#don't even get me started on steve. we rock

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry.

Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 2k

Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3

as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.

Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.

You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.

Another rock hits your window.

You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.

"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.

You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.

"Hi, sugar."

"Hi, Steven."

He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.

"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"

"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."

You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.

"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"

He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.

"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"

You scoff.

"What? That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."

He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.

"I thought tonight was the big night?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."

You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.

"You always deserved so much better than him."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."

The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.

"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."

"Because they're not good enough for you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"

"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."

You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.

He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.

"I give up."

"With what?"

"Dating. Fuck it."

He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.

"You've barely even started."

"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."

"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."

"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."

"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."

"And you'll be fighting them off."

"Yes I will."

You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.

"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."

"Hey, some of us do know!"

"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."

"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."

"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."

"No?"

He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.

"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"

"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."

He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.

"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."

You exhale with a shudder.

"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."

"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."

You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.

"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."

He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.

"Steve?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"

He smiles, big and bright.

"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."

You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

"Well, then what are you waiting for?"

He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't usually ask," you tease.

It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.

"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.

"Kiss me. Please."

Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.

"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.

Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.

"Steve-"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."

You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.

"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.

Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.

You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.

"Babe, if you want to stop..."

"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.

"I love you too. So much."

You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

"Let me make you feel good, okay?"

When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.

"So pretty," he's mumbling. "Prettiest fuckin' girl I've ever seen."

He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.

"You want more, pretty baby?"

"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."

He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.

He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.

"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."

"Stevie," you pant. "So close."

"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."

Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.

Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.

"You okay?"

"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."

"Told you the rumours were true."

You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.

He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.

"You replace it, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."

He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.

"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."

You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.

"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."

"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."

"You're welcome."

Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.

The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.

The room is unchanged.

The people in it are not.

read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.

@lillian-gallows @bookish-embroidery-witch @sweetdazequeen @fruityforcocoapuffs @steviespookie @livsters @diffrent-spokes @violet2022 @mrsjoequinn @valerievortex @chrrymunson

[dreamsteddie]

Once Steve and Eddie come out to the broader world, Eddie's floodgates open, and before interviewers can even think to ask about his "long-term partner and love of my life" Eddie starts gabbing about Steve almost as soon as a microphone is put near his face.

At first, Eddie refuses any and all requests to be on talk shows or long-form interviews. Steve himself has no desire to be interviewed ever, and Eddie wants the media hype to die down before he makes any big appearances off the stage. He knows that if he does the conversation will be a glorified investigation into his private life no holds bared.

So Eddie takes the occasional question after a show or on the red carpet but always dominates the conversation and finishes quickly. He's always dropping little tidbits about Steve, even if it's just talking about whether or not he was able to make the show or how handsome he looks in their matching outfits today.

Once the hype dies down and the media vultures aim their beaks at another celebrity, Eddie agrees to do a couple of talk shows with the rest of the band.

Everything is normal. The focus is on their next leg of the tour and the music video they released last week that went viral. Right up until the last three or so minutes when the interviewer asks, kindly, how his boyfriend Stevie is doing.

Stevie.

As in Eddie's Stevie.

The name only Eddie and Robin have ever called him. The name that used to make Steve flush so pretty when they first started drifting together. The name that still makes Steve give him one of those pleased little smiles that make his heart pitter-patter in his chest years later.

Eddie's hackles are immediately raised at the audacity of this stranger to talk about his boyfriend so familiarly. His shoulders rise, eyes narrowing ready to say something scathing when the rest of the band notices and steps in. Jeff drops a not-so-friendly hand on Eddie's shoulder while Freak steps in to very loudly tell a funny story about the last time Steve joined them on the road. Emphasizing "Steve" a little too much as he does.

When Eddie finally gets to stalk off stage he's let himself get worked into a tizzy. Logically, it's not a big deal but Eddie has always been territorial when it came to Steve and has been even more on edge since they came out. The idea of anyone outside of their family acting like they know them, know him, just because he's married to Rockstar Eddie Munson and shows up in the occasional gossip rag makes him so fucking mad.

As soon as he's backstage he's dialing Steve's number, impatiently running one hand through his hair as the phone rings and rings. As soon as he hears the beginning of Steve's standard WASPy "Hello, this is the Harrington-Buckley residence, Steve speaking" greeting Eddie launches into a long rant about "the audacity of media vultures."

Steve doesn't say a word the entire time, just letting Eddie vent out his frustrations. At the end, Steve lets the silence linger for a little bit before speaking.

"Hey babe?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I don't know how to tell you this but you've been referring to me exclusively as 'Stevie' since we came out. I'm pretty sure when we made the announcement you said 'This is my Stevie. He's been my partner for six years.'"

".....what?"

"In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what you said because Robin replaced all my nametags at work with ones that said 'My Stevie' because she has the sense of humor of a middle schooler."

"God fucking damn it!"

They hang up not long after. When Eddie looks up for the first time since he dialed Steve's number he's met with the rest of the band and their personal crew all wearing various faces of exasperation.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he rocks on the balls of his feet and says "Sooooooo...I may have overreacted."

----

The next day, despite Eddie's hopes that his outburst wasn't that noticeable, his clearly irate face is the subject of every magazine and gossip rag at the grocery store.

Robin frames her favorite one and gives it to Eddie for his birthday.

[apomaro-mellow]

Corroded Coffin ransoms Steve Part 1/?

From this post

Steve couldn't really see who was attacking him. But that didn't matter.

"Grab him! GRAB HIM!"

"Shit! AH! Fuck!"

He wasn't gonna let a bunch of random guys get the best of him. Who cared that it was four on one? They had the element of surprise, sure. Steve hadn't expected to get jumped in the space between the Hawkins gym and his car. Serves him right for trying to get extra basketball practice, he supposed.

Steve felt pretty good about holding his own. Two of them were holding themselves where he'd landed a good blow. He could finish this. There was only one guy left (the other must've bolted) and his car was in sight. Steve threw one more punch and booked it, reaching for his keys in his jacket pocket when pain bloomed on his entire left side. Then his right decided to match it when he hit the ground.

'Did I just get hit by a fucking car?'

There was screaming coming from above him but it was cut off as Steve's world went black.

------------------------

Eddie took a deep drag, holding it in before releasing his breath.

"You don't like it", Gareth said, half finished beer in hand.

"Didn't say I didn't like it", Eddie said.

"Dude, we can tell when you approve and when you don't", Jeff pushed up from the crate of whatever Doug's dad kept in the garage.

Doug was nursing a beer too. His second one. "What don't you like about a battle of the bands? We've got the sound."

"And the personality!", Gareth added.

Eddie nodded. "All solid points. But we're missing the money."

"Entry fee's only fifty bucks, man", Jeff said. "I know you got that much."

"$50 to get it", Eddie began to list off his fingers. "Gas money to get us all the way to Chicago-"

"It's like three hours away, Eds", Doug griped.

"Not done! Plus food, plus hotels, plus fixing up our equipment. Jeff and I both need new strings if we're gonna have any chance of winning."

"Well fuck me, I guess", Doug rolled his eyes.

"Dude, the bass guy always gets the most puss at these things. You don't need new strings", Gareth said. "If anything, my drums-"

"If I don't need new strings, why should you get new drums?", Doug argued.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both beautiful", Jeff came between them. "And need I remind you, we're trying to get Eddie on board? Not double our expenses?"

"We're already over budget", Eddie said. "'Sides, we'd be taking my van to get there and old Bessie needs some work done too. 'Specially if she's gonna be hauling our stuff."

It wasn't that Eddie didn't want to go. He just wasn't particularly keen on following pipe dreams. Chicago wasn't far-far. But what were the odds of them going all the way there and hitting it big? It wasn't strictly a metal competition. There'd be rock and probably pop, maybe even country too, who knew. The point was, metal wasn't much of a crowd-pleaser unless the crowd was already primed for it.

He snuffed the joint in his hand and then lit up another one that they all passed around while coming up with get rich quick schemes. It started innocent enough with the suggestions. Blood donations (Doug hated needles, Eddie hated hospitals), garage sale ("Nobody wants our shit."), and even if they all somehow got like three part time jobs by tomorrow, they wouldn't earn enough to get Eddie on board with this whole idea.

The more they talked about it, the more Eddie got riled up. Why should they be left out of something just because they didn't have the money for it? That was bullshit! There were people out there drowning in money and between the four of them they couldn't scrounge up enough just to get them over the state line?

"Blame whoever you want, but the fact is, money's been in the wrong hands for too damn long!", Eddie said, jumping to his feet. "They tell us all the goddamn time that kids are starvin' in Africa but are they doing anything about it?"

"Not a damn thing", Gareth shook his head.

"Meanwhile, there's kids over here that are starving! And they're still not liftin' a finger to help", Eddie gestured with the joint in his hand, half finished between him and Jeff. "No, the rich fucks of the world don't give, they only take. So we've gotta take it back somehow."

"What? Rob a bank?", Jeff snickered.

The others snickered in return at the absurdity of the idea but Eddie was thinking. Of course not a bank heist. But there were people in Hawkins with money...yeah...for sure there was.

"Not a bank", Eddie said, starting to pace around. But there's a couple of rich bastards in town who could stand to part with their cash."

"You wanna rob the mayor's house or something?", Doug offered. He was on his third beer.

"Eddie's got the stealth of a newborn deer", Gareth said.

"Bad analogy, Gare-bear. Prey animals are notoriously stealthy, even from birth", Eddie grinned.

"Still though. If it's really valuable, we wouldn't be able to pawn it without painting a target on our backs", Gareth sighed.

"Wait, what if we did a ransom?", Doug said.

"Yeah, yeah", Jeff nodded. "We get somethin' valuable and basically sell it back to 'em."

Eddie grinned. "A ransom, huh? Now, stay with me boys, but what if-what IF we took someone. Someone important enough that his folks would go through hell or high water to get him back?"

The other three were silent as the realization dawned on them. Eddie could only be talking about one person.

"You're crazy man...", Jeff said, taking the joint from his hand to use it for himself.

"Like a fox", Eddie smirked.

----------------------------

When they talked about it after sobering up, it still sounded like a good idea. The target: Steve Harrington. Rich enough to have a big house, a nice car, and always have the newest things. Dumb enough that he should be easy to get. Sure, he probably had some muscle, being a jock and all, but Harrington notoriously didn't get into fights. Which probably meant he couldn't. But Eddie and his friends had been in scraps before. The perks of being an outcast, he supposed.

Getting him alone was probably going to be the hardest part of all of this. But Eddie happened to know that sometimes Harrington would come to the school's gym early to practice. It was the perfect opportunity.

It meant they had to wake up early on break and take Bessie and sit in the lot without the heat on, freezing their tits while they waited on Harrington to come out of the gym.

"Why are we w-waiting?", Gareth asked, shivering.

"Need him fatigued and all that", Eddie said. Despite the layers, his teeth were clacking. But if the motor was on, Harrington would hear and they'd lose the element of surprise. He reminded himself that this had to be the hardest part - waiting in the cold, especially when they left the van to be closer to the door of the gym. The masks they were provided only minimal warmth.

But after grabbing and bagging Harrington, they'd leave the note, his parents would get it and they'd have their money and return their hostage by Christmas. Easy peasy.

They didn't count on Steve actually being able to hold his own against all four of them. Maybe it was the fact that they'd been out in the cold, maybe it was the lack of muscle mass between them or general lack of coordination. Whatever it was, somehow, Harrington was wrecking their shit single handedly.

Eddie wasn't the best thinker when he panicked. But right now Gareth was holding his nose and Jeff and Doug wouldn't be far behind. So he ran. To his van.

He saw Harrington making a break for it and stomped down on the gas.

Eddie didn't really register what he'd done until he heard Gareth screaming.

"Shut up! Shut up man!", Jeff shouted back.

"Get him in the van!", Doug screamed.

"The note! Shit, the note! Put it in his windshield!", Eddie reminded him.

It was chaos until they were a good distance away from the school. Nothing could be heard but their panting. Steve Harrington was limp and unconscious in the back of his van. Eddie didn't stop until they were at Gareth's.

"How long are your parents gone for?", he asked as they tied Steve down to a chair in the basement.

"They won't be back until New Year's. My aunt just had a new baby." He was holding his nose again now that Steve was secure.

"How long until he wakes up, do you think?", Doug asked.

Steve's gasp as he suddenly sat up straight and struggled against his ropes answered that question. Thankfully, they all still had their masks on.

"Munson?"

"Well, fuck, these things don't work for shit", Gareth said as he pulled his mask off.

"Who the hell are you?", Steve raised a brow.

Eddie just barely held back the bark of laughter. This was stupid, this was so stupid! But they were in it now. And apparently Steve Harrington knew him by...by some defining characteristic.

"How'd you know it was me?", he asked as he took the mask off.

"Your hair's pretty distinct", Steve said. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Eddie grinned and bent over, getting into Steve's face. "Well, Stevie dearest, all you need to know is that you're going to make us very rich."

Part 2

[username0204]

Personally my biggest Byler proof (or Mike Queerler proof to be exact) is "Smalltown Boy"...

As we all here already know, it was the first song on Mike's official playlist on Spotify and it's about a gay boy escaping a small town be free to be himself right?

Ok, 2 things:

The significance of the 1st song For example, Will's 1st song is "Should I Stay or Should I Go" which has been a significant part of the plot, not just as a background music choice but in the narrative itself. It is established in the show that this is Will's favorite song and has a significance to him and to the plot. So it can't be just a random song that has no personal meaning to the character... the playlists were pre S2 and Max's 1st was "California Dreamin'" (which is basically about wanting to move back to Cali), El's was "Papa Don't Preach" (going against a father figure - here it's about pregnancy but the overall message still makes sense), Nancy's was "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" (feminism, duh), Steve's - "Take On Me" (pleading for a second chance from someone you're in love with), etc... you get the gist... it's not just about the vibes, it's also about the meaning of a song, which brings me to my second point...

The meaning of this specific song This is actually why I wanted to yap about it in the first place... we all know the meaning but I just recently realized how "obviously gay" it was even at the time the song came out... Little backstory - my mom grew up in the 80's behind the "iron curtain" in a country that was basically cut from the west of the world, all "western influences" came from sailers who brought contraband from their travels or relatives abroad who had to smuggle stuff in (like jeans and tapes), very few people knew English at all - she didn't, not a word. As you can imagine the discussion around homosexuality or anything "progressive" was non-existent there. So, back to the point - recently we were listening to music when "Smalltown Boy" started to play. She said that she remembers how big of a hit it was back then, I asked (due to my byler-brainrot obv) if she knows what it's about and she said "It's about... forbidden love" and I was like "Well, he's gay", then she said (remember, they all lived under a rock basically) "Yeah, we all figured that much... even if we couldn't understand the lyrics back then, the music video itself was pretty straightforward btw". So it being about a gay boy is very much in your face, even if it's a different culture and language.

TLDR: What I'm trying to say is that the 1st songs of those playlists have very significant meaning for each of the characters and if people who didn't know the lyrics and were cut from western culture could clock it as gay, then the meaning is clearer than day... they could've just titled it "Gay Boy" tbh

[hairmetal666]

Steve parks at Eddie's, a plastic wrapped bouquet of roses so purple they're almost black carefully buckled into the passenger seat, and a nervous twist to his stomach. He didn't plan to do this. It's just, he was agonizing about his crush to Robin and she goaded him until it seemed like a great fucking idea to ask Eddie out on Valentine's Day, of all days.

The flowers were an accident. He saw them in the front window of the little flower shop in town, and it felt like fate, like they were practically made for Eddie Munson.

With a deep breath and a gritted teeth, he swings out of the car, flowers in hand. He's doing this, he's got this, he can ask Eddie out.

Music rocks from the trailer, drowning out Steve's knock. They didn't exactly have plans tonight, only they hangout every night since Vecna, so he figured...well, Eddie never said they weren't getting together.

He's a little miffed when his knock isn't answered. Even when the music is up, the walls of the trailer vibrating, Eddie always comes to the door. But the minutes tick by with no response until the annoyance turns to anxiety.

He stretches over, up on tiptoe, craning through the window to see if he can spot Eddie, probably distracted by planning for dnd or working on a song.

The kitchen is deserted, pots steaming on the stove. The two-seater table is covered in one of those paper tablecloths they have at Melvald's for a buck, patterned with bright red hearts. The table is set, two plates, two beers, a candle burning in the center of it all.

God, he's stupid. So stupid, with his nearly black flowers and his silly crush. Of course Eddie already had someone to spend Valentine's Day with.

He stumbles down the stairs, stomach fighting up his throat. The loud music makes so much sense now. He has to leave. He can't stand the thought of Eddie finding him here, letting him down easy; can stand even less seeing him with the date he has over.

Steve almost makes it back to the car before he hears the screen door slam, Eddie's voice calling his name. For a second, he considers ignoring him; for a second, he thinks about jumping in the car and driving off and forgetting this ever happened. But he could never do that to Eddie, not even when the consequence is his own heart.

"Oh, uh. Hey, man," Steve says. He runs his fingers through his hair, swallows. "Didn't mean to interrupt, thought we had plans but I guess they weren't set in stone." He's rambling and he knows it, but can't stop. "I didn't realize you--I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie's eyes flicker from Steve to the flowers clutched in his fist, the wrapping now sweaty and rumpled. "Are those for me?" Eddie asks.

Steve's mouth open and closes a few times, thrown off the track of his monologue and trying to think of a plausible lie. "I--they're--it's--"

There's nothing for it. He has to tell the truth and eat the humiliation. "I saw them today and--They're perfect for you. So, I wanted--" he shakes his head, shoves the bouquet into Eddie's arms. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll let you get back to your date."

Eddie's face scrunches and it would be cute except for all the way Steve's heart is breaking. "Aren't you my date?"

"What?"

"Steve. We hang out every night. I thought--"

"But. For me--" He splutters. "The table?"

"Harrington, it's Valentine's Day! You bought me flowers!"

"Yeah, cause I was going to ask you out!"

This is what breaks Eddie, and he bursts out into helpless giggles.

"Don't laugh at me, Munson." But he's starting to laugh too.

"I'm sorry! I just--you," and Eddie isn't laughing anymore, he's looking at Steve with clear, shining eyes. "You brought me flowers."

Steve sobers too, hands over the bouquet. "I brought you flowers. You made me dinner."

"Yeah." He glances up at Steve from under his eyelashes. "I made you dinner."

"Sorry for--" He gestures broadly around himself.

Eddie shakes his head, soft smile on his lips. "You're something else, Stevie." The words are so fond they make Steve's heart flip. "Now, come inside before the food gets cold."

Steve walks to do the door, pausing before he climbs the stairs.

"What is it?" Eddie's eyebrows lift.

"Nothing. Just--" Steve licks his lips, notices the way Eddie tracks the movement. "I'm really falling for you, is all."

"No duh," Eddie says with a broad, smitten grin. "You bought me flowers."

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

Baker Steve and Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU

Part two

"Steve! You have no idea!" Eddie's laughing, and that always makes Steve laugh, too. He's clearly a little tipsy. "Everyone went mad for the cake! It's was just, gone! Here, I'll send you some pictures!"

"I know what it looked like Eds," but Steve's grinning, knowing he's talking to empty air, can hear Eddie very vaguely mumbling to himself as he looks through his camera roll. Next to Steve' ear, his phone vibrates several times.

"Anyway, Stevie, I was thinking," Eddie's back now, still clearly tipsy but sounding uncharacteristically sheepish, "it's Christmas kind of soon right? Going to need a cake or two there. New year. Easter. Birthdays and bar mitzvahs and...and... independence day...so I was thinking I should get my orders in now, you know? Avoid disappointment."

"Eddie," Steve starts, finds himself turning shy himself, "you don't have to have a cake on order just to talk to me."

"I, ah, don't?"

"No, I mean, pretty sure we're friends, right?"

"Friends," Eddie starts slowly, "there's, like, lots of different kinds of friends."

"Sure, sure," Steve agrees easily, butterflies running rampant in his stomach, "there's even, kind of, more than friends, really."

"That sounds really really great-"

"Eddie!" There's a cacophony in the background, people shouting, "man, you're missing your own party-"

The line goes dead, and Steve's left standing in the dim light of the evening, just staring at tomorrow's cake order where it's cooling on the racks. A minute later, his phone buzzes in his hand, "so sorry baby, talk tomorrow."

Steve smiles at his phone. He had gone a little quiet after finding out who Eddie really is. It had kind of surprised him. But then Eddie had text him, "did I do something? 😞" and Steve realised Eddie's entitled to his privacy, the same as anyone.

"Hey Stevie, how's your day?"

Steve has Eddie on speaker phone as he mixes batter, "pretty good so far, you? You hungover?"

"No, no, didn't get that wasted, too old for that nonsense now, you know?"

Steve laughs, "aren't you like, 25?"

"I mean, maybe. Definitely old enough to, like, think about settling down, you know?"

Steve's breath catches in his throat, excitement and nerves after their interrupted conversation last night, "yeah, you, thinking about that? With, uhm, someone?"

"Yeah, I am, it's just..." Steve's heart sinks in his chest," my job, you know, I travel a lot, and that would be a sacrifice for anyone, and I couldn't ask someone to live with that, you know?"

"Well...what if it wasn't? What if they just...went with you?"

"What if...this person...had a job they loved? Their own business they worked hard for?"

"Yeah," Steve agrees slowly, "but what if...well, take me for example. I love to bake, but I don't love my business. That's just a means to an end, you know? I don't always love the orders, I'd choose to make something else if I was doing it for fun. So if it were me, i'd give it up in a heartbeat as long as I can keep baking."

"Yeah? You mean it?"

"Yeah. Yeah Eddie, I mean it."

"I, I mean, sure. Good. Thanks. I mean, not thanks, I mean, good, that's great."

Steve grins at Eddie's ramblings.

"I'll be away though, soon, for a couple of months, like four months, so, maybe, we could keep talking and when, I mean, if you want, what I get back..."

"I'd like that." Steve fist pumps, silently celebrating. "You never actually told me what you do for work?". Steve's teasing him, but Eddie doesn't know that Steve knows so, Steve grins to himself and keeps his voice even.

"I ah, music?"

"Yeah, you have mentioned that before, but what about it?" Steve knows he's being a dick, he just can't help it though.

"I ah, travel, with the band," Eddie starts slowly, and that is technically not a lie, Steve thinks, "and I kind of, look after some of the instruments and...have a lot to do with the sound checks? Like I'm definitely always there, for every sound check, like, I have to be."

All of that is probably true, Steve thinks, and god bless Eddie for not wanting to actually lie to Steve.

"Oh right, and what's the band called?"

"Oh, they're like, heavy metal, you've definitely never heard of them."

After they get off the call, Steve laughs all afternoon.

[boyfriendstevie]

sturdy

steve wants to test out the desk he just built for you | everyone say thank you @superblysubpar for encouraging me to write this hehe | 2.7k, f!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv. don't do it kids. 18+ as always!! mdni!!

“Babe! C’mere!” Steve calls from the spare bedroom, echoing down the hall of your new apartment. 

You’re in the kitchen, starting to unpack a few boxes there, while Steve had been working on putting together your new desk. Obviously, you’re more than capable of putting your own desk together, but Steve had offered, and, well, sometimes you have to make the patriarchy work for you. Placing the half-unpacked box of silverware onto the counter, you shout back a reply and head through the maze of boxes to the bedroom, “I’m comin’! Give me a sec!”

When you reach the bedroom, Steve’s standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips as he looks at his handiwork. His back is to you, so he doesn’t notice when you come in, and you take a second to admire him. He’s quite the sight; wearing an old pair of gym shorts that are a bit too small for him, a well-worn shirt that might be yours — you’re not sure from this angle — and a baseball cap on backwards to keep his hair out of his face. He looks so good, and it hits you then, just how lucky you are. How lucky you are to be living with your ridiculously handsome boyfriend who offers to build things for you out of the kindness of his heart and looks ridiculously good while doing so. 

“Hon—“ the word dies on his lips as he turns around to find you standing in the doorway. A grin stretches across his face at the sight of you, making your heart flutter in your chest. “You starin’ at me, stalker?”

“So what if I was?” you ask, crossing the room so you can throw your arms over his shoulders, “I can’t admire my hot boyfriend?”

A strong arm wraps around your waist to pull you close. He hums in thought before shrugging, “I’ll allow it, I guess. If you give me a kiss.”

“Deal,” you murmur as you lean up on your toes to press your lips to his in a soft kiss. It’s short and sweet, but you don’t mind. “Thanks for building the desk, baby.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he hums quietly in reply, dipping down one more time for a quick peck on the lips. His hand rubs over the curve of your hip gently as he adds, “Hopefully it’s sturdy enough…”

“Steve, I’m sure it’s fine, as long as you followed the directions—“

“Maybe we could test it out?” he asks, giving you a cheeky grin, eyebrows raised in question. 

You snort a laugh, eyebrows furrowing together. You’re pretty sure you know what he’s getting at, but you ask anyway, “And how would we do that?”

His smile grows, looking a bit more mischievous as he turns you around and slowly begins walking you back towards the desk. You let him lead you, giggling with your hands on his shoulders, until you bump into the desk. He leans down to kiss you again, and just before your lips touch, he squeezes your hips and mutters, “Up, honey.”

It’s a messy kiss, your lips nearly missing Steve’s in the effort to get up onto the desk, even with him helping you up. You briefly wonder if this is safe — you have no doubt that Steve built the desk well, but you highly doubt that it’s made to support a whole human’s weight — but the thought quickly passes by when Steve takes your thighs into his hands and pulls you towards the edge of the desk for a proper kiss. 

Steve’s nose nudges into yours, poking at your cheek as he kisses you, lips slotting against yours. He kisses you as if he hasn’t kissed you in days, groaning into your mouth as you rock your hips forward, searching for his touch. You let out a whine when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, tongue quickly following suit to soothe the bite. 

“You know, I was— I was mostly kidding,” Steve pants when he pulls back between kisses, lips pink and wet as his tongue darts out. 

“I know,” you reply with a huff of a laugh, twisting your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “But you look so fucking hot, and you just built me a whole ass desk, and we fucking live together now, and— please just fuck me on the desk, baby.”

“Shit. Yeah, okay, I can do that,” he quickly agrees, not quiet believing his stupid line actually worked, and that you’re spurring him on as you wiggle your leggings down your hips and legs. The fabric gets stuck at your knees, and Steve springs into action, murmuring something about how it’s his job to undress you as he pulls at the fabric until he can drop it to the floor. 

His hands land on your thighs again, thumbs pressing to the soft flesh at the inside of your thighs as they push up towards your core, spreading your legs apart as he goes. There’s no mistaking the small damp spot in the center of your panties as you squirm under Steve’s gaze. Pressing the pads of his thumbs to the crease at the apex of your thighs, he finally looks back up to you and asks, “Can I taste you first?”

Your answer is a quiet, choked moan and a frantic nod, “Please.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice, sinking to his knees in front of the desk as he pulls you closer. It’s the perfect height for this; your burning core only inches from Steve’s hot mouth. He wastes no time in leaning forward, pressing the softest of kisses to the growing wetness there, nose nudging against your clit through your underwear. A low groan comes from deep in his chest, “Can I take these off?”

Before Steve can even finish his sentence you’re nodding again, lifting your hips off of the desk as best you can so he can pull the fabric from your body. As soon as your underwear is on the floor, he’s back on you, licking a broad stripe up your cunt that has you gasping in surprise at his eagerness, “Steve—“

“Mmm,” he hums as his tongue finds your clit, sending vibrations up your spine as he sucks softly and rolls the sensitive nub between his lips. 

It makes you keen, a high-pitched whine that might be embarrassing if you weren’t so blissed out. Your legs tremble as he kisses back down towards your dripping entrance, and your fingers twitch with the need to hold onto something. How Steve always makes you feel untethered so quickly, you’ll never know, but you remedy the problem easily, pushing his hat off of his head. It’s perfect timing on your part; your fingers rake through his soft hair just as his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your slick. 

You pull at the strands a bit harder than you mean to and Steve moans against you. The sound isn’t quite loud enough for you to hear, but you can feel it. The sensation makes your legs close around Steve’s head, but an arm curls around one thigh before it can press against him. It doesn’t take much for Steve to push your leg back down and hold you open for him, despite how much you’re squirming. 

Steve pulls back after another sloppy kiss to your clit, lips shining with your slick and his own spit. He’s grinning, borderline smug as he nuzzles into the crease of your thigh again, nipping the delicate skin there, “Y’always taste so sweet, baby. Only fitting that my pretty girl has the prettiest pussy, huh?” 

You squirm again, this time in embarrassment, and huff a pathetic whine, “Steve, stop—“

“Well I can’t lie,” he all but giggles, pressing a kiss to your hipbone as his gaze drags up your body to meet your eyes, “Want me to keep going? Or d’ya want my cock?”

Both sound like great options, but you can see the outline of his hard cock in his slightly-too-small shorts, and you want him. Reaching down to brush some hair out of Steve’s face, you murmur, “You. Want you.”

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he smiles, sweeter this time, giving your thigh another kiss before he pulls himself up to stand. 

Your chest heaves as you reach for him, taking the fabric of his shirt into your grasp and yanking him closer for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his mouth, but you don’t really mind, especially as his hands roam up your sides, inching underneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He’s teasing again, thumbs barely brushing over your nipples. But two can play at that game, even while he’s kissing you so hard you can barely breathe, and you slip a hand between you, palming his hard cock over his shorts. 

“Okay, okay,” he pants after a moment of shaky breaths and wandering hands, “Can you— will you bend over for me? ‘S that alright?”

Instead of answering, you slide off of the desk and cup Steve’s face in your hands to give him a firm kiss. You make a show of turning around, leaning over your brand new desk until your forearms press to the wood grain. You hear a small groan from behind you as you push your hips backwards, ass pressing to Steve’s bulge, “Christ, sweetheart. How’d I get so goddamn lucky? Fuckin’ gorgeous, and all f’me.” 

Warm hands spread wide over your hips, the pad of Steve’s thumb rubbing a short line over one of the dimples in the small of your back. He gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze before his touch is gone. You huff a whine at the loss of warmth and you hear a quiet chuckle from behind you, “Relax, baby. Gimme a second.”

There’s a quiet rustle of clothing, and then Steve’s hands are back on you, pulling you back towards him. You’re about to complain, to ask him to do something, anything, when you finally feel the tip of his cock nudge against your entrance. Your breath catches as he pushes his hips forward, finally sinking into you slowly. He takes it easy, knowing that you’re plenty wet, but maybe not quite warmed up enough from just his mouth. 

He stops when the front of his thighs press against the backs of yours, fingertips dimpling your hips with how firmly he’s holding onto you. Like he’s worried you might slip away. You moan softly at the aching stretch of your cunt, dizzy with how full you feel of Steve, Steve, Steve. He’s all you want — all you can think about, “Oh f-fuuck… Stevie…”

You swear you can feel his thighs quivering against yours as he stills inside of you. You can hear the grit in his voice, picture the way his jaw is clenched, as he murmurs, “Okay?”

A shaky breath escapes your lips, and you nod emphatically, maybe a bit too quickly, voice a higher pitch than normal, “So good, baby. Move, please move, need y-yo—“

The words die on your lips as Steve draws his hips back slowly and then presses back in. Your head falls forward, mouth dropping open in pleasure with a whine. You feel hot everywhere; a warmth that starts in tummy and spreads slowly, creeping up your torso and chest, into your limbs, until it feels like your body is on fire in the best way. 

His hips roll in and out of your tight heat. It feels so good, and somehow, you still need more. Your forearms press further into the desk as you shift, pushing up on your toes to tilt your hips. You know that if you’re in just the right position, Steve will find the spot that makes you see stars. Desperate for the feeling, you shift again and hear a huff from behind you at the movement. 

Steve knows what you want, and pushes his arm underneath you, between your body and the desk. His hands press to the softness of your tummy and to the curve of your hips as he pulls you into a better position, angling your hips so he can reach even deeper. The new angle has you gasping with each thrust, a punched-out sound that you can’t help between whimpers of Steve’s name and expletives. Steve’s not fairing much better, and you can hear the low grunt he lets out every time his skin meets yours, “You’re so wet— fuck, sweetheart — y’hear that? Hear how wet you are f’me? Feel so good ‘round me, baby. So good for me.”

“Y-yes, yeah — ah, Steve! — all yours,” you babble in an attempt to answer him, though you’re too fucked out to be all that coherent. 

Seconds later, you get exactly what you’d been wanting when you’d shifted your hips; the head of Steve’s cock pressing to the spot inside of you that turns you to putty. The moment he finds it, your legs go weak, and Steve’s grasping onto you even tighter in an attempt to keep you somewhat upright. His arm curls across your midsection, and you feel his warmth against your back as he presses his chest to you. You can feel his breath, hot against the nape of your neck as he murmurs, “Right there, baby? That’s what you wanted, huh?” 

You clench around him, making the drag of his cock that much sweeter. The feeling pulls a deep moan out of Steve, sending shivers down your spine as he twitches inside of you. One of the hands on your waist pushes up under your shirt until he can press against your sternum, and then he’s pulling you almost upright. Your eyes meet his in the vanity mirror attached to the desk, and you moan at the sight; you look just as fucked out as you feel, and so does Steve. 

Lips on your neck, Steve hums, pleased, “There’s my girl. Look at yourself, honey, so so pretty on my cock, yeah?” 

“Stevie,” you whine his name, and he’s sure it’s the best sound he’s ever heard, “‘m close, ‘m so close.“ 

“Y’gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart? C’mon, honey, know ya can,” he says, his free hand snaking down your torso and your hips to find your clit. He circles it quickly, over and over, just how you like, and with his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, it doesn’t take long until you fall apart with a cry of his name. 

He’s not far behind you, hips never slowing their pace, even as he bends you back over the desk. Every wave of pleasure has your cunt clenching around him, and it pushes Steve over the edge, too, with whiny groans against your skin where his face is pressed. You can feel him spill deep inside of you and you shudder, eyes squeezing shut as your head falls forward, hitting the desk with a small thunk. 

Steve’s teeth sink into the smooth skin of your shoulder, quick and gentle, more of a nip, as he presses his chest to your back. Soft kisses soothe over the small bites, and then Steve’s pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, breath hot and heavy as he nuzzles there. You pant into your arms folded on the desk and melt into Steve’s touch as his hand rubs lovingly across your hip bones. 

“Y’alright, baby?” he asks, out of breath. 

“Mhm,” you murmur, post-orgasm haze still clouding your thoughts. 

“Good,” you can feel the curve of his lips against your spine, followed by a few soft kisses that trail down your back. He stops halfway down, hands settling onto your hips as he stands back up and slowly pulls out. 

You wince, still so sensitive, but let Steve pull you up and off of the desk, turning you around so your lips can meet his. He kisses you on the mouth, once, twice, and trails a kiss over to your cheek. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you let out a breathless laugh, “I think it’s sturdy enough.”

Steve huffs in amusement, “Thank god. Imagine if it broke while we were on it. And, good news, we just checked the office off of the ‘places we still need to fuck in the new apartment’ list.”

“If you bring me to the bathroom right now, we can check off another one.”

Eyes going wide, Steve grins, literally whisking you off of your feet as he says, “Deal.”

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x07, "hunting"

i can't wait for what a certain moot has to say about this one :) <3

i find this episode Very Crowded but, fortunately, there's a clear frontrunner for what to focus on - doctor allison cameron, ofc. there are plenty of stacy developments to account for, and more ways to diagnose house, yet the entire watching experience had me itching to pan back to her ordeal (and chase's, by extension).

what i took away from 2x07 was that it's another installment in the "can people change?" question, and it draws a new line between house and cameron, despite them both responding in tune with one another. the answer is no, but one character won't test any hypothesis contrary to his preexisting beliefs, whereas the other makes desperate, failed attempts to do so.

house opens the episode with the lie: "people change." his change arc in 2x07 was a farce designed to manipulate stacy, setting the no-change precedent for the episode. it's extra sad to me that she can't immediately see through this lie like the audience can (yay, effective dramatic irony!) because so much has, in fact, change about house in 5 years, just not in the direction that he's pretending.

wilson, annoyingly, does nothing to help or hinder house's scheme to get stacy back by violating her privacy and reading her therapist's notes. he feigns disinterest and disappointment until house mentions that, according to the notes, mark and stacy haven't been sleeping together.

do i bother to comment on how wilson is always the one to judge the merit of a relationship based on sex? or do i chalk it up to 2000s humor + the fact that he's a gross cheater and has a one-track mind? all signs point logically to the latter, but i can't help but make the note about wilson and transactional romance & domesticity. what i will do is link my post about wilson's encounter with asexuality, and how it rocks his view of how this kind of relationship can exist, even if, textually, it ends up being acephobic in the end. we take what we can get in this house, i guess (spoilers for 8x09).

i'd be remiss if i didn't mention the first definitive gay joke that introduces a comically flamboyant patient (more on him later!). in isolation, it's very funny haha 2000s, but with the foreknowledge that wilson moves in with house in the not-so-distant future, i think it's pretty poignant, the image of them both leaving house's apartment in the morning post-dissection of another couple's domestic troubles.

anyways.

house and stacy's bonding over a stray rat - the beloved steve mcqueen - is such an odd way of characterizing house's place (or lack thereof) in their relationship. maybe i'm not reading it right lol. he's a pest. he engenders sympathy in stacy, sure, but mark, the one whom the rat antagonizes, plans on killing him. not only that, steve mcqueen has been poisoned not by what house presumes is mark's smoking, but stacy's. if this weird textual device doesn't spell out toxicity, i'm not sure what does.

stacy, for now, saves herself by seeing through house's farce. this episode does good work in reminding us that house is kinda shitty without absolving her half of the almost-affair. house explains to wilson that he goes over to stacy's place whenever mark is away dealing with his new disability; on both house and stacy's part, this is shockingly shitty. while mark does the very work that house refused to/struggled to, he's being hurt without even knowing.

when he starts hurling accusations at stacy that she let this happen (she did), and demands that she admit that she let this happen "because you want to be with me," she says that, "i don't anymore." i love this line, simple as it is, because it shows a capacity of stacy's that not many other characters in house's life have: the capacity to leave. obv their saga isn't over yet, but i can't help but think about how nothing but house's Typical Tomfoolery is enough to get wilson to come back in 5x04 after a very similar confrontation.

MEANWHILE, AMIDST ALL THIS INTERPERSONAL DRAMA, cameron is potentially infected with HIV when kalvin, the patient, coughs blood on her. the unfolding events are, imo, highly understandable. she avoids any conciliatory remarks from the team or any external comfort. instead, she takes kalvin's advice to live a little, so to speak (more on his exact words later). she takes meth! from kalvin's stash that was supposed to be destroyed!

here, cameron's change is the extreme version of house's, so much so that it needs ushered along by meth. he tries to change for an angle; cameron tries to change out of self-preservation. kalvin has told her that she will become "a new person" with drugs, and in the face of a radically changed life against her will, she seeks this change out. my read is that she's angry to find that her moral compass is fundamentally a part of who she is; she can't forgo the pain/weight with any escapism.

interestingly enough, her sleeping with chase isn't something she "wouldn't do" if she wasn't on drugs; it's something her high-strung convictions wouldn't let her do. we saw as early as 1x03 that she has this side to her. after telling wilson that we can't control our emotions, just our actions, in 2x06, this is such a brilliant way to up-end that principle.

unfortunately for cameron, this is escapism, not change. she's embodying the greg house experience, just in acute form - she can block out her nature and her reality, but only for so long. when she returns to work, she's just as much of a guiding light for the team as she was before. it's only her delivery/intensity of emotions that have changed.

she's angry with kalvin for lying about his history but, more than that, i think she's angry that nothing has genuinely changed within her. kalvin promised something new, but now she's still the moral compass, just with a raging hangover:

she delivers the strongest line of the episode here, too: "you want to kill yourself? fine. but stop recruiting." she sees through the escapism that kalvin - and house! - propagate. it doesn't solve anything.

pivoting to kalvin, specifically, his story is partially why this episode feels so crowded, because he makes another bold claim that defines not just 2x07's conflicts, but a lot of season 2 thus far. he tells cameron, on the subject of her lifestyle and drugs, that, "love is love. satisfying is social validation." cameron's life is only satisfying, in kalvin's view, atp, but don't so many of house md grapple with this innate difference? let's make a list of how this applies to season 2:

what even is love atp? we've spent 7 episodes debating the answer now among almost all of the characters.

wilson has been the persona guy so attached and damaged to his lies in his personal relationships. he can claim sexual satisfaction with his wives and in his affairs, but that's not love, even by his own 2x06 metric. also, he's gay.

stacy claims that she's satisfied with mark, but nothing more. it's clear that she's misusing "love," and for all of house's scheming on that front, i'd say he's right that she's unfulfilled.

judging by cameron's interactions with kalvin and her choice to act on his advice, she wants to want more. she wants to be rid of the burden her convictions carry. she's satisfied and doesn't know (yet) how to pursue the love kalvin speaks of.

house. meanwhile, rejects such social validation in favor of the Love alone. he won't compromise and would rather be shut out entirely than settle. this is very love/hate binary of him, which we established in 2x06, as well.

lastly, this applies to chase's dilemma in sleeping with cameron - it was more than satisfying, but can it be real, if she wasn't truly herself? i'll leave it at that for now. don't want to get ahead of my future recaps!

allow me to conclude another mammoth-sized recap with something that's near and dear to me, and something we take for granted: house is queer. this episode is very important in establishing that. he's so much like the patient that it's crazy. i'm arguing that simply by comparison alone, 2x07 is the most definitive avenue for reading house as queer that we've seen yet.

house seeks escapism from responsibility and regret just like kalvin. house seeks Love, not social validation. house feels preemptively excluded from that social validation in the first place on account of an irrefutable part of himself - his disability. house is socially othered but leans into it, like kalvin. house pretends not to be bothered by said othering when, from the very second episode, we see that this is another farce. house's physical/social difference is the source of familial trauma and unrest; house's resulting irresponsibility harms those around him, like kalvin's. house's irresponsibility is not cut/dry his fault; neither is kalvin's. they both take drugs to alleviate the ways in which they're isolated. cameron, point-blank, deconstructs this as total bullshit.

there's something overwhelmingly cathartic about this scene. house wielding his cane to choke out a homophobic dad who would let his son die rather than take a quick blood test? gold. and yeah, i argue that the dad is kinda shitty. the reason why kalvin couldn't help his mom is linked to his sexuality, and, in chase's words, "our bodies aren't donor farms for our parents."

beyond that? house is kind to kalvin. he's kinda disinterested in his sexuality apart from how AIDS plays a part in his potential diagnosis. plus the fact that he has a gay "stalker" in the wake of the AIDS crisis and the resulting social abuse and discrimination is treated a lighthearted, ordinary component of his life.

tldr: in a very 2000s tv sort of way, house md draws a meaningful parallel between 2 forms of discrimination, ableism and homophobia, and dares to suggest that it's front man may be queer.

[shushmal]

merman steve pt 2

a continuation of this for @spectrum-spectre, now with some pre-steddie~!

Henderson is skulking around in the cereal aisle when Eddie spots him.

The kid has been a bit of enigma to Eddie since he met him at the beginning of last fall semester. Dustin had a tight group of friends, but often times, he caught the gang of them sans Henderson and the fact seemed to annoy the hell out of them.

"He just goes off on on his own sometimes," Baby Beyers would say.

"He won't tell anyone where or why or with who," Mini Wheeler would snarl.

"And it's definitely not to talk to his girlfriend, because we hear ALL about that," Big Sinclair would sigh, rolling his eyes.

So catching kid creeping around the grocery store minus the rest of his party, after hearing many complains of his mysterious disappearances? Color Eddie intrigued.

"Hendersooon," Eddie sang, wrapping an arm around Dustin's neck to keep him from escaping. "Whatcha doing?"

"Eddie!" he said brightly, grinning at him. "Just buying some snacks. Hey, which cereal do you think a fish can eat?"

Eddie stares at him for a moment, blinking. "Uh..."

Henderson's face scrunches up. "I guess he's not really a fish though, so I'll try whatever." He grabs a box of Honey Combs from the shelf.

"Dude, are you keeping a sea turtle at your house again? You know that's illegal."

"No!" Henderson snaps, flushing. "And I was going to take Dart back after show and tell, I had already promised Steve!"

"Steve?" That was a new name. Eddie hadn't heard Henderson talk about a Steve before, and the guy was kind of a motormouth and a terrible liar. The only time Eddie had seen him actually avoid a topic was when his little disappearing acts were brought up. "Who's Steve?"

Henderson's eyes go comically wide. "No-one! I don't know any Steves!"

Eddie knew at least three Steves, and two were in Henderson's grade. "Uh-huh."

"Anyways," Dustin says, clutching the box of Honey Combs to his chest as he backs down the aisle. "I gotta go man, nice seeing you, bye!"

Bemused, Eddie watches him go. He's planning to give Henderson a five minute head start before he goes to tail him, but apparently, he needn't to have planned a stake out after all. Henderson finds him again, two aisles over, panting and red-faced.

"Actually, can you give me a ride?"

🧜‍♂️

"Eddie," Henderson says, voice even more serious and deadly than the time the party took on Vecna last month during their campaign. "I need you to swear that you will never, ever tell anyone about what I'm going to show you."

Eddie cocks a brow at him. "Is this a drugs thing? Dude, you—"

"No!" Henderson snaps. "This is not a drug thing! This is a very serious life and death thing, and I need you to swear on you life you won't tell anyone about it."

"Dude," Eddie says, a little in awe. He stares out his windshield for a moment where they're still parked just outside of town. He can hear sounds of the ocean just past the ridge, waves crashing on the cliffs. It's a remote little area, opposite of the tourist favored beaches. Eddie, in fact, deals just a few miles down the shoreline from here. "Did you bring me out here to kill me? Are you the world's dorkiest serial killer?"

"Eddie." Eddie turns to look at him. His face is grave, brows furrowed with real worry. "I'm serious."

"Okay... Okay, then."

"You have to swear."

"I swear."

And just like that, Henderson's face breaks into a bright smile. "I knew I could trust you!" he crows, grabbing up his bag from the store and kicking open his door.

Eddie stumbles out of his van after him, listening intently as they pick their way over the rocks.

"He's so cool, Eddie, you're going to love him. He totally saved my life when I was like ten and I got pulled out on a rip tide. Like, I really almost died dude and then he just swims up out of no where and helps me catch my breath. Helps me float there while I'm freaking out too until the life guard finally came out to get me. It was crazy! I come out here all the time to visit him, I think he gets a little lonely. So it's good you're here, I've been trying to think of someone else to introduce him to, but it's hard to figure out who's going to freak out and try to sell him to Sea World, or something."

They crest over the hill to a tiny little cove bitten out of the rocky shore, and carefully begin to make their way back down to the water's edge. Eddie's still not entirely sure Henderson hasn't brought him here to die. Maybe Steve is the serial killer and he uses Henderson as bait.

"Okay, okay," Dustin says, once they reach the water. It's calmer here, the cliffs cutting this spot off from the larger waves. "Are you ready to see the coolest thing EVER?"

"Uh, sure, kid—"

Eddie doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence when he starts yelling.

"STEVE THIS IS EDDIE I BROUGHT HIM TO MEET YOU I PROMISE IT'S SAFE!"

"Jesus Christ," Eddie hisses, covering his ears. The lungs on this kid! "What the fuck dude— WHAT THE FUCK!!"

Because when he looks down, there is a face in the water. Eddie falls back on his ass, uncaring of the water soaking his jeans, and screams when the face in the water rises up out the ocean.

It looks pissed.

"Dustin," it says, glaring at Eddie. Eddie screams again, because it—the guy—the mermaid lifts himself fully onto the rocks, and he doesn't have any legs. Because he has a fucking tail.

A fucking fish tail.

"Steve!" Dustin cheers. "You came out."

"You sure?" the goddamn mermaid asks, finally taking his piercing, alien eyes off of Eddie to look at him. "Sure it safe?"

"Absolutely," Dustin says hastily, crouching beside Eddie to put his hands on his shoulders. "Eddie just screams a lot, I promise you, he's totally safe."

"R-Right," Eddie says, because he does not want to be eaten. Maybe Dustin's been dragging unsuspecting victims here to feed his pet goddamn mermaid instead of a serial killer. "Totally safe, that's me."

Steve, the goddamn fucking mermaid, looks him up and down doubtfully, and it's terrifying having those eyes on him, unnaturally yellow surrounded by black. His face is distressingly human, nose and mouth and ears with a mop of dark hair on his head. He has these bright shimmering scales across his cheekbones that dot down his jaw and neck, iridescent and glimmering in the afternoon sun. Eddie can't bring himself to look down further, scared and enraptured all at once.

Steve is terrifying and beautiful to look at.

"Fine," says Steve and pushes himself gracefully back into the water, disappearing into the dark depths.

"What the fuck," Eddie breathes. He looks up at Dustin with wide eyes. "Dude, what the fuck."

Dustin just grins down at him. "Isn't he the coolest?!"

[manichalseys]

**this takes places during Thunderbolts*, WILL have spoilers*

Bucky Barnes x F! Reader

summary; Bucky receives the call from Mel to come and find the ragtag bunch that just escaped Valentina; he struggles with what to do. But you've always been there to help him.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿

I feel my brows pinch together in worry when Bucky's shoulders stiffen, my coffee paused just before my lips. I can only hear his part of the conversation, but he seems incessant about something.

"I don't do that anymore." His voice comes out gravelly, and my cup is discarded on the island between us. Something big was happening.

He mumbles something else and hangs up, his phone hitting the counter with a bit too much force. He still doesn't turn to look at me.

"Jamie." I say it quietly, looping around the middle of the kitchen and coming to stand at his side. My hand raises to rest on his taut shoulders and I can feel him twitch just slightly beneath me. He's stiff, and when those eyes finally look up to meet mine there's a storm raging in them.

Just when I think he's going to pull away, like he would in the early days of our relationship and something rocked him like this, he steps toward me instead. Arms banding themselves around my waist and his head dropped to my shoulder, I hold him close to me. I just listen to his breathing, and wait for him.

"There's a situation." He says finally, pulling away from me and showing those tempest eyes. "Valentina tried to trick her ghost operatives into killing each other and when that didn't work, they escaped. I need to bring them in." Bucky started tidying the mess we had made during dinner, keeping his hands busy. "I arrest them, they testify against her, and everyone's happy. Some assassins are behind bars and Valentina finally gets impeached." He stops fidgeting and heaves a sigh, head dropping back, eyes closed.

My hand goes to rest on the one he has splayed across the counter, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Bucky's eyes blink open and he looks at me, confused. "Of course. I'm a congressman now, doll. Even apprehending them is way beyond my jurisdiction. I need to try and put them through due processes. Let the law handle it."

I can see it, the uncertainty in his face and the muscles of his jaw working against the words he's saying, like they taste bad.

"I think that, maybe, you're afraid the law won't handle it justly." I proceed carefully, not wanting to upset him farther. "Weren't you telling me a few days ago that Natasha's sister was one of Valentina's assets?" Bucky had always talked about Natasha and Steve like they hung the moon. A former Red Room assassin, Natasha Romanoff was everything that Bucky strives to be. Better. Someone who faces their mistakes head on, and works through them. Apologizes for them. Dies for them, though he never glorifies that, I know that he respects it on a level I could never understand.

His silence is the answer I need.

"Do you think it's fair? That Yelena would be behind bars but you get to go to the next congressional meeting?" His eyes snap to mine, a glacier blue burning against my own. I wasn't trying to hurt him, but make him understand these complicated emotions I know were cementing him in place right now.

"I've done my time, babe. Yelena has showed no signs of changing her life around. She's still killing people, just for a different organization." He pulls his hand out from under mine and walks to the fridge, putting his half empty water in there to retrieve later.

The light of the refrigerator cuts a stark image of him in our kitchen; this man in his newly pressed dress shirt, metal arm glinting in the low light. This was a new Bucky; one of many that I had seen, and I wasn't convinced that this was the one he felt most comfortable being.

I follow him, hands coming up to rub small circles along his back as he shuts the fridge door. "Certainly we can't compare the CIA and the Red Room?" Quietly, I do. But that won't help matters here. "How do we know that she isn't trying to turn over a new leaf in the only way she knows how? You had a support system, Buck. She has nothing."

He doesn't say anything and we stand like that for a moment. His hands braced on either side of the fridge, I can see indents forming there where he's squeezing just a little too hard. A war raging in him that I don't control. There's no ceasefire to be called; he has to reconcile with himself.

He turns to be abruptly and pulls me against him. I feel his cool hand at the back of my head before he draws me forward, lips melding to mine with a bruising force. When he pulls away, there's a new resolve there. He's made his decision, whatever that may be.

"I'm going to go and get them." He pauses for a moment, worrying his lip between his teeth. "But I think I'm going to talk to them first. Try to gauge what they're thinking. Maybe you're right."

I smile as he pulls away from me, holding his hand in mine as long as I can before he's across the room heading to change.

"But if I find an excuse to hit Walker, I'm taking it." He throws over his shoulder, a small smile as a gift to me.

My laugh is light. "I would expect nothing less."

I'll be staying up tonight, as long as my already tired body would let me, to be sure that I'm awake when he gets home. His demons in tow and uncertainty in every step. It's nights like this that he'll need to be reminded how far he's come; who he is now.

I want nothing more than that.

[casdean-jenmish]

Just Stay • B. Barnes

Word Count- 3.8k

Tags- angst, there’s so much angst, married!bucky, y/n insert (cause I couldn’t be bothered for a name), there’s a child included, dad!bucky, hints at sex (very vaguely, sorry no smut this time), just a lot of angst guys

"You'll be okay bug, I promise daddy will home in the morning." I mumbled. Here I sat with my six year old daughter as she cried. Bucky has been gone helping Steve with some business in Wakanda for about two months, so it was just Rebecca and I. She hated when Bucky was away, even more than I did. Our nightly routine was always a movie, bath or shower time, brush time, bedtime story, and snug as a bug in a rug. Without Bucky here though, I could barely get her through her bath or shower without her crying that she missed her daddy.

It was absolutely heartbreaking for me every single time. We've tried calls before bed or facetiming, but Becca still gets upset. Even before she was born she was a daddy's girl. All Bucky had to do was talk to or lay a hand on my bump and she would calm down. And when she was born? Oh boy. You couldn't get Bucky to put her down for a second without watching her like a hawk. Poor Peter and Sam. The first time they had tried to hold her, Bucky was down their throats about be responsible and acting like an adult. Don't even get me started on when we joked about Rocket holding her.

"Mommy, why can't daddy just stay home? I hate when he leaves." Becca whimpered. My heart broke in half as she clung to her deer plushie. A gift from her Uncle Steve because as he called it, it was "a buck for a mini buck". I let out a small sigh and began rubbing my hand across her back. "I hate when he leaves too Beck, but he always comes back. I promise you that daddy will always come back." I said. I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, running my thumb across her cheek to wipe a stray tear. "Tomorrow you can spend all day with daddy, but you got to get some sleep first bug." She let out a small sigh, but nodded her head. "Mommy will stay here until you fall asleep, okay?" She nodded again and reached out to wrap her small hand around my big one.

"I love you mommy." "I love you too bug."

I waited for her breathing to even out and small snores to start filling the room before I made my exit. I made sure I left her door ajar so the hallway light peaked in a little. Even if she wasn't scared of the dark, it made me feel better knowing she had some light. I took in a deep breath before making my way downstairs. Now just to wait on my husband. Steve should just be considered Bucky's mistress at this point. I rolled my eyes at the thought. I just miss my husband, doesn't mean I need to compare his best friend to a side piece.

I began picking up the living room, hearing the slight clink of the metal under my shirt. Bucky had given me his tags before he left for a three month mission. He said he wanted me to have a piece of him while he was gone. Part of me always wondered if it was actually because he didn't expect to come back from the mission. It was always a risk when he left. I always waited for the day that Steve would show up at my door without Buck by his side. I felt my heart weigh down in my chest at the thought of him not coming home one day. I could never make it without him.

After Becca was born, I never went on another mission. I stayed at the compound with her and the rest of the avengers. Depending on who was home, I practically didn't see Becca all day. Every time she needs fed or changed or burped or rocked to sleep, they would take her. Always telling me "go get some sleep, I've got her". It amazed me how quickly everyone fell in love with her.

Especially Vision and Loki. Loki would smack my hand anytime I tried to take her for nap time. Which was strange to me because Loki wasn't exactly fond of children to begin with. I had multiple photos of the god of mischief laying with Bucky and I's daughter tucked into his chest. Not that Loki ever needed to know about said photos.

When Becca turned two, Tony gifted Bucky and I our own home so we weren't cramped into the compound with everyone else. A three story house, six bedrooms, three full baths, fully decked out kitchen, in-ground pool in the backyard, finished basement, office area, and so much more. Bucky refused to take it at first due to his past with the Stark's, but Tony shut it down real quick. "I'm not saying I'll ever forgive you Barnes, but you aren't that man anymore. I don't think the winter solider would ever cry over a little girl getting her hair trimmed." Which lead to them fighting over if Bucky actually cried or not.

Just because I stopped missions though, doesn't mean the great White Wolf did. Steve and Tony both said that Bucky would continue to be a great asset to the team. I think Bucky truly didn't want to give up having the life he was used to. His whole life has been spent fighting and even if he hates it, it's practically his comfort zone. When he found out I was pregnant, it scared him. It absolutely terrified him because all he could think was 'i have taken so many other people's children, so why do i deserve my own'. It took weeks for the closest people around him to get it through to him that he deserved this as much as the next person.

The first four years weren't bad. I could handle him being gone for weeks, a month, or even two months. Sometimes even as long as four months. Here lately though, every time he walks out the door I'm worried I won't see my husband again. I know for a fact that it has a big affect on Becca. She loves her dad and if he's gone for more than three days, she's not her normal cheery happy self. I sat on the couch and sighed as I seen all the toys still scattered. I just want him home for a change.

————————————

I slowly open my eyes as I heard the shut of a door. I heard the footsteps of my husband begin to echo suddenly. What time is it? I looked up at the clock on the wall, only for the hands to be pointed at 2:48. Almost three o'clock in the morning. Four hours after he was supposed to be home. I huffed in slight annoyance making the footsteps come to halt. "Sweetheart?" I rolled my eyes and slowly sat up from my laying position. The footsteps began making their way towards me, but I was thrilled like I usually am. I was severely annoyed with everything.

"Why are you on the couch sweets?" I looked up seeing his concerned face staring down at me. I could see confusion slowly take over as he noticed the annoyed look on my face. "What's wrong? What happened?" I scoffed at his words. Of course. I stood up from the couch and made my to the kitchen, Bucky following close behind. "Why are you mad?" I could hear the worry in his tone. We weren't a couple that fought, mostly due to our pasts. We bickered and argued, but never got to the point where we were yelling at each other. It's the one type of fighting we always prevented from happening. Seems like I wasn't able to prevent this one though.

"It's almost three in the morning James, why am I mad?" I asked snapping my head over his way. I could see his face fall as he realized. "I was supposed to be home at eleven." He muttered. He ran his hand down his face while I just nodded. "I'm sorry. Steve needed me to stay for debriefing before we leave again tomorrow." He said. I just smiled and shook my head. "Of course he did." I snapped, slamming the cupboard shut. "Y/N, you know how these thing-" "Yes James! I know how the work! I understand that you have a job, you have a responsibility to the team, but what about our team? What about our daughter?!" Bucky looked at me with his eyes wide. I wasn't someone who yelled, at all.

"Sweets, I'm sorry. I know I'm not home much, but I'm trying so hard." I let out a dry laugh as I opened our dishwasher. "Not hard enough." It wasn't fair to say, I know how hard he tries. I know that he does the best he can to stay home and be available for work. "That's not fair Y/N and you know it." He said with a small hint of aggression in his tone. "No what's not fair is that you never seem to have time for our daughter! When's the last parent teacher conference you went to? When was the last dance recital you attended?! When did you last hug her goodnight? Or even-" "I get it Y/N! Got anymore ways to explain how much of a shitty father I am?!" Here it is, our first actual yelling match.

"She's cries every night for you! She misses you so much and you're never here anymore! We might as well be divorced!" I yelled. I immediately regretted the words when Bucky's angry face dissolved quickly. Instead he looked hurt, wounded even. The silence was suffocating, just like every night without him here. "Is that- are you saying you want a divorce?" I felt my heart start to crumble as his eyes watered over at the words. "Buck-" "You're getting divorced?" I quickly snapped my head over to see our daughter standing there with tears down her cheeks.

"Bug-" she quickly turned around, running back upstairs with sobs falling from her lips. Without a second thought I rushed up after her. I could fix the fight later, right now my buggy needs me.

My heart finished shattering when I walked into her room seeing her curled into a ball. The sobs leaving her lips was never what a mother wanted to hear. It was gut wrenching. I quickly made my way over to her bed, resting my hand on her back. "Becca, please don't cry." I whispered. She just shrugged my hand off of her and buried her head further into her pillow. I sighed as I felt defeat rushing through me. I looked over as I heard the floorboard creak quietly. There stood Bucky with almost the same look of defeat.

He walked in and sat beside Becca's bed. I watched as he reached his metal hand across to grab ahold of her small one. She loved that her dad was part 'robot'. I felt tears filling my eyes as Becca slowly turned her head towards her dad. Her small eyes swollen and her lips wobbly. "Why is my pretty girl crying?" Bucky asked. His tone as gentle as the hold he had on her hand. "Y-You and mom-mommy are getting a div-divorce." She hiccuped. God, I'm a terrible mother.

"Mommy and I are just having a disagreement right now princess, I promise-" "But you said you were! Don't lie daddy!" Becca cried, burying her face back into her pillow. Bucky sighed and leaned towards the bed. "Buggy, daddy and I aren't getting a divorce." I said, Bucky looked over at me with almost relief on his features. "Stop lying to me!" I sighed at her words. I moved closer and laid down beside her. "Sometimes things are said that shouldn't be said Bug, and that happened between daddy and I tonight. Mommy said things she shouldn't of. You know how when you're upset, you say things to mommy that you don't mean?" I asked. I smiled slightly as her small head nodded.

"Well, that's what mommy did. She got upset and said things she didn't mean." I said. I began rubbing her back, watching as she slowly pulled her pillow away from her. "There's my princess." Bucky whispered squeezing her small hand. "Why were you upset with daddy?" I heard her small voice ask. Oh, sweet girl. I looked over her head to see Bucky looking at me. The guilt on his face made me want to burst out in tears. "I was upset because I miss daddy so much." I muttered. His eyes watered as he looked at me.

Becca suddenly turned towards me with a look of remorse. I felt a tear fall from my eye as she placed her little hand on my cheek. "I miss him too, but remember what you told me mommy? Daddy always comes back. He always comes back because he misses us too." I let more tears fall as she looked at me with those sweet blue eyes. "He comes back because he loves us."

————————————

I sat with my knees tucked into my chest tightly. After Becca calmed down, she asked Bucky to read a story to help her go back to sleep. Instead of staying for story time I left the room. It gives Becca that time with Bucky she so desperately needs. She needs him, sometimes I think more than she needs me. I never viewed it as bad thing though, I knew that Becca loved me. It's just hard when she practically never sees Bucky, who is ultimately her favorite.

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a deep sigh. I need four years of sleep. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood from my spot. I shimmed out of my sweatpants and walks over to the hamper of dirty clothes. It doesn't fill as fast anymore. I shook the thought from my head and threw the pair of sweatpants in. I flipped the light on to the walk-in closet and made my way around to find a pair of shorts.

I tensed as I heard the bedroom door slowly shut. And here it comes. I could hear the footsteps making their way towards the closet and it genuinely worried me. What was I supposed to say to him? "She's asleep." I heard him mutter. I couldn't bring myself to look at him though. It's our first ever fight, what was I supposed to say after the harsh words that left my mouth? "Baby, look at me." I felt the tears rush to my eyes as he stepped closer and closer to me. His hands circled around my waist and I felt my walls crumble.

"Sweet girl-" his words cut off when I let out a small sob. "I'm so sorry." I cried leaning against him. I heard a small sigh leave his lips before his head came to rest in the crook of my neck. "No, I'm sorry." It was so comforting to feel the words mumbled into my skin. "I know I'm gone too much. I know I'm not home as much as any of us want. I know it's hard on you and Rebecca." He knows, but he hasn't done anything to change it? Does he not want us anymore?

Almost as if he read my thoughts, the arms around my waist tightened. "I want to be home more, don't ever think I don't want to be here." He spoke, rubbing small circles on my hip. "Then why don't you stay?" I whispered. I felt him tense at the question, telling me that he was hiding something. What could it possibly be?

"Because I have a responsibility-" I let out a weak scoff and looked down at the floor. A responsibility to the team. "Don't do this, baby please don't." He whispered as I began to remove myself from his arms. "I forgot, the responsibility to the team is more important than your family. Sorry I asked you to come home tonight. I should've been more considerate and told you to stay at the compound. At least then you're only a shake away from the quintet to rush-" "Stop!" I tensed as I heard the anger in his voice.

"Why are you being like this tonight? Why is it all of the sudden an issue?" I let out a small laugh and turned to him. His features looked exhausted, hurt, and most of all? Guilty. "It's been a issue for months James! Months! But you're never home for us to have this fight! You're never fucking home anymore!" I could feel the tears building up with my last sentence. I just wanted him be home with his family, why is it so much to ask?

"You're never here anymore and it's killing me. I feel like I've lost my husband, my soulmate. We agreed to be parents the minute we discussed I was pregnant, so why does it feel like I'm a single parent doing all of this on my own?" Bucky put his back against the closet wall, slowly sliding down which each of my words. I could see the stress and tension weighing down his shoulders.

I bent down with him and grab ahold of his hands. "Buck, every time you walk out that door-" I stopped as the words got caught in my throat. I worry you won't come back. I felt the tears filling quickly as I tried to keep myself calm and collected. "I worry that I'm going to lose you." I cried.

He leaned his head back, allowing me to see the tears falling down his cheeks. "It's more than some responsibility, I know it is. So please tell me what's going on, tell me so I can help." I begged. He let out a small sob and squeezed my hands tightly in his. "She'll hate me. She'll find out soon and she'll just hate me, Y/N." Bug. He's worried about Bug finding out about Soldat.

"Those days are so far behind us. Baby, that girl worships the ground you walk on. She will understand that you were doing what you had to do to survive." I whispered. He was crying profusely, the idea of our baby girl despising him for his brainwashed past being overwhelming. "She won't be disgusted by you, just like I wasn't. That part is one of things I love the most about you, you know why?" I asked. Bucky looked at me, his eyes bloodshot from the tears. His lip was wobbly and the hurt was evident on his features.

"Because I know that it wasn't you. I know how hard you fought to be free from those chains. I know that you pushed your hardest to be the man that you are today. The man that cries every time he sees our wedding video. The man that worships every step our daughter takes. The man who dances with me in the kitchen at two am when he gets home, just to feel me in his arms. The man that loves with his whole heart and soul. The man who went from being a tortured soul to being a selfless hero." He closed his eyes tightly as cries left his lips.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you are the strongest, bravest, most selfless man I ever known. You are the love of my life. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." I said, resting my forehead against his. I felt my heart swell with love as he wrapped his arms around me, making me sit in his lap. He continued to let out cries as he held me close to him. "Don't you ever think your past will make us hate you. You are our baby girl's world." I whispered, placing small kisses along his beautiful facial features.

"I love you so much."

————————————

I let out a slight groan as I felt consciousness making it way through my body. I instinctively reached my hand out to Bucky's side of the bed, only to feel the cold sheets beneath the warmth of my hand. My eyes shot open to find an empty bed. My heart nearly split in half as I realized that he more than likely left early this morning. Yet another week of him being gone. Another week of an empty bed. It's exhausting constantly waking up and being depressed. Especially when you have another human being to take care of while you're trying not to break down and cry.

I flipped the comforter off my body, shivering at the cold air. It's even harder after you spend a night filled with nothing but pure love. Nights where it's nothing but being vulnerable with one another, just for him to be gone again in the morning. I held back the tears in my eyes as I stood from the bed. I walked over and grabbed the first sweater I could find. I threw it on to cover myself up, then threw my hair into a lazy updo. Time to wake up Becca and start our routine.

I opened up the bedroom door, only to hear the sounds of Rebecca laughter. She must be watching tv. I slept in too late for her. I sighed and ran a hand down my face before heading towards the steps. I can’t take this any longer. I once again fought back the tears as I headed down the steps. “Becs, turn the tv off so we can have some break-“ my words stopped as I seen my husband and daughter sitting on the couch together, hand in hand.

“Good morning Mama! There’s breakfast on the stove! Daddy didn’t want to wake you up.” Becca said smiling at me. She was quick to turn her attention back to the tv, Trolls was playing which meant no one mattered right now. I looked at Bucky, tears no longer being able to be held back. “Bug, I got to get up.” Bucky whispered making her nod. I held back the sobs as he walked over to me, his face filled with so much love.

“I’m on leave. Talked to Steve last night after you fell asleep. A mechanic job sounds nice right? Something simple and easy?” I couldn’t help the sobs that left that time. He wasted no time to scoop me up in his arms. “I’m home baby. For good. No more leaving, no more missions. It’s time to be home.” I held the back of his head, making sure he was kept close to me as I cried in his arms. “I love you so much sweets. I’m home.” I smiled as I let out a mix of a sob and a joy filled laugh.

“I love you more baby. I’m so glad that you’re home.”

[rogueddie]

Space Heater T | 418 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit

"Jesus Christ, why is it so cold in here? I'm gonna freeze my balls off."

"Lovely mental image," Robin replies, face scrunched up in disgust.

Steve rolls his eyes, continuing to restack the shelf.

"Nice view."

He glances back, realising that Eddie is staring at him, as he bends down to the lower shelf.

"Eyes here, soldier," Robin says, snapping her fingers at him. "What do you want?"

"I can't bother my favourite workplace duo on a Friday evening?"

"Not when it has the boss breathing down our necks. It's bad enough that he's a cheap bastard, not letting us turn the heating on, we don't need a lecture as well."

"Why doesn't he just ban me?"

"You're a paying customer," Steve says, finally stepping back to the till, leaning against it. "You're an 'important part of the ecosystem'."

"I've only got one thing from here and I stole it."

"What the boss says goes," Robin says.

"That's bullshit."

He steps to the side, so he's behind Steve, and wraps an arm around his waist. He uses it to hold him still long enough to snake his other arm under his shirt.

"Dude," Steve complains.

"What? You're warm."

He rolls his eyes, but makes no move to push him away. Not even when he moves his other arm under his shirt too, pressing up against his back.

"You should quit or something," Eddie says, voice a little muffled from how his face is pressed against Steve's shoulder. "This place is hell."

"It pays," Steve points out. "And we are looking. There's not a lot of places that are open to our two package deal."

Eddie hums, slowly starting to rock them both side to side.

"Steve has work," Robin points out.

"Mm, I'm sure he does."

"Work that doesn't involve you clinging onto him like a koala bear."

"I don't hear him complaining."

"That's because he's a touch-starved dork."

"Hey-" Steve tries, but is soon interrupted by Eddie.

"Just because he loves me," he teases, squeezing Steve a little tighter and moving his head so his chin rests on Steve's shoulder.

"He loved me first!"

"Platonically."

"Exactly, we're like siblings- no, soulmates. I'm top of the food chain, Munson, get with it."

"Oh my god," Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I won't love either of you if you don't cut the shit."

"'M sorry, big boy," Eddie immediately mumbles, pressing his face into his neck.

"Sorry," Robin adds, though she doesn't sound apologetic at all.

[torakowalski]

Apols for the delay but Swimmer Steve is back and pretty much exactly where we last left him.

(part one | part six)

"Fuck," says Steve. "Fuck." He hasn't said much of anything else since he came out of the changing rooms, still damp and kind of stunned-looking.

"Fuck," Eddie agrees.

Steve looks at him, a smile starting to spread across his face, going on and on like it might be endless.

God, he's handsome.

God, Eddie is stupid in love with him.

"Olympics, baby!" Eddie crows. They've already hugged; Steve got a hug from everyone, as soon as he emerged. Eddie wants to hug him again, but that would probably be too much.

"Fuck," says Steve and sits down on the floor between their two beds.

Eddie shrugs to himself and sits down with him.

They've only come back to the hotel so Steve can get showered and changed before the celebration dinner that the kids have planned. Or, actually, Steve has come back to the hotel for that; thinking about it, Eddie's not sure why he came with, except that it just felt natural.

Either way, looks like they're going to take longer than expected.

"All good?" Eddie asks, just in case.

"Jesus Christ," says Steve, which is a change from fuck and laughs. He lifts his hands up to cover his face and when he lowers them again, his eyes are wet. "The Olympics, Eddie."

Eddie nods, can't do anything but smile stupidly back at him. He doesn't think he's ever seen Steve this open and relaxed and delighted. "The Olympics, Steve."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his fingertips, mostly just making his eyelashes damper and darker from his happy tears. "You know when you've wanted something your whole damn life, but you never really thought you'd get it? It feels fucking wild to get it."

Eddie thinks about his guitar, his band, how badly he wants to stand on a stage looking out at thousands of people who all want to hear what he has to sing. Then he reminds himself that this is Steve's moment.

"I bet," he says. "Congrats. You've worked damn hard and you absolutely deserve it."

Steve leans over and bumps their shoulders together. "You're coming with me, right?"

Eddie blinks. "Where?"

"... the Olympics," says Steve, like it should be obvious.

Eddie blinks some more. "Steve. Sweetheart. Steve. The Olympics are in Korea."

"Mm," Steve agrees, "but the war's over, it's totally safe there now."

Eddie loves and hates that Steve thinks that might be the only thing putting Eddie off.

Eddie stretches his legs out so they disappear under Steve's bed and hopes there's nothing really gross under there that'll stick to his jeans. "Look, the literal only reason I've been able to afford rocking up and down the country with you is government hush money and the fact you keep buying all my meals. There's no way I can stretch to plane tickets, and I'd need my own hotel room, right? 'cause you'll be living in the athletes village?"

He could have kept going, obviously he could have kept going, but he stops there because Steve is waving a hand at him.

"What? Don't say you'll pay. There's no way you have that much extra cash, either."

"Nah," Steve says, "but my dad does. And I will be fully, fully back on the credit card, after he finds out about this."

Eddie makes a face. "But we hate your dad?"

"We really do," Steve agrees, smile not even dimming. "But we love spending his money on shit he'll hate." He drops a hand to Eddie's knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. "You'll come, right?"

"... You should take Robin," Eddie tries, one last attempt to be a good person. "Or the kids. God, the kids would shit."

Steve leaves his hand on Eddie's knee, like that's just a place where it goes now. "I'd take them all, if I could... Plus like, all their parents to keep an eye on them, but they'll all be back in school by the time the Olympics start. None of them can take like, three weeks out."

"I bet Erica could wrangle it," Eddie points out.

Steve makes a guilty face. "Love Erica, but I don't think we have the kind of relationship where we hop over to Asia, just the two of us. You know?"

Eddie wants to ask, And we do? But they do. He knows they do.

"I don't know," he says. It's a big fucking deal. He's never left the country before and he'd love to, but he really does hate Steve's dad and all he chooses to be. The idea of being beholden to him for that big a favour sits wrong in his gut, even if Mr Harrington never actually knows about it.

"Eddie," Steve says, like he's prepared to wheedle for what he wants. Then he stops, takes a breath, shakes his head. "I know it's a big ask and obviously you don't have to, if you really don't want to. I kind of just, I can't, I can't imagine doing this without you."

Eddie claps a hand to his chest. "Right in the flattery gland, Harrington."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's leg and squeezes his thigh. Is this going to be a thing? Is Eddie going to have to get Robin to have a word with him about this soon?

"You're the whole reason I've got this far," Steve tells him, all close and sincere. "If you don't want to come, that'll suck, but it's okay. I just wanna make sure that you know I appreciate everything you've done."

Eddie knows every mole on Steve's face, but Steve's close enough now to reveal a few previously unknown freckles.

Eddie chuckles weakly. "Personal space?" he suggests.

"Overrated," Steve says and then.

And then.

And then he presses his lips carefully against Eddie's.

"What?" Eddie croaks. He can feel his breath dance off Steve's mouth.

"Thank you," Steve says and kisses him again, a little firmer, a little damper this time.

"I..." Eddie is a goddamn fucking hero because he makes himself lean back. "Don't. You can't. Don't kiss me to say thank you. That's not... Don't. Please."

He's expecting Steve to sit back, blush and apologise and explain he had to best of intentions. Instead, Steve lifts the hand not on Eddie's thigh and touches his cheek. "Can I kiss you 'cause I can't imagine not kissing you?"

The centre of Eddie's chest throbs. Even he doesn't know what that means. "You don't want to kiss me," he manages.

"Kinda really do," Steve says. "So? Can I?"

(continued here)

[fairyysoup]

insatiable

matters of taste part two (repost)

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Stuck between Steve and Eddie, you start to learn the things they have in common, and a few of the things they don't.

content warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI) smut, polyamorous relationship, semi-public sex, car sex, cunnilingus, nipple play, spit kink, forced orgasms, workplace sex, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, daddy kink, size kink, praise, smoking, marijuana, discussions and appreciation of scars, canon-typical violence toward the end, like one verbatim line from the show as a wink wink nudge nudge, not edited (we die like the demobat)

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

“I feel kinda bad,” you admit glumly, blinking at Eddie through the fog in the back of his van. “Steve’s not here.”

Eddie shrugs a shoulder, his eyes sparkling at you even though they’ve gone just a little bit watery and bloodshot. You both stink like weed, the cramped quarters filling up with the smoke from the joint you pass between you. The speakers from the radio in the dash are playing the local rock station, maybe a bit too loud, but Eddie’s slightly gravelly voice still goes into your ears and plants itself right between your legs. “Yeah. Why d’you feel bad about it?”

“Well… aren’t we sort of going behind his back?”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head slowly. “Only if we don’t tell him. And trust me, I plan on telling him. Harrington and I are a lot closer than you might think, sugarplum.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Your head fills with the image of him biting Steve’s ear, tugging his hair- Steve’s hand fisted in Eddie’s shirt while you go down on him. “Are you guys together?”

“Ah… sort of. We haven’t exactly had the ‘what are we’ talk, but we fool around.” Eddie offers you the burning joint in his hand, and winks as you take it. “Doesn’t mean we don’t want to include you, though. Treat you nice, take you out on dates. The both of us.”

“Is that what this is?” You splutter a kind of half-cough, half giggle, the smoke starting to make your reflexes a little fuzzy. “R’we on a date right now?”

“If you wanna be.”

You should have known that his oddly sweet offer to pick you up and drive you to work today wasn’t exactly coming from a place of wholesome intentions. For starters, he did pose the offer while letting you recover from the first time he fucked you, while Steve was busy with a customer out on the bakery floor. His hand had been stroking a little too close to your aching cunt and your head was a little too full of endorphins for you to think it through before you said okay. 

So, when he picked you up about two hours early, you were a little shocked, to say the least. You were still wearing your pajamas- an ugly pair of sweats, and a cami that absolutely did not cover everything it needed to for you to be technically decent. Your hair a complete mess, a half eaten sandwich in hand as you answered the door. 

Eddie’s eyes did a complete once-over of your body, and then laser-focused in on your pebbled nipples raised through the fabric of your cami, before he cracked a smug smile. “Get all dressed up just for me?” 

You’d asked Eddie to wait for you to put on that itchy fucking uniform dress and apron, at least, but he just waved his hand like it was beyond pointless. “Just grab it and get dressed in the car. I won’t peek at you. Scouts honor.”

Well, now the uniform dress is wadded up in a plastic shopping bag beside you, and you’re parked outside of the Radio Shack across the street and down a ways from Mimi’s Bakery. And he’s not looking at you like any fucking boy scout. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, feeling really hot and sort of uncomfortably confined in your tight cami. He’s been staring at your tits. Not trying to hide that he is in the slightest, either. And your eyes have been lingering on his tattoos. “This can be a date.”

“Good to know,” he hums, checking his watch. “But don’t you need to be getting into that little dress pretty soon?”

“You just want to look at my tits,” you grumble as you shove the joint back into his hand. 

“I do. But I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

You gnaw on your lip. Your eyes fall to his forearm again, the cluster of bats so dark on his skin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Eddie laughs, genuinely, his chest heaving. “Tit for tat, huh? All right, sweetheart. You asked for it.”

His hands move to the hem of his shirt. He’s not wearing his uniform either, actually- instead he’s in a weather beaten metallica shirt and dark jeans. You don’t know if he just generally waits until the last second to change into his uniform, or if he was planning on not having any clothes on by the end of this anyways. Maybe a bit of both, but you’re hesitant to ask. 

He rips his shirt over his head, wads it into a ball and throws it somewhere in the vicinity of the front seat. You’re not looking at where it lands, though. You’re looking at his scars. 

Eddie’s covered in them. Large red patches on his skin that look… sort of like they could be burn scars, but more like he got dragged under an eighteen wheeler on a paved highway and lived to tell the tale. You stare, because you have genuinely no idea what to do or say. 

“Has anyone told you, you have a really good poker face?”

You huff a laugh and rip your eyes away, although you don’t really want to. The scars don’t take away from the look of him, or from the tattoos- of which there are a lot. They even help to increase the air of danger and mystery about him that you find so alluring, and you’re more entranced by the combination of the two than anything. Your face burns furiously. “Am I that obvious?”

He grunts, but it doesn’t come off as dismissive as he usually makes it. It sounds almost shy. “You’re no actress, sweetheart. But it’s okay. I know it’s bad.”

“It’s… I mean, maybe it’s alarming. Didn’t expect it,” you tell him honestly, and you sort of reach forward to touch his chest, only stopping your hand at the last second. “But it’s not bad, babe.”

Eddie makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, like he doesn’t entirely believe you, but he reaches up and grabs your hand to pull it against his chest. His skin is hot under your touch. “Don’t bullshit me- I don’t think I could handle it if you were.”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Eddie,” you whisper to him, moving to straddle his lap while your hand presses into his skin. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well,” he starts, his eyes turning up toward the roof of the van, “you did say you thought my tattoos were ‘fucking dumb.’”

“That’s… okay, yeah. Fair enough.” Your fingers dig into his chest, dragging along the outline of a spider. He’s riddled with them- zombie heads and spiders and a puppet on a string. You’re absorbed in a fantasy of tracing every one of them with your tongue instead of your fingers. Sucking in a sharp breath through your nose, you take them in slowly and try to content yourself with just touching them instead of tasting them. “I didn’t really think they were dumb, though. They’re not. They’re really, really hot. I think about them all the time, I was just too chicken shit to admit it.” 

Eddie’s wide eyes bore into yours. “Hm. So I fuck you once and you change your tune?”

“Yeah. That’s usually the best way to get me to fess up, anyways. I mean, I also didn’t want to admit that I have a big ol’ crush on you, but… here we are.” Your face heats up, and your eyes fall to his hand on yours so that you can avoid his stare. “And these are really fucking hot. Believe me.” You drag your hand down his chest, and his follows. Your touch lingers over a bit of scar tissue on his lower ribs. His breath hitches when you ghost your fingers across it. 

“Between you and me,” he murmurs quietly, his voice just a little bit shaky as you lace your fingers between his, “you’re the only one besides Harrington who’s seen them.”

Your eyes snap up to his. You open your mouth to say something heartfelt, to thank him or tell him how much it means that he would trust you with something he’s obviously a bit shy about- as shy as Eddie Munson can be. But all that comes out is, “Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“How did… how…” You struggle to ask him what happened to scar him this much. Somehow, it seems so invasive. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s not-”

“I was attacked by a swarm of bats,” Eddie says flatly. “Fuckers almost ate me alive.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His tone is serious, but his nose crinkles just a bit and his lips curl up just at the edges, and his eyes glint in a way that says, ‘I know something you don’t.’ So you bite your lip and scrape your nails lightly along his skin. “Between you and your bats, and Steve and his KGB agents, I’m starting to think you guys are just having fun tripping me up.”

He grins. “Oh, we are. How else are we supposed to keep you coming back for more?”

“Dunno. You have some really good weed.”

“Oof. Ouch. You’re only here for the drugs, babe?” He clicks his tongue and puffs the joint before handing it to you. “Should’a known. Pretty things like you are always so hard to get.”

You smirk, tucking the joint between your lips. One last puff and it’ll be too small to be useful anymore. “Not so hard. I think you got me pretty good last night.”

Eddie hums, and his hand pets up the curve of your arm. “Yeah, I did. I could still feel you squeezing me while I was trying to get to sleep.” 

“Christ, Eddie,” you breathe. Your fingers slip down low enough to skim over the trail of hair below his navel that disappears beneath his belt. “I’m still feeling you. You fucked me hard.”

“Mm. I know.”

You feel fucking insatiable. Maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the way you can’t be in the same room with him, let alone in his lap, without wanting him to just… take advantage. Arousal tickles under your skin and between your legs like an ever-present demon. 

He plucks the little stub of a joint out of your fingers and tosses it into an ashtray by the console. “I showed you mine.”

You don’t really know what to say. You can’t come up with anything, so you just… lift your arms. Straight up in the air. Staring at him, saying nothing.

Eddie looks up at you with an unreadable expression, and his eyes dip to your lips. Just for a moment, long enough for you to think that he might lean in to finally kiss you, but then as soon as the thought is there, the moment is gone and he tugs the hem of your camisole up over your head. 

All that you can think is that Eddie’s really good with his hands. Of course he is- you’d know better than anyone, after what he did last night, but somehow it still gets the better of you when he slides his palms down your vertical arms after pulling your camisole off of them, and letting his thumbs press along the curve of your cleavage to tease over your nipples. His fingertips dig into the sides of your breasts, squeezing them almost reverently. 

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows audibly over the sound of the car radio, shaking his head slowly. His eyes droop as he pets your skin and leans forward to kiss just over the sensitive peak of your breast. “You shouldn’t have hid these from me, sweetheart. Pretty baby, with her pretty little nipples teasing me all morning.”

You hum, feeling a little lightheaded at him toying with you like this. His tongue juts out to wet his lips, and you feel so exposed, trembling on top of him. His eyes are just so big and black, shining in the broad afternoon light coming in from the window behind you. 

You’re in a fucking car. Where anyone passing by could see you, parked just down the sidewalk from your job, where you have to be in… thirty minutes? Twenty? You don’t even fucking know anymore. You think you can probably deal with Mimi Callaghan’s wrath if Eddie just keeps touching you like this-

Your breath hiccups in your chest when he lets his tongue flick gently over your nipple. You feel a wreck with just the slightest touch of his hot mouth to your skin, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss him again. To just allow yourself to taste him for hours. 

He switches over, going for the other one with pursed lips and enough suction to make your toes curl in your shoes. “Question for you,” he says, much too chipper and unaffected when he pulls away almost immediately. He leaves your nipples wet and cold in the atmosphere of the van, achingly hard for him as he drags the rough pads of his thumbs over them. 

You whine petulantly at him, your nails ripping at the wall of the car behind his head. You know Eddie hears it with how he mockingly pouts his lower lip at you, tilting his head just slightly as he draws circles around the sensitive buds. “What’s the quickest you’ve ever made yourself come?”

The question takes you aback. “What?”

“On your own. No assistance,” Eddie clarifies, as if that makes the inquiry any less odd. “Start to finish. Approximate time.”

“Um. I…” You suck a breath through your teeth when he pinches one of your nipples gently, and you blurt, “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds.”

Eddie blinks, pausing the movement of his fingers. You squirm, pushing your chest into his touch, and he unconsciously resumes. “That is… so weirdly specific. How do you know that?”

“Uh.” You press your lips together tightly and hear your heartbeat in your ears. Your face feels hot for all the wrong reasons, and he’s just squinting at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “It’s uhhh… because that’s how long it takes to get halfway through the guitar solo in Stairway to Heaven?”

His face remains blank for half a second. Then, slowly, a smile stretches across his face until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “You got off to Stairway?”

You make a weak noise in the back of your throat. “You haven’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” Eddie leans forward and presses a soft kiss between your breasts, just over your heart. His hands keep up their careful flexing, his thumbs rolling gently around your nipples until you lurch your hips forward against his for some kind of relief. He smirks. “I do think it’s cute that you knew the timestamp, though. What did you do? Go through it afterwards while looking at the clock? Count the seconds?”

“It was a stopwatch,” you snarl at him. 

Eddie makes a silent ‘O’ with his mouth, winking at you as he does. “Pardon me. A stopwatch.” He sighs dramatically and releases his hold on your breasts. Your skin feels oddly chilly without the soothing warmth of his hands there, but you swallow thickly as you watch him fiddle with the electronic watch on his wrist. Under the din of the car radio, he mutters to you, “Well, I’m no Page, but I like to think I’m a pretty good guitarist. Let’s see if I can’t break his record, hm?”

“What- Eddie!” A gasp leaves your mouth as his hand wiggles under the elastic waistband of your sweats. 

“No panties today? Naughty girl,” He tuts, letting his fingers roam through your curls and trace over the wet seam of your pussy, just barely a graze but it’s enough to set you on fire. 

“You destroyed one pair already,” you point out, biting your lip as his fingers gently drag through your folds, parting them teasingly. You don’t have the heart to tell him you do have a pair in the bag with your uniform. “Didn’t feel like losing another.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgement, but he doesn’t sound too terribly interested in your reasoning. “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds, sweetheart. Better be quick, or you’re going into work feeling really needy.” The tip of his finger dips just between your folds and finds the bead of your clit, and your heart drops into your stomach. He leans forward to whisper into your ear conspiratorially, “And I’m not working today.”

The sound that leaves you is maybe less than dignified. “You’d really do that to Steve?”

“Oh, you know that I would,” Eddie murmurs darkly. His fingers curl forward, and he buries them to the knuckle in your cunt, his palm rocking against your clit with it. “And I know he’d take really good care of you, too. But I might feel a little jealous if he gets to feel you come and I don’t.”

You feel like you’ve dug your own grave, and now you have to lie in it. Eddie’s fingers are deadly quick and more precise than you could have imagined. Stroking in down to the third knuckle and then hollowing back out to trace small circles around your clit. Teasing his two fingertips just into your entrance before pulling out to tug on your clit again.  

“So wet for me already,” Eddie coos sweetly, swirling his fingers and spreading the slick around to coat your puffy outer lips. Like he’s just having fun fucking with you, and you’re eating it up all the same. “Yeah… sweet baby. Must be doing something right if you’re this soaked.”

Your fingers ache with the grip you have on the wall. The van isn’t very decked out- you’d almost chance to say it looks like he was gutting it out for a remodeling and then stopped halfway through at some point. With nowhere to comfortably put your hands, you’re holding onto a metal support beam with one, the nails of your other hand scratching into the ridge of a windowsill just above his head. 

“Eddie, please,” you whisper, your voice breathier already than you want it to be. Your hips rock against his hand, whimpering when he pushes his middle and ring into you again. He curls them forward so slowly that you feel pulled closer toward his bare chest. “Please, I’m- shit, I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

But Eddie’s not listening. Or maybe he is, but he doesn’t make it known to you- he’s too busy humming along to the fucking song playing on the radio. An anguished cry leaves you when his fingers flex unexpectedly, and it takes you a moment to recognize that he’s following the guitar riff of the song. Scissoring his fingers inside your cunt to mimic the chords, and brushing up against your g-spot as he does.

You recognize the song. It’s on one of your best friend’s mixtapes- you listened to it some months ago in the car on the way to the drive-in. It’s not a difficult tune to follow, or particularly fast, but it’s incongruous and switches up at the oddest moments. So, just when you think there’s a rhythm to his fingers, they throw you for a loop. Your face screws up, because you can’t fucking remember the name of the song while he’s acting like you’re the neck of his goddamn guitar.

Then Eddie stops humming, and starts singing. And if you weren’t already overwhelmed with everything that’s happening, the sound of his rough voice quietly following the tune would put you on fucking cloud nine. “I’m a wild child, come and love me, I want you…”

You gasp for air, and your hand plants itself on the back of his head, fingers digging into the roots of his fluffy hair and tugging excitedly. Fucking- “W.A.S.P. Wild Child. That’s it.”

Eddie snickers, tilting head as he looks up at you with an endearing smile. His free hand lifts from your hip to grip your chin. “Were you trying to place it?”

You give him a high-pitched whimper in lieu of an answer, nodding your head furiously with your eyes screwed shut. You hear him laugh, and can only imagine the cheeky grin on his face. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” Eddie squeezes your cheeks, pulling on your jaw slightly. “Open.”

You let your jaw slacken, mouth wide open for him so that he can spit into it. Moaning loudly into his face, you swallow and you realize that you… really liked that. Enough that it might give you a complex if you think about it for too long. 

You can feel how wet his skin is, because of you- because of him. The soft, slick glide of his thumb against your clit, the two deep inside you sliding in and out without resistance. Your hips grind forward onto his thrusting fingers, and you come onto his hand, making that wetness even worse. A string of moans leave your mouth, unrestrained and just barely louder than the music. 

Eddie’s nose bumps yours, and then he finally kisses you. For the first time all fucking morning, after two hours of screwing around in the back of his van, he finally kisses you while you’re riding out an orgasm on his fingers. You could smack him. But instead, you just open your mouth and let him take what you’ve wanted to give him since he knocked on your door. 

“You sound so fucking sexy when you do that,” he murmurs between kisses, and he sucks on your lower lip as he pulls away. “Like a cute little pornstar.”

You sigh quietly as he shifts, letting his fingers stroke one last time through your folds as he retracts his hand and lifts his fingers to his lips. It doesn’t surprise you when he sucks your cum from them, unabashed in his hedonism. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best.” He grins at you, then lifts his watch and presses a little button on the side. “Five minutes and fifty-two seconds. Beat that, Jimmy Page.”

“Oh, I think you’re much better than Jimmy Page,” you coo at him, tiredly wrapping your arms around his neck. You peck the tip of his nose. “But the next time you get me back here with the sole intention of fucking me, you might try kissing me first?”

Eddie blushes. “I wasn’t… ah… I didn’t know if that was, um. On the table or not.”

You frown at him. “Baby, I let you fuck me in the back room of the bakery. I kissed you last night- Why the hell wouldn’t I let you kiss me now?”

“I dunno, I’ve been with a couple girls who just… didn’t want to kiss me? You didn’t make a move, and I didn’t want to assume-”

You cut him off with a long, wet kiss that makes him grunt in surprise. You don’t know who the hell wouldn’t want to kiss Eddie, but you’ve always been a romantic at heart. You stare into his eyes, holding his face and stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You kiss me any time, any where you want, Eddie Munson. In front of whoever you want. You have carte blanche.”

“Sounds… sounds good.” Eddie’s round, dark eyes blink up at you, adoration brimming in them. “I’ll kiss you all the time, then. You’ll get sick of me.”

“I’m already sick of you,” you grumble, rubbing his shoulder. “Imagine what would happen if I got really fucking annoyed with you.”

“I can’t wait.” He presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then smacks your ass so hard it makes you yelp. “C’mon, you gotta get to work.”

“Yeah, about that.” You crawl off of his lap to grab your bag of clothes. “You mean to tell me you went out of your way to drive me to work, pick me up two hours early, and you’re not even scheduled today?”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugs. “I couldn’t go twenty-four hours without seeing you. You’ve bewitched me- OW!”

You giggle as he rubs the spot on his leg that you kicked as you were tugging your sweats off. “Oops.”

Eddie grabs your ankle and yanks you toward him so that you slip down onto your back, still giggling as he clambers on top of you and starts planting kisses across your bare chest. “Oops.”

Mimi Callaghan is a friendly woman in her mid-sixties, with bright red hair that she likes to pile on top of her head like frosting on a cupcake. It makes extreme sense that she’d surround herself with baked goods as a career move. 

She’s also sharp as a tack, which is why you turn on your heels and crush up against Eddie trying to walk back out of the door when you see that she’s in the building. 

“We gotta go, Mimi’s here,” you whisper, frantically struggling to push him back. You jam your chest up against his and wiggle your arms, grasping at the cool outside air like you can grab onto the afternoon sunlight and pull yourself out of the bakery lobby. 

Eddie’s weight solidly presses you forward. “It’s fine, sweetheart-”

“She’s gonna know we were smoking,” you retort, still pushing yourself weakly against him. You’re making a scene; you can feel your coworkers’ eyes burning into the back of your skull. 

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Je-sus, would you stop.” Eddie plants his hands on your sides and physically drags you into the bakery as you hit at his back. “Hi, Mimi!” 

“Mister Munson! What are you doing here?” Mimi’s jovial voice can be heard loud and clear all the way from the kitchen. She smacks her hands on her apron, covering the green fabric in powdered sugar. “Not that I don’t like seeing your lovely face.” 

Eddie beams at your boss, and it’s like the sunlight from outside begins and ends on his face. “Just dropping this one off.” He turns you around by the shoulders, walking you around the counter and into the kitchen. Eddie kisses the crown of your head and shoves you forward so that you stop across a decorating counter from Steve. 

Steve looks up at you from under his long lashes, a knowing smirk on his pink lips. Caramel colored hair falls over his forehead, and the contrast of the bright pink uniform shirt to his tan skin is more than tempting. 

You nearly vibrate with nerves as Steve does a slow and deliberate once-over of your entire body. “Have a good morning?”

You clear your throat, but something still grates at your voice when you say, “Something like that.”

Steve simply nods, clearly trying to swallow down his smile, and then holds up a flat disc of bread. “What is this?”

“That’s our spinach and feta focaccia,” you say, watching as he roughly shakes open a bag and drops the bread into it. The bread tears through the bottom of the bag and plops loudly onto the ground. You and Steve both stare at the fallen focaccia in silent grief. 

“Wellp. Ashes to ashes,” Eddie quips, brushing a hand through your hair. His mouth touches your ear like he means to kiss you again, but he whispers, “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m gonna kick you again.” Your eyes follow the line of Steve’s body as he bends to pick up the focaccia and toss it into a nearby bin. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you try to swallow the rogue feeling of desire as quickly as it manifests. 

Insatiable. 

Eddie follows your gaze. “Looking good today, Harrington,” he says suggestively, squeezing the back of your neck as he does. “Got some new chapstick or something?”

Steve scoffs good-naturedly, picking up another focaccia and gingerly tucking it into its bag this time. He shoots Eddie a side eye. “Yeah, actually. Wanna try it?”

“You know what, I sure do-”

Steve’s hand whips into the pocket of his apron, and a tube of cherry flavored chapstick hits Eddie right between the eyes. Eddie fumbles to catch it and glares at Steve. “I was fuckin’ kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” Steve goes back to packaging bread, while Eddie grumbles under his breath and pops open the tube to apply some.

You watch him run the chapstick over his plush lips, and he catches you staring out of the corner of his eye. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hold out your hand for him to give you the tube. 

Eddie grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up to crash his lips against yours. Saccharine cherry flavored balm bleeds into your mouth, and you falter, your hand coming up to grip the neckline of his Metallica shirt. Your face heats up, both surprised and sort of pleased that he took what you told him in the car to heart. When he pulls back, his mouth is smudged with a translucent pink shine. 

“Hm. So you guys had a really good morning,” Steve observes as you reach up to wipe the mess from around Eddie’s mouth with your thumbs. 

“Only the best for our girl,” Eddie purrs, winking at Steve once you finally let him go and very pointedly tucking Steve’s chapstick into his back pocket. “Take good care of her today?”

Steve grins, first at Eddie, and then at you. “Oh, I will.”

Eddie pats your back and turns to leave, waving at Mimi as he does. He makes it halfway out of the kitchen before her cheery voice stops him. “Before you go, Eddie, there’s free food in the back room.”

You see the baker, Andy, poke his head out of the back room, his mouth full of food. “We got hot dogs!”

“Really?” Eddie turns on his heels and makes his way toward the back room. You jump to follow closely behind, your stomach feeling suddenly hollow. You hear Steve drop what he’s doing, trailing on your heels. 

The setup in the back room isn’t what you thought it would be; some lukewarm franks under a little heat lamp, one bag of buns, miniscule toppings of pickled relish, ketchup, and mustard. Despite the miserable presentation, you’re surprised to find that almost every employee you know at the bakery is crammed in the small back room. Joey and Miranda from the morning team, obviously already clocked out, the cake decorators Clara and Bridgit, and Andy off in the corner. You and Eddie both muscle your way past Joey and go for the food with more fervor than necessary. Steve hangs back, leaning against the towers of backstock icing.

Mimi appears at the doorway with an unsettlingly bright smile on her face. “Good. Now that you’re all here, I want to have a little team meeting-”

Eddie grunts in surprise, his mouth half stuffed with food. His hot dog is already falling apart around his fingers, heaps of relish plopping messily onto a styrofoam plate. He fixes Mimi with a wide-eyed stare, and then looks at Steve with an equally helpless expression. Steve shrugs at him as if to say, ‘What do you want me to do?’

“I thought it would be nice to have a little free lunch for everybody,” Mimi says kindly. “Since we’ve also recently gotten a few new members on the team, I’m sure you’d all like to get to know each other.” She gestures at Steve and Eddie, and then looks pointedly at you beside them. “It’s… lovely to see that our closing team is already getting along so well.”

Eddie coughs, nearly choking on his food and turning away from the room with a bright crimson blush on his cheeks. 

“Eddie and I are both really happy to be here. We’re lucky to have such an… understanding trainer. We know we can be a lot to handle,” Steve says with the phoniest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie sort of side-stepping, cramming himself between Steve and the frosting buckets to get to the door. “Hey Eddie, where ya goin’?”

Eddie freezes. “I have… uh… a thing across town.”

“A thing?” Steve says incredulously.

“Really important thing,” Eddie supplements. “Have to pick up my… cat from the… vet?”

“Stay just a moment, Eddie,” Mimi says, still blocking the door to prevent him from leaving. “It’s important that I touch on a few things before you go.”

Eddie shuffles back over beside you, elbowing Steve in the side on the way. Steve whacks him on the back of the head. 

“We have a health inspection coming up, so I want everyone doing their level best to clean as much as possible,” Mimi begins. Still engrossed in your food, you take a look around the group and can tell that everyone is only really half-listening. “If the morning team can focus on cleaning their stations- Andy, the baker’s table needs to be scoured- and the evening team can focus on machinery and displays, that would be ideal. That means you as well, Steve.”

Steve holds up his hands with a confused expression. “I clean!”

“Knocking all the crumbs off of the front counter and onto the floor doesn’t count,” Mimi says flatly. “I want to see your hands looking as chapped as mine by the end of the week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nods, dropping his eyes to the floor. 

“And if you closers can do something about the pastry display,” Mimi adds, looking out of the door toward the offending display case at the front of the shop. “There’s a sort of… black grease that’s built up on the back of it. Not sure how, but I need one of you to get in there and scrub that down as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Mimi,” you say around a mouthful of hot dog bun. “We’ll get on that tonight.”

“Excellent.” Mimi sighs, “Well, that’s really all. Everyone, enjoy the rest of your days. Eddie, you’re free to… pick up your cat.”

“Thank go- you, Mimi.” Eddie bats his eyelashes as he approaches the door, chucking his styrofoam plate into a bin. “You’re an absolute goddess.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mimi chides, but steps away from the door to let him pass. As always, sharp as a tack, she adds passively, “You sure you don’t want to kiss your girl again?”

“Hm?” Eddie pauses at the door, turning to glance at you over his shoulder, like he forgot that he planted one on you right where your boss had a front row seat to see it happen. He considers it for a moment, and then cracks a smirk that makes your heart rate kick up a notch, knowing what’s about to come. “Nah. Harrington’s got her. Don’t ya, big boy?”

He’s… listen.

Listen. 

Steve is so fucking distracting, okay? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck up all your packaging, or… or put the wrong frosting on the macarons. It’s not your fault that Eddie stole your extra pair of panties before you could put them on this afternoon, so you have to feel how sticky the skin is between your thighs, and it’s fucking obnoxious. It’s not your fault that every time Steve gets close enough, he’s brushing his hand across your arm or grabbing your hips to scoot past you. Getting into your personal space, making it a goddamn nightmare to concentrate on anything.

Crouched down beside you, his shoulder nudges your leg as he digs around for a plastic top for a cake box. You know that it’s in the next cabinet over, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You press your thighs together, trying hard to still your shaking hands as you carefully ice a macaron with the correct frosting this time. 

Steve sighs and pulls back. His hand brushes your knee as he does, and it nearly buckles out from under you. You whimper slightly in the back of your throat, clutching onto the counter for support. 

Jesus Christ. Get a fucking grip.  

“You okay?” Steve asks lightly, peering up at you from his place by your hips. He’s kind of oblivious, but also kind of not. You don’t think he’s aware of how badly his closeness is affecting you, but he is doing it in the hopes of drawing a response from you. Good plan, poor ability to assess the actual damage.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It sounds unconvincing, high and tight in your throat, but you pick up the bright pink frosting bag again and get back to work. “The lids are in the other cabinet.”

“Oh.” 

He’s such an idiot. You want to jump his bones.

You can’t stop thinking about Steve’s dick in your mouth, and how unfortunate it is that it isn’t there right now. It’s 7:30, getting dark out, and there’s just you, and him, and your fucking monstrous libido alone in the bakery. You should have known it would be like this- it seemed like Eddie was almost certain that it would be, even though he’d given you plenty of attention already.

“So,” Steve starts, his voice lilting as he leans over to grab the lids from the correct cabinet. “You and Eddie?”

He doesn’t have to go into detail for you to know what he’s asking about. The shaking in your hand subsides, for now. “Yeah. You and Eddie?” 

“Mhm, yeah, for a while now.” A pause. A breath of air, suspended over a precipice. “You and me?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” You look down at him, and he’s smiling to himself. “Okay. Good. So, we’re all on the same page?”

“Eddie laid it out for me pretty well this morning, yeah. You already talked about it?” You grin when he nods, blinking up at you through his lashes. You reach down and stroke his cheek with the knuckle of your finger. “Guess we’re both pretty crazy about you.”

Steve blushes. It’s pretty on him, you think. The pink tinge on his cheeks, his cute little eye roll as he shifts on his heels. “Eddie’s, uh… yeah, when he likes you, he goes all in. He can be pretty handsy, huh?”

“Yeah, it sort of surprised me.” You find yourself smiling too, as you look down at your work. “I like it, though. I like handsy guys.”

Steve is quiet for so long that you wonder if you’ve scared him; but then you feel the warmth of his hand wrap around your ankle. His palm slowly starts to slide up your leg, until his arm nudges your skirt out of the way. 

Your hand slips, painting your thumbnail in violent bright magenta frosting. “Steve…”

“Relax,” Steve murmurs, and his voice grounds you in your place so that you don’t have a way to run from it. His hand turns, fingers brushing up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and you fight not to spread your legs automatically. “I just want to check something.”

“Check what?” you ask, as if it isn’t painfully obvious when his hand stops, fingertips finding the sticky, wet mess at the tops of your thighs. Steve’s breath audibly hitches, and you freeze, your eyes snapping forward to the front of the bakery. 

You should really lock the door.

Steve presses his hand further upwards, and you don’t think he’s expecting to find you without any underwear- his finger dips quite suddenly between your wet folds and you both startle, you fumbling your frosting bag with a quiet gasp and him dropping his forehead to rest against your hip. 

You grind down onto his fingers without thinking, making his fingertip slip just slightly into your hot entrance. Steve groans and digs a white knuckled grip with his free hand into the edge of the counter beside you. 

“We’re gonna take a break,” Steve blurts loudly, without warning, his voice sounding hoarse and strained. 

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you agree shakily, dropping everything in your hands immediately. “We’re closing early tonight.”

“We are?”

You mean to stroke Steve’s hair when he pulls his hand away from you, but in your rush you sort of just bonk him on the head with the flat of your palm and then fucking bolt. You sprint to the front door, turn the latch on the handle and flip the cardboard sign to ‘closed.’

As you turn to make your way back to the kitchen, you glimpse the pastry case and it’s enough to almost make you pause. That’s… okay, that looks like shit. Black grease shining all over the wall behind the shelves, like someone unloaded the oil cache from the donut fryer down the back of it. Your eyes drift back to the kitchen, and find Steve leisurely untying his apron as he walks toward the back room. 

Yeah, no. Dick first. Pastry case later.

Your hands hover over the tie of your apron as you blaze through the kitchen after him. To undress, or not to undress? You’re not totally sure what the vibe is yet, but you can always-

Broad hands grab you as soon as you step through the door into the back room. You yelp as you’re pulled suddenly into a warm embrace, Steve’s arms wrapping around you and his body pressing you up against the book keeper’s desk. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” Steve whispers, his breath touching your neck before his lips do. He grabs your thighs and hoists you up onto the desk, crowding between your knees before you can think to close them. 

His hands are everywhere. Untying your apron, answering your question for you. In your hair, tugging your head back so he can mouth at your neck without obstructions. Undoing the front of your dress so that he can grope at your bare chest. 

Handsy guys. You fucking love handsy guys. And now you have two of them. 

“Mind if I ask,” Steve mutters softly, palms sliding under your skirt, “no underwear…?”

“Eddie stole them.”

“Of fucking course.” He huffs a laugh in your ear; you can hear his eye roll with it. “Can’t say I blame him, though. I kept the ones from last night.”

You whimper high in your throat as he latches onto your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. There’s a moment when you consider how different he is compared to Eddie; Eddie’s a little rough around the edges in just about every way, and that includes how he handles you. Not that you don’t like it, but Steve is just… gentle. Almost soft, in a way. 

Your breath hitches as his fingers coax your skirt up your legs and your wet cunt hits the cool air. Hips squirming toward him impatiently, trying to meet him in the middle, and Steve’s too busy tasting you to care. “Little needy, are we?”

“Cut the crap, Harrington, I want to fuck you so bad-” You gasp when he bites down on your lip a little bit harder.

“Such a romantic.” Steve doesn’t sound as miffed as he tries to appear, as he reaches to undo his belt. “Wanted to warm you up first, make sure it wouldn’t hurt. Guess not.”

“It won’t.” 

Steve lifts his eyes, staring levelly at you with an amused expression. The twinkling sound of his belt buckle fills the quiet air. “If you say so.”

He’s quick about it, to your relief. Which isn’t to say that he isn’t still infernally gentle, even though you wish he’d just grab you by the throat and slam into you at this point. That’s just not Steve Harrington’s style, apparently. No, his hands grab your hips and rub soothing little circles into the skin as his cock splits you open, and your nails scratch over his collar and up into his hair. 

“Fuck, Steve.” It does hurt, just a bit. That raw aching when he fills you, because you weren’t ready for it and he’s so fucking big that parts of you have to be moved out of the way to accommodate him. Your toes curl, and your mary janes pop off and scitter to the floor behind him when you wrap your legs around his waist. 

His voice low and quiet, right up against your ear, Steve gives you a small groan that tells you more about how desperate he is than his words do. “Told you. You’re so tight- think it’s too much for this little pussy.”

“N-no, it’s no-OT-” You writhe against him when he hollows out just slightly and pushes back in, getting half an inch deeper. Your hands tear at his clothes and his hair, looking for something to hold onto.  “Shitshitshit- Steve, Jesus Christ.”

Steve shushes you, cradling your body against him like he’s trying to console you while he keeps rocking himself into you. “You’re working yourself up, honey, you gotta just relax. Take a deep breath for me, baby. Deep breath, c’mon now-” 

You take a gasping breath that sort of stalls in your lungs because he’s still moving, and it hurts but it also feels so fucking good and cathartic that you’d kill him if he stopped. Steve’s arm is around your back to hold you by the neck, and his other hand has one of yours trapped in a crushing grip between your chests. He squeezes it softly with every slow push and pull he makes inside you. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck.” You’re hissing through your teeth, clawing at his back to urge him deeper and at the same time ground yourself. Each breath leaves you with a shallow, anguished moan attached, which would be embarrassing, except you’re not thinking clearly enough to sort through the muck of your emotions right now. “Don’t- don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop,” Steve assures you, inching forward just enough to sink his cock a little further into you before drawing slowly out, giving it to you in small doses. You whine as he pushes in, and he coos with a bit of gravel in his voice, “I know, it’s a lot. You’re taking it so well.”

“Love your cock,” you mutter weakly, surprising both Steve and yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

“I hope so,” Steve chuckles. He squeezes your hand in his comfortingly. “I’m gonna make you take all of it, I promise.”

That sounds… kind of threatening, when he puts it like that. Like a backhanded slap and then a swift kiss to the cheek. 

You like it so much. 

“Hear that?” he murmurs lightly, way too soft for the way his hand tightens on your neck. In the back of your mind you register what he’s talking about- the obnoxiously slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your cunt absolutely drowning him in your need. “You’re getting my cock all wet, babygirl. Being so good for da- me.”

Steve finally slams into you just then, and you loudly cry out his name at the feeling of him reaching the end of you. It disrupts your train of thought so thoroughly that you almost miss his little slip-up. Almost. 

As you recover you manage to reach up and take his chin in your hand. “Daddy?” 

His eyes are so dark, but he looks a little shy as you stare into his face. He blinks rapidly, cheeks flushing a deep pink. Gotcha. 

“Fuck,” Steve groans, his forehead falling to rest against yours. “Shit, don’t- you don’t have to call me that-”

“Maybe I want to,” you breathe, gasping when his hips lurch forward into yours. “I wanna be good for you, daddy.”

He growls under his breath, blunt nails scraping down your thighs. “Sounds so sweet when you say it.”

“Mm. Harder.”

Steve’s enthusiasm gives you a sort of perverse satisfaction. He hikes your knee up to his waist and buries himself inside you, his skin impacting yours and the desk thudding against the wall behind you. You whimper when he starts up a pace that has him panting against your ear. 

Your head rolls back on your shoulders, and Steve wastes no time tracing the line of it with his tongue. Half aware of what you’re doing, your hand shoots down and around his hip to grab a fistful of his ass, urging him on. He nearly snarls against your throat, hot air bursting across your skin as the arm holding you to him leaves your back and his hand slams loudly against the wall behind you. 

Steve really is a sight to behold when he loses his composure. He’s always gorgeous, of course- infuriatingly so, at times. But now your gaze is clouded with lust and your mind is stumbling while you blink your eyes open at him, and he’s so close to you with his hair falling across his brow and his lips parted as he stares directly into your face. His deep brown eyes are blown wide and black, heavy lidded, and you feel like you might burst.

“I’m gonna come,” you blurt suddenly, hands frantically scrambling up to his shoulders and clutching onto him tightly and trying to lock yourself down at the feeling. It bubbles up out of nowhere, like Steve managed to conjure it up just by looking at you.

You see a smirk break across his face just before your eyes fall shut. “So soon?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “S’too good. You feel so good, daddy.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, but there’s a little bit of a snicker there in it. His hand skims your thigh and then you feel his thumb touch your clit, and everything whites out of existence. “You’re too perfect. Come for me.”

You don’t answer him. You just do, and it sweeps through you before you’re able to brace yourself for it. Fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, you cry out, louder than you mean to be but beyond the point of caring. Your legs shake, tense and release with each wave because Steve just keeps going- not speeding up or slowing down, but just remaining the steady constant in the ebb and flow. 

Steve curses lowly, his lips dragging gently over yours but not quite going all the way in for a kiss. “Just like that- get my cock nice and creamy, baby.”

Your face burns. The rest of your skin feels hot and clammy, sticking to him wherever you touch his body. There’s a whirlwind of sound going on in your head; from Steve’s deep grunts, your moans, the desk banging against the wall and his skin impacting yours, you don’t know what’s what anymore. 

You almost don’t even notice it when the phone on the wall above your head starts ringing. 

“Fuck.” Steve rears back, pissed off and rutting his hips into yours so hard that you cry out. He glances at the clock on the far wall and scoffs, “Who the hell calls this late?” before snatching the phone off the hook. 

His free hand finds your throat, pinning you back against the wall. You whimper, defenseless as Steve presses the phone to his ear. “Thank you for calling Mimi’s Bakery, this is Steve.”

For fuck’s sake.  

You feel like you’re going to combust. You’re still too sensitive from your orgasm and Steve’s hand on your throat locks you in place to hold you still while he starts fucking into you harder. Skin on skin on skin, bent backwards over the desk as his hips slam into yours and the messy patch of hair at the base of his cock grinds up against your clit. You whine loudly, and Steve’s hand just tightens that much more to silence you. 

He’s not even looking at you. Steve’s eyes have drifted off to the side, focused on whatever the person on the phone is saying. He tilts his head, gnawing on his lip and humming low in his throat while he considers whatever the question is. 

“Mmm… dunno, let me check on that for you.” Steve finally looks you directly in the eye. “Do we have cream pies tonight?”

Your brain short circuits. What the… what? He… he fucking put the selection of cream pies out himself earlier? Why would he ask you?

Then he nods downward, his eyes flickering to where he pulls back and drives his cock into you. Steve looks back up at you questioningly. 

Oh. Oh fuck.  

You nod your head quickly, your nails biting into the skin of his forearm. You don’t even second guess it. You’re so close to your second orgasm that you can taste it on the back of your tongue, and you don’t think you could handle it if he pulled out now. 

Steve grins, and you think it’s probably the prettiest thing you’ve seen all night. “Yes sir, we do. However the bakery is closed tonight, so those will be available tomorrow. Would you like me to set those aside for you? Mhm, how many?”

He goes on like that for another minute, but you’re barely listening anymore. Your cunt pulses, so wet that you can hear every slow drag of his cock before he reaches the end of you again. All your muscles lock down, your head digs back against the wall, and you come again. Hard.  

“Thank you for calling sir have a good night bye,” Steve chokes out in one long breath, and then his hand slams the phone down onto the receiver. He buckles forward over you and gasps loudly. “Holy shit, oh my god. Good girl, good fucking girl-”

And his mouth is on yours, sucking at your bottom lip as his thrusts turn sloppy. His hand leaves your throat to skim around your waist and pull your chest flush to his. He cradles you close and plants his hips against yours, stealing your breath with kisses and moaning sweetly as he comes. 

Afterwards, the room is way too fucking still and quiet. Your skin tingles, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks as it milks his cock, but the silence makes your ears ring. You card your fingers through his hair, letting Steve sweep his tongue against yours as many times as he wants as long as it means he’ll stay this close to you for a little while. 

“That wasn’t how I thought it would be.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your lip. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dunno.” You pause as he presses a chaste kiss to your closed lips, your eyes fluttering. “Maybe we could do it in a bed next time?”

Steve laughs at that. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to you, his voice touched with something so genuine that it rattles you, nearly making tears prick at your eyes. You just cling to him, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to sniffle about it. 

“Thank you,” you mumble wetly into his neck. 

Steve sighs when he pulls back. His hand comes up to softly smooth your hair back as he takes in your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Nothing. You’re just… you’re so sweet.”

He hums softly, catching a stray tear on his thumb as it falls down your cheek. To your relief, he doesn’t mock you or seem disturbed by it, he just takes it in stride. “Do you want me to… not be?”

“No, it’s- it’s a good thing, I swear-” You lean your cheek into his hand, letting him hold your face as you reel yourself in. “I’m just getting used to it, that's all.”

“Good. ‘Cuz it’s only gonna get worse from here,” Steve whispers with a gentle smile. He pets your thigh. “Feel better now?”

You grumble in the back of your throat. “The fuck’s that s’posed to mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve been looking like you wanted to rip my clothes off since you got here.” Steve chuckles a bit when you whack him on the arm, “Only an observation, you’re not good at hiding it.”

Serves you right for thinking he was oblivious. “You guys have me fucking figured out and I’ve been with you for, like, a day.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He hisses when he takes your hip in his hand and slowly pulls out of you, leaving you whining from the emptiness. “I know, honey. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you mutter, biting your lip when he adjusts the front of your dress and buttons it back up for you carefully. “No, you’re really wonderful. Daddy.”

Steve tilts his head and purses his lips, trying to hide the smile on his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting you to pick up on that.”

“You’re not good at hiding it.”

Steve snickers, pulling you close to rest his forehead against yours again. He presses a few slow kisses to your lips, lingering over them like he’s trying to decide whether he really wants to go back to work or not. You’re not about to tell him to stop. 

CRASH!

You both instantly freeze, listening to the ungodly loud clatter of a million pastry boxes hitting the ground. Steve’s brows dig into a deep frown very quickly, while you put the front of his pants to rights and push yourself forward off the desk. 

“The fuck was that?”

“Why are you asking me, hot shot?” You smack him on the back, making him lurch toward the door. “If we’re being burgled, I’m the only one here not wearing pants.”

Still, you grip onto his belt and creep behind him through the door to the kitchen, peering cautiously over his shoulder. You don’t immediately see anything amiss in the bakery, except that half a display of muffins and cinnamon rolls has been knocked halfway to hell. Things are eerily quiet for a few more seconds, before something leaps up off the ground and starts flapping around the bakery lobby, snarling and snapping. 

You scream, clutching onto Steve’s middle and nearly hauling him back into the back room again. It looks like a giant flying… stingray? No, stingrays don’t have teeth. It’s like a weird, disgustingly large bat with no actual head. Like a leech with long teeth and wings. 

You vaguely hear Steve saying something, but you’re too busy trying to battle the bat in a game of who-can-screech-the-loudest. It’s only when Steve finally turns, grabbing you by the shoulders so that you can look at him, that you stop to consider what he’s saying. 

“-fire, get me something with fire, okay?”

“Fire?” You try to maintain a steady balance, keeping an eye on the thing in the bakery lobby and his face. 

“Yes, babe, fire. That hot shit that burns stuff, remember? Get me some of that.”

You nod mutely, starting to shake from adrenaline. You watch Steve pick up a giant metal rolling pin off the baker’s table, twirling the pin in his hand in a way that should not be as attractive as it is. 

You try to think of something in the bakery that creates fire- something handheld, you assume, because the only thing coming to mind is the little stove in the corner used primarily to melt chocolate and different icings. For a kitchen, not too many things in it conjure up flames at a moment's notice. 

But then you remember, on Saturdays the morning team makes crème brûlée for the brunch crowd. 

You dive for the decorators table, but you honestly have no idea where they keep the blow torches. It’s a long shot in the dark, but you just start hauling shit out of the cupboards like your life depends on it. 

It might, you think wearily. 

Over the counter, you can hear Steve scuffling with the screeching bat, and you pause long enough to glance up at what’s going on in the lobby. You manage to catch him at the exact moment that he cracks the bat with the rolling pin, knocking it across the bakery like a baseball and making it slam into the wall beside the pastry case. 

You blink down at the half empty cupboard in front of you and see the emerald green can of a blow torch, shining up at you like the light at the end of the tunnel. Your shaking hands fumble with it as you yank it out. “STEVE!” 

He turns just in time to see you hurl the blowtorch across the front counter at him. Which is probably not great in the grand scheme of safety measures, but y’know. 

He snatches the blowtorch out of the air right as the fucking bat starts writhing around again. Steve flicks it on and lights the damn thing up without a second thought, creating a blazing inferno on the bakery floor. 

It takes a second for the fire to die down, and in that time you kind of army crawl around the counter to sit and stare at the bat with wide, unblinking eyes. 

Steve says your name. You don’t respond. 

He takes a couple steps toward you, but then stops short. When you snap your eyes to him, he’s running his hand frustratedly through his hair, staring at the pastry case. 

You hesitantly inch forward on your knees and look around the side of it at what he’s fussing over. The case itself is intact, a few of the pastries themselves gone askew when, you presume, the giant ass demon bat flew out of it. But the back of it… that’s a whole other story. 

Where before there was what appeared to be just a giant, slick grease stain, now there’s a gaping hole with a glowing membrane across it. You don’t know what it is, but Steve seems to as he swears like a sailor and drops to sit on the ground next to you. 

“Bats,” you blurt out, catching Steve's attention. He turns to gaze at you, holding his head in his hands. You look at him apprehensively. “Eddie said he was attacked by bats.”

Steve is quiet for way too long, blinking at you like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then, he nods slowly. “We need to call Eddie.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 23

part 1 | part 22 | ao3

cw: alcohol, recreational drinking

Steve fusses with his hair in the side mirror again, tugging awkwardly at his borrowed clothes. He feels stupid, standing here fidgeting in the parking lot like some kind of nervous freshman, but half of Hawkins seems to be here tonight and Robin’s got him dressed like a loser — worn green flannel and a ripped black tee with a faded picture of The Smiths. Jesus. “Did you really have to dress me like this?” 

“What? You look cute!” 

“I look like I raided Jonathan Byers’ closet.”

“No, you look like someone a certain neighbor is going to be drooling over all night.” Steve’s grateful for the dark then; for the blush it hides on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault you don't know how to make a deal; if you wanted to borrow a specific shirt, you should have said so before we shook on it.”

“Besides,” she ignores him when he rolls his eyes at her, “you wouldn’t even let me smudge eyeliner on your lower lash line like I wanted to, so I really don't feel like you’ve earned complaining privileges.” 

“I’ll complain if I fucking want to,” he grumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, then forces himself to look away from the mirror. Rolls his shoulders back and down. “He’s not even here, anyway.”

“Ah-ha! So you did check.” She links their arms together, starts dragging Steve across the uneven gravel, her ankles wobbling in her low-heeled boots. “‘Just looking for a good parking spot,’ my ass. God, I’m always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct. I should really play the lottery next time I visit my grandparents..."

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure what luck and correctness have to do with each other, but sure.

She stumbles over a rock; pushes into his side, grinning, “I’m serious! I’ll play the lottery, and I’ll win big, and then you’ll see. Might even split my winnings with you if you’re nice to me.” 

“I’m literally so nice to you all the time, but okay. Can’t wait to take half your earnings when you get ten bucks off a scratcher.” 

“Hey, five bucks is five bucks! That’s like an hour and a half of our lives.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s just depressing.”

They walk arm and arm down the narrow footpath to the party — ferns brushing their calves, dry dirt beneath their shoes kicking up tiny clouds of dust — and as the path opens up Steve sees the place is packed. More packed than the overstuffed parking lot let on. There are people scattered over the picnic grounds in groups of fours and fives, a full dance floor under the main pavilion; a DJ set up at the front with food and drink stands to the side; a giant bowl of spiked punch; a tower of solo cups; a couple of coolers filled with beer.

In the surrounding grass he sees more tables, more people. A couple of guys he remembers from swim team rally around an arm wrestling match; another group plays beer pong on a brown fold-up table that they definitely stole from someone’s church. There's a circle of burnouts playing hacky sack behind a tree.

The bonfire burns brightly on the hillside in the distance, and beyond that he spots the faint glow of trail lights leading up to a bridge under the falls. 

Part of him wants to follow the trail. Shake Robin off, pretend like he’s going to take a leak. Find a nice rocky overhang to camp under for a while.

Listen to river sounds. Gentle slosh; cricket buzz.

Maybe he gets drunk up there alone. Maybe he just enjoys the solitude; lies on a rock on his belly by the icy river’s edge, swirls his hand in frigid water and doesn't dream of dark brown curls.

“Steve?” Robin nudges him. “You good?”

Another, much less annoying part of him reminds him that he’s Steve Goddamn Harrington. He knows how to have a good time at a party.

Who cares if he feels too old to be here, or if it’s weird to see so many faces that used to call him Captain or King? Who cares that he's one smudge of eyeliner away from looking like a full-blown new wave art freak?

He’s not about to slink off to do depressed weirdo wallflower shit when the DJ’s playing Wham!

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder. “You want a drink?” 

“Yes, please.” 

—

The drinks are strong.

Steve’s pretty sure the punch bowl is a lot more hunch than punch, but there’s still no sign of Vickie, and Robin’s getting that sad little stress wrinkle between her brows about it, so Steve says bottoms up and starts chugging. 

They wince their way through two cups each. Robin plugs her nose on the second one like she’s about to do a high dive, and Steve laughs and takes her hand, leading her into the crowd just as Take on Me comes on. The lights all blur together as they shimmy and shake and twirl, moving like a couple of dorks, but Steve’s having a great time. Bobbing his head to the beat; a big, dumb grin on his face as he moves his hips. Robin shouts “Watch this!” over the music, and the next thing he knows they’re competing to see who can bust the worst dance move. 

He brings out all the big guns, the full-groan dad maneuvers.

The sprinkler, the lawn mower, the fucking disco finger. 

Robin answers with a sloppy attempt at the robot, so he makes up a new move he calls be kind, rewind, and she laughs like a horse and pretends to walk down a flight of stairs.

She’s crouched into a goofy lunge, two steps into the ascent back up, when the song fades out and a ballad takes over. The crowd presses in to slow dance; Robin steps on someone's toes.

“Hey, watch it!” the person hisses.

Robin startles hard; knocks herself off-balance when she tries to stand up straight, babbling, "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Are you- are you okay? I'm such a klutz, oh, my god, I'm—"

Steve snatches her up under the armpits; puts her back on her feet. Then he looks up and realizes who exactly she just stepped on. 

Well, shit.

—

part 24

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall. 

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up. 

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-" 

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?" 

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock." 

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs." 

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants." 

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?" 

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all." 

*

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager. 

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously." 

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-" 

Dustin starts squealing. 

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat. 

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?" 

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve." 

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile. 

"Baker boy, hi!" 

Steve's mouth goes dry. 

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone. 

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves. 

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner? 

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?" 

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk. 

"Told you I was the best." 

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-" 

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?" 

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-" 

"We'd love to stay!" 

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy. 

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?" 

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate. 

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite." 

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!" 

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-" 

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor." 

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first." 

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though." 

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail. 

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.