him hard, holding his face like he’s scared Eddie is going to get away, like he’s going to try to escape. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, hugging Steve’s waist.

They’re both panting when they separate, and Steve’s breath is catching in his throat like he’s crying, so Eddie’s eyes open to see him. His eyelashes are wet, and his cheeks are red, and his eyes are squeezed shut as his head falls forward, his forehead pressing to the bridge of Eddie’s nose.

“What’s the matter?” Eddie asks softly, whispering as quietly as he can. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Steve shakes his head, settling on Eddie’s lap, taking a breath. Eddie rubs his waist gently, squeezing, and Steve exhales shakily.

“I just…” His voice trembles, and he lifts his head, blinking tears out of his eyes and looking away. Eddie leans in and kisses his tears away. Steve closes his eyes. “Feel like my body is mine.”

And Eddie is crying too, his vision blurring as he presses more kisses to Steve’s face, to his beautiful face.

“God, it is,” Eddie breathes quietly. “It is yours, Stevie.”

Steve takes a gasping breath, and he wraps his arms around Eddie, hiding his face and sobbing into his neck, his shoulders shaking. Eddie bites his lip, cradling him, running a hand up to the back of his head and holding him gently.

And he waits. Combs through his hair, rubs his back over his spine and the scars on his shoulder blades. Rocks him back and forth gently, listening to his soft sobs and gasps. His tears are on Eddie’s bare skin, and Eddie wonders if this is what it feels like to be blessed.

Steve wipes his face when he lifts his head.

“God,” he says softly, smiling now. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry.”

Steve laughs. Lets Eddie wipe his face tenderly, sweetly.

“You okay?” Eddie murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Steve’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Steve says, his eyes still glistening, his smile still lingering on his lips. “I’m actually okay. I feel…” He pauses, touching Eddie’s neck, tracing his scar. “I feel good.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning to kiss him chastely.

“I feel so…”

He takes a breath, this slow in and out that’s steady and slow and even, and there’s a lightness to him that wasn’t there before. Like he’s somehow comfortable.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Feel like my skin fits.”

Eddie caresses his cheek, and Steve kisses him again, lingering. His skin is still a little wet with tears, cool against Eddie’s face.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers. “For giving me this, I— I don’t even…”

Eddie shakes his head. Kisses him again.

“Thank you for letting me,” he murmurs. Steve exhales, nodding.

“God. I didn’t…” He laughs lightly, deliriously, and Eddie smiles at him. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie laughs too. He doesn’t know why.

“How’s it feel?”

Steve sets his hands on Eddie’s neck, and he looks up, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling, taking another deep, slow breath. And it’s like he’s breathing in new air, the fresh misty air of a brand new morning.

“Fuck,” Steve says softly. “‘S good. I don’t even know how to describe it, I feel like— like it’s my first time getting high again.”

Eddie giggles, leaning to press his face into the side of Steve’s neck, and Steve hugs him tightly, laughing. Eddie can feel the plastic wrap against his own skin. And somehow it’s like the feeling is contagious, like Steve is putting it right under Eddie’s own skin, like he can feel it too.

Like his blood is brighter. Like his chest is open, exposed to the elements. Like his scars are glowing.

Like he’s really going to be okay.

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[ten-shi-fandoms]

Cute things they do Blue Lock Addition pt 2:

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Cw: Characters x Reader, Gender neutral Reader, mentions of love bites (Ryusei), kissing, showing Reader off (Ryusei), just pure fluff

Characters: Ryusei Shidou, Sae Itoshi

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Sae Itoshi ⚽😮‍💨:

In all honesty Sae isn't cute-

Like this man is hot, cool, sexy, and all that but he isn't cute.

Even so he has some cute things he does

Things like dancing with you whenever theres music playing, swaying you around the kitchen even though he only did it to get something, leaning closer to you as you speak are just some of them.

And he does them almost everytime he sees you.

Since Sae is a pro football(soccer) player he isn't home often so he makes it up when he's there.

He'll even be extra nice if he's been gone longer than he expected too.

He'll hold you so gently that it makes you fall asleep, but right before your eyes close you can sometimes can just barely make out the small smile on his face as he watches you drift off.

But if he isn't there expect gifts, and lots of calls.

The gifts are full of everything.

Things from expensive jewelry all the way to the two feet plushie you saw that one time you got them.

Calls with Sae are sweet too.

He always makes sure to ask how your day was along with other questions before he even talks about himself to you.

He also will tap small messages in morse code on a surface if he's in public and doesn't feel like listening to people question who he's talking to.

Though there is one thing that is the cutest thing with him.

It's his kisses.

Sae isn't really a vocal person, so he makes up for it in other things.

The only way to really see Sae's inner thoughts are through his kisses.

His kisses are bold almost fiery, yet passionate and loving.

His kisses always leave you in a state of shock, but you get brought out of it quickly when you see a gentle smile gracing his lips at your reaction.

If you point it out he will stop smiling and tell you to call a uber home-

___________________________________________

Ryusei Shidou ⚽😈:

This goblin is on demon time-

He will rarely do anything cute, romantic, sweet, etc.

He is the definition of a gremlin and its so much worse when your dating him.

To him your his property so he can do what he wants with you which ends up in lots of fights both verbal and physical (he tries to pull his punches when you fist fight unless you really piss him off)

The only cute thing goblin will ever do with you is sleep.

Thats it.

Nothing else.

No sweet kisses, no soft hugs, no prasie, nothing just sleep.

Okay all jokes aside- he doesn't do many cute things with you.

Sure you play fight, have sweet banter, and play pranks on each other (his worse than yours- like dog food for breakfast-) but they aren't cute.

When you play fight he aims to make you laugh or scold him there isn't anything cute about it (except his cheeky little smile), when you have banter he swings on you out of fun or gives you noogies, the pranks are usually downright gross on his part.

But when your sleeping its different.

Ryusei is a loud person, but when you sleep he tries to stay as silent as possible.

He loves being close to you and having your sleeping body close to his makes him admire you.

He'll run his fingers in your hair, along your back, kiss your ears, gently rub the curves of your face but he only does this when your sleeping.

Sure he loves your smile and the sound of your scolding but when your sleeping he gets to admire the peaceful beauty of your features.

Everything is still and he loves it.

Sometimes he gets carried away with admiring you that he will bite you.

Yes you heard me bite you-

He does it for three reasons.

One because your so adorable when your sleeping that you looked tasty-

Two he loves biting you to watch you squirm subconsciously-

And three, he does it to make sure your real and he isn't imaging it.

That your there and in your most vulnerable state nonetheless.

It fills him with so much pride that he'll show you off.

He'll purposely rub his hands along your neck or collarbone even going so far as to pull up your shirt to your stomach to show off the marks he left on your skin.

Its a sign of ownership and its a sign that you belong to him (bonus points if you bite him to because now its shows the world your each others).

He can't help it.

I mean how else is the world supposed to see his beloved?