#everything you write is amazing

[schoopsahoy]

i’ve finally got around to reading this and oh my GODDDD it did not disappoint !!! i lovelovelove this plot and it was so hot and ugH i can’t wait for the next part <3

Chapter Summary: Steve and you explore the whole "benefits" part to this new arrangement of yours (and maybe the "friends" part too...) | NSFW 18+

Chapter Warnings: *please see masterlist and previous chapter for more warnings* people of Chicago forgive me for taking liberties with details of your city, SMUT (oral, fingering, semi-public, dom!/possessive!steve with some ass slapping/crying/steve calls you a slut)

18.3k words | A/N at the end

Part 2: Cutie

masterlist | playlist

Buzzing fingertips brush up and down your spine before soft lips graze over your bare shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their trail. His unintentional wake up call causes you to push your arms further under the pillow and stretch the limbs that are tangled in the sheets as you resist and welcome the slow feeling of waking. As the bed dips next to you, your eyes squeeze shut against the warm sun landing on your face, or maybe to avoid looking at the consequences of your actions last night directly in the eye.  

Fluttering open slowly at the muffled sound of him walking into your bathroom just in time to catch a butt that’s too cute for words slipping behind the door. As the water of the shower starts and a quiet hum of what you’re certain is Steve Harrington singing to himself, you push your face into your pillow to fight the smile that’s forming. 

It doesn’t feel like anything that warrants consequences and so far, this is a pretty fantastic way to wake up on a Sunday morning. Inhaling the scent of his intoxicating cologne that now clings to your sheets as a reminder of how you spent the night with each other, your thighs press closer together, stomach flipping in excitement. Or maybe it’s nerves. Rolling onto your back, your bottom lip squished between your teeth as you realize you’ve never done something like this. Has Steve? How is any of this even supposed to work? 

Your brain begins to swirl with too many questions that hold far too many ambiguous answers. Christ, you haven’t even had a sip of coffee yet this morning, how do you even start to figure all of this out? Sitting up, your eyes roam over the trail of clothes you left in your hungry and rushed race to your bed last night. Glancing at the closed bathroom, you tug on your fingers. Did he expect to have sex again right away? After today, would you just call or text one another and ask to hook up blatantly? But, was that rude? Do you get meals together beforehand -  isn’t that just dating?

A soft buzz of a phone somewhere in the pile of clothes pulls you from your spiraling, and you grab a pair of shorts and t-shirt, making your way to the kitchen. Breakfast first - take it one step at a time, just as you had told Robin to do. 

As you go through the motions of pulling out fruit for breakfast and making some coffee, you’re still mulling over how all of this will work, but more importantly, how it ends. Maybe it’s a little pessimistic to think of something ending before it even begins, but it's a realistic and necessary part of the plan in your opinion. You haven’t been shy in letting Steve know your feelings on love or relationships in general, and you know he’s going to be dating during this arrangement, but will that matter? 

Leaning onto the counter, you start to peel a tangerine slowly as your mind wanders to what if’s and consequences - like the hurt one or both of you could potentially feel and the Robin of it all if it ends badly. Steve’s a good guy, and you’re already certain he won’t be able to separate the sex from the feelings. You’ll end up being sick of one another, or hurting each other, all ending with being unable to be together as a group just as Robin had warned against. 

“Hey.”

The sound of his voice sends your shoulders up to your ears, jumping slightly and the fruit goes shooting out of your hand as he dives to catch it. His hand closes around it, the veins prominent and trailing to his tanned forearm. Your eyes follow the lines, freckles across his bare torso pull your gaze until it’s roaming over slightly damp and dark chest hair. Connecting his freckles and moles all the way up his neck until you arrive at his face, where a soft and sleepy lopsided smile sits. Steve’s free hand reaches up and tousels his damp hair, darker and ruffled from a towel and his hand. A bead of water runs down his jaw, to his neck and you’re struck with the desire to follow it down the entire length of his body with your tongue. Swallowing harshly at the thought, your legs press together tightly. 

His outstretched hand offers you the tangerine as you mutter, “Uh, thanks. Good…” you turn and fumble with a cup of coffee and hand it to him as you take far too long to finish the greeting, “morning.” 

He takes a sip, a soft whisper of his own, “Morning,” around the rim of the mug. His lips twitch up even more on one side as his eyes watch your thighs stay clamped together firmly. 

Settling your hip against the counter, your eyes continue to roam over his body as you both sip from your mugs. Steve’s a quiet guy you’re beginning to realize - in his head a lot. A soft and muted confidence that seems to sit under the surface of his skin, buzzing and waiting to be released at the right moment. He has to know that he looks good - freshly showered and choosing to not wear a shirt just to rile you up. 

Steve sets his mug down and folds his arms over his chest, turning his head to catch you in your staring. His hazel eyes bright with mischief instead of sleep now. They have their own gravitational pull, sucking you in and hypnotizing to the point of having you blurt out the first thing on your mind, “Do you always walk around shirtless in other people's apartments?”

He raises his eyebrows, tossing a raspberry in his mouth before looking pointedly at your chest then up at your eyes, “You’re wearing my shirt.” He licks his thumb clean of the juice left from the fruit, smirking around the pad of it as he asks, “Why? Does my lack of clothing bother you?”

“Nope, not like I haven’t seen it before,” you sip your coffee, avoiding his gaze.

He hums, eating another raspberry before continuing, “So, not at all distracted? Not thinking about me at all?”

Setting your mug down with a thunk on the counter, you cross your arms, popping the p as you respond, “Nope.”

His eyes glint as they scan your pressed together legs, he’s enjoying this game of chicken far too much. It’s a situation that you know is ridiculous, but you’ve been the one to come onto Steve twice now, and it’s his turn to initiate aside from a text. Your refusal to admit you’re salivating over his shirtless body is burning under his skin, the air between you dangerous. It’s electrically charged to the point of a palpable pulse around you both. Like right before a storm hits and lightning strikes for the first time, and with the eye contact you’re giving each other, you know one of you is going to get hit. 

His fingers tap aimlessly against the counter he’s leaning on, forearms and biceps flexing as he tilts his head, clearing his throat. Your lips form a smirk as you catch his eyes roam over where his shirt ends and meets your thin sleep shorts. Gesturing to your face, you whisper, “My eyes are up here, Harrington.”

He takes a deep breath and his stubbornness breaks first, turning his body, his arm reaches out and snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His other hand grabs your chin and tilts your mouth up to meet his. Raspberry and citrus fill your senses as your teeth, tongue and hands clash around each other in a frantic and sloppy kiss. Steve is greedy, tugging on your bottom lip and dragging a moan out of you as he releases it with a quiet pop. His ragged breathing echoes around you both.

Smiling through your own shallow breaths, you quip, “A little worked up this morning, Steve?”

Calloused long fingers tug at your waist, his eyes locked on the space where your bodies meet. Answering your question in the motion of pulling your shorts down and lifting you onto the counter. Large hands on your hips slide you to the edge harshly. Steve doesn’t waste anymore time, hands splayed wide across your thighs as he pushes them apart and drops down. His nose and lips slide up your plush skin, frantic, rushed short kisses and barely there nips until his thumbs spread your slicked folds apart for him. Your fingers push into his still damp hair, falling back against the counter completely as you feel his breath on your aching center. 

Steve laughs against you, the warm air from his mouth sending a chill up your spine as he whispers, “Fucking knew it, you’re already so wet for me,” he kisses the inside of your thigh before teasing, “A little worked up this morning, babe?”

His movements slow, confidence returning from the state he finds you in. Confirmation that you did in fact want him just as badly as he wants you this morning. Fuel for him to tease you and make you beg for it like you both seemed to love to do to the other. Hands squeezing at your thighs, he leaves a kiss on your stomach, nose nudging the hem of his shirt up as his lips graze back and forth above where you desperately want him. 

“I-”

His tongue licks a long and slow stripe through your slit without warning, drawing a moan from you, unable to even recall what you were going to say. His warm breath fanning over your swollen nerves, you squirm closer and tug on his hair, searching for more. 

Tongue flicking your sensitive button once, he pulls away just enough that his lips barely brush against you as he whispers, “You’re kind of needy in the morning, not gonna even say please?”

“Steve,” you whine his name out like it’s the word he wants you to say.

He draws away further, the slight scruff on his jaw tickling the inside of your legs and you huff a breath through pouted lips as he presses a kiss to your thigh instead of where he had just been. Humming as he looks up at you and admits with a boyish grin, “I like when you say my name like that.”

Lips brushing back and forth against your thigh, nipping the skin and then stopping at your entrance. His hands tighten on your hips as he teases, “Come on baby, you can say it. I know you want to say it.”

Your hips adjust on the counter, wiggling to try to get closer as your stomach somersaults at his tone. Steve grips your waist like it’s nothing, a piece of fabric about to be easily blown away by the wind. Your arousal glistens against your puffy lips, slick moisture dripping down them and onto the countertop. He peers up at you with a cocky smirk, his teasing having the exact effect he knew it would. 

Steve hovers over you, tongue jutting out to kitten lick at you again and his name falls from your lips once more, this time even more desperate, hips pushing against the grasp he has on them. 

He stands, hands moving down and back up your thighs now as he stares down at you. Fingertips buzzing and charging your veins like they’re wires, sending jolts of desire that lead straight to the tightening band in your stomach. His lips form a fake pout that’s threatening to crack into a smile as he teases, “So close honey, I know Steve sounds an awful lot like please, but-”

“Please.”

Your please is involuntary, and his reaction is immediate. 

A finger dips into your entrance, causing you to gasp, and his thumb draws your slick up, swirling around the swollen nerves as he hovers over your face, “See? That wasn’t so-”

“Shut up, Steve,” commanding into his cocky mouth.

Steve kisses you, a brief pass of his lips against yours, before diving back in and deepening it, tongue licking your bottom lip so you can taste yourself at the same time he pushes a second finger into you. He swallows your moans, lips molding around your top one as his nose nudges against yours. His fingers quickly pump in and out of you, drawing out more sighs of his name into his mouth. 

He slips a third finger into you and your back arches off of the counter as his mouth parts and pants against yours, “Yeah?”

Nodding against him, your hands grip at his bare shoulders, fingernails pressing crescent-moon indents into his skin as he curls all three fingers and his thumb leaves soft, quick presses to your throbbing clit. 

“Steve-right…keep…fuck.”

Steve is probably the best listener you’ve ever met as he continues the exact same movement, over and over again, building his speed. Fingers continuing their pumping, the sounds of your walls dripping around him filling the quiet in between your sighs. He curls them into the spot you can never reach yourself, while paying attention to the way your nerves vibrate under his thumb. You cease to be human at that moment, you’re a rubber band, pulled tight and taunt, waiting to snap far quicker than any other man has been able to get you to do with only his fingers. 

Your entire body is clinging to him, arms wrapped around his neck, hips canting up into his hand’s movements, neck exposed for his lips and teeth to sink into. Behind pinched eyes, an entire galaxy swirls, shooting you into exploding stars and meteorites as your body vibrates against his. Breathlessly crying out his name as the coil in your stomach releases, the rubberband finally snapping. 

Steve’s lips move up and down your neck, pressing wet, hot open mouthed kisses against your sweat slicked skin and his hand begins to slow its movements until he pulls them out of you. Staring up at him, you could orgasm again as he slides his fingers into his mouth, smirking around the digits as he watches your eyelashes flutter and your own mouth fall open. Never breaking eye contact with you, he finally pulls them out of his mouth with a subtle pop, as you seem to catch your breath a little, returning to earth. If you weren’t certain before, you are now - he’s definitely earned the nickname you gave him. 

Determined to repay his teasing and knock his ego down a few pegs though, you quickly sit up, fingers tugging on the belt loops of his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper. He whispers, “Need a hand?”

You draw the zipper down slowly and peer up at him with narrowed eyes, “Steve, do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

He grins, cocky as ever, “Is that rhetorical ques-oh fuck…”

His eyes roll and he leans forward, hands falling to the counter on either side of your body as your hand wraps around his length, thumb dragging over the already leaking tip as you start to pull gently. 

Sandwiched tightly between him and the counter at your back, you let your body drag against his the entire way down to your knees. Peering up at him with wide eyes, you question innocently, “What’s wrong Steve? You seem worked up about something.”

He peeks down at you with pursed lips that are fighting the word he knows you’re going to make him say too. Keeping eye contact as you slowly lick up his entire length, tracing the veins until your tongue swirls around the tip. Then taking the head just barely between your two lips, tongue flicking into the slit. He shudders, muscles of his arms flexing as his hands move to brush through his hair, throwing his head back with a groan as you turn his teasing back on him, “Come on Steve, don’t you want this? Just say the word, baby.”

Your name falls from his lips in a pant as his hands drop down to your head. You draw more of him into your mouth, tongue swirling, pooling spit onto him before pulling away and tugging the wetness down with your hand, fingers trailing over the shaft slowly, not quite touching him hard enough. Blinking up at him innocently, you throw his words back at him, “I like when you say my name like that.”

His lips twist into a smirk, fingers in your hair tangling as his mouth drops open to come back with what you’re sure is a witty reply. But only a strangled noise escapes him as you pull your hands away, letting your mouth hover over just above where he wants you. Peering up at him, your warm breath fans over his twitching cock and you relish in the quiet whimper that falls from him as easily as water from a faucet you simply nudged on.  

“Please.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you pull him into your spit coated lips and begin to draw your mouth up and down, bobbing your head as his hands tangle further in your hair and yours grip his thighs. Your name leaves his parted mouth like a prayer up to the heavens his tilted head is staring up at. You’re filled with a desperate want - need - to keep doing this, make him say it over and over again, as many times as you can. 

As one of his hands moves from your hair and cups your jaw, his eyes peer into yours with sticky fondness and he whispers, “Can you…can you go-oh shit-yeah, yeah. Babe - holy shit.”

He’s babbling as you pull even more of him into your eager mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat. His hips subtly thrust into you as your hand wraps around what can’t fit and moves with your lips. Steve’s muscles in his stomach tense, his grip on your head growing rougher and you slow down. He moans as your pace continues to slow, letting him move in and out of you in shallow bobs as your tongue swirls around him before drawing back completely, spit connecting your lips to his swollen dick.  

Steve’s breathing is deep and strained, pleading eyes looking down at you as you smirk up at him. Your mouth opens, ready with every intention to tease and make him sweat longer when your intercom buzzes loudly, both of you jumping at the abrupt sound. 

“Y/N, pleasepleaseplease let me up. I-I slept with Nancy and I’m freaking out and you’re not answering my texts or calls and please I know you’re home. Wake up!”

Steve and you jump into action at the sound of Robin’s voice and as you’re quickly removing his shirt from your body, he groans as he catches sight of your naked chest, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides and licking his lips. Steve glares at the intercom as he frantically pulls his pants up, shoving his coffee mug in your dishwasher and throwing you your shorts. His eyes search for any other sign of himself as you trip over your shoes from last night and search for a new shirt as the intercom buzzes again. 

“Listen, I know we haven’t been friends for very long, but I really really need you to understand that I only have two friends.” 

The words take your guts, tie them into hundreds of pretzels and stomp on them. Making eye contact with Steve who’s pulling his shoes on with a look that must match yours as she continues, “One of them is you and the other one cannot hear this and hi Mr. Kowalski! Yes, I’m trying to wake up Y/N! Oh thank you,” muffled sounds before she continues into the intercom, “I’m coming up and pounding on your door till you answer!”

The intercom goes dead and you’re worried Steve and you will be consumed by the thick and suffocating guilt and tension before being able to unpack any of it - the fun you’d just had ruined before it even really began. Shaking the thought from your head, you have to focus on one crisis at a time and you point to your window, “Down the fire escape Harrington.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head, “What, is this a bad 90s rom com?”

Hands on his shoulders, you spin him and push him towards your window, “Oh please, like you don’t love those movies, I can smell it on you.”

“Seriously, I’m not climbing down your fire escape. I’ll just…I’ll hide.”

Steve stares into your eyes as his cheek pulls in and he bites it. The seconds tick louder and louder as Robin gets closer to being just outside your door.

“Steve, you have three options,” you count on your fingers. “One, we tell Robin right now. Two, you hide and listen to your best friend talk about having sex with your ex girlfriend,” you hold your fingers up in his face, “And may I remind you that girl talk is very detailed. And three,” you point out your window, “The fire escape.”

He groans and nods, “Fire escape it is, I guess.”

He’s climbing through the window and crouching outside of it as the pounding starts on the door. You both stare at it and you turn to go answer and he grabs your wrist, wide eyes blinking at you, “I’ll…I'll call you?”

Nodding once, you squeeze his fingers and rush over to your kitchen, eyes roaming over the apartment in a final search before glancing back at the window, but Steve is already gone. 

Opening your door, Robin’s fist almost connects with your face and she cries out, “Jesus! Finally! We are in major meltdown freaking out at grand proportions level here, I need my…oh my god are you okay you look all…” she enters your apartment, gesturing to your face. Peering into the mirror in your entryway, you’re mortified, and you’ll be killing Steve for not telling you how you looked. Hair sticking every which way, skin flushed, and remnants of last night's makeup sweat smudged on your lash line. 

Your brain is definitely detached from your body as you blurt the first thing that comes to mind to explain your appearance, “Masturbating.”

Robin’s eyebrows raise and her cheeks tinge pink as she pours herself a cup of coffee, “Oh, shit, uh…do I need to…uh, should I make myself scarce or something?”

As if you didn’t feel guilty enough about what had just been happening right where she is standing, Robin is literally freaking out, but wants to make sure you get an orgasm. You’re a terrible fucking friend. 

“Nope, I…uh…finished,” grabbing your own coffee, you pat your couch as you sit down and ask her to explain. 

“Okay, so…”

Monday is awful, your boss screaming at you, deadlines unmet, and mistakes made by the whole staff left and right. Come lunch time, Tuesday is already trying to surpass it for a worse day. People running around frantic and barking orders, requests for searing hot coffee and bags and blazers thrown in your direction like you were the coat rack and not a real life human being. Your boss shrieks at you with the reminder that you better not be late coming back from lunch as she snaps into the phone about things not being delivered to some other poor assistant in a different office across town. 

Quickly running across the street, grateful Robin had suggested Steve picking up take out and bringing it there for lunch, you feel the weight of the stressful day slowly lifting from your shoulders. At this point, you’re more worried about looking like a feral animal in front of the two of them as you devour your food versus how seeing Steve will go.  

Sunday was a day full of Steve and you trying to catch each other to talk about what happened, a plan for this arrangement, but a common denominator of Robin was in the way the entire day. After she finally left your place, she spent the day with him. Monday, you were too chicken to bring it all up again, worried the abrupt interruption had scared him away, and maybe it had. He could have easily messaged you too. Maybe he thought it was all a mistake, and didn’t know how to tell you? The thought only pushed you deeper into your head, and as the sun drew closer to the horizon, you had convinced yourself Steve wanted out of the arrangement. 

As the elevator opens, you’re instantly met with Robin’s voice drifting down the hallway, loud, with exasperation lacing her tone, “Steve, no, you know I won’t go back there after last time! Besides, football? When have I ever watched a sports game with you?”

As you step closer, you see her shoot a hand into his face, side of gravy dangerously close to spilling over his lap as he opens his mouth and she beats him to it, “Aside from a mandatory pep band appearance many, many years ago?”

Steve slumps in his chair, dipping several fries in the gravy, and stuffing them in his mouth with a pout on his lips. Once his eyes catch yours, he sits up, body stiff. His lips form a thin line around the full bite of fries, forming somewhat of a smile as he nods his head toward you. He shifts uncomfortably, fist over his mouth, gaze falling to the floor and not easing your frazzled nerves in the slightest. 

Robin spins in her chair, torso twisted to face you so you get the full extent of her smile that brings a dimple out and squishes her eyes, crinkling the corners as she squeals, “Hey, kitten!” and pats the seat next to her. She turns back to unwrapping the food in front of her, eyes darting between Steve and the sandwich, “Also, and I probably should have mentioned this before, but I have a date tonight.”

Falling into the chair beside her, you watch as Steve rolls his eyes and Robin narrows hers. Sensing some sort of an actual fight brewing, you chime in, hoping to redirect wherever Steve was about to take it, “Fun, Robs! What are you guys doing?”

Her fingers falter on the foil around the sandwich and she mumbles into her chest. Steve coughs around the over-eager bite he finally swallows, fist still over his mouth as he asks, “Come again?”

She throws her head back over the chair, sighing before she exclaims, “I’m going to the game with Nancy!”

Steve groans and you wince at your inadvertent involvement in her announcement of betrayal. He throws his balled up foil directly at her chin cupping his hands around his lips, “Boo! You suck, Buckley, you know that? You really, really suck!”

Robin huffs, her face still turned up towards the ceiling with her eyes squeezed shut, “I’m sorry! She knows a guy who writes for the sports column and he’s been bugging her to go to a game and so she asked me to go with…” She turns her head and peeks an eye open at Steve who’s sipping his soda through a straw, foot scuffing the carpet and hands picking at the loose thread on the chair like a petulant child ready to guilt trip until she caves. It takes quicker than you expect for Robin to sigh and squeak out, “I can cancel though. Or maybe you could go with her?”

Steve rolls his eyes again, less irritated and more like he can’t even believe she would suggest something like that. He shakes his head no, sitting up, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.”

It’s almost like you’re not there anymore, witnessing a very private interaction of the two old friends. Watching the way Steve shakes out his fingers and cracks his neck, the way Robin’s eyes dart over his body language - assessing, analyzing, and drawing conclusions quicker than anyone probably could. She angles her head down, catching his gaze as she kicks his leg lightly, “You sure? Cause I will,” voice softening, as she repeats it, “You know I will, Steve.”

He taps his foot against hers and smiles sadly, “Yeah, I know.”

She nods once and they both sit up. Shaking your head in amazement as they go from arguing like brother and sister, to making up quicker than you can blink. You’re fairly used to their fast talking, finishing each other’s sentences kind of relationship, but as they focus back on their lunches, you watch a new facet of their friendship unfold before you. They silently open their sandwiches, one with all hot peppers the other with all sweet. Their fingers dance around each other’s food, splitting them in half and switching top buns so they each have one soaked in gravy and one with sauce. Steve rips the top of the bag of fries off and Robin shakes salt and pepper into the gravy and then the ketchup that Steve squirts out onto the ripped paper. They close their sandwiches again, knocking them together like they’re toasting a drink and take a bite at the same time. 

They’re truly like two separate parts of one brain and a pang of guilt grabs ahold of something in your chest at this interaction. They really are closer than anyone you’ve ever met, and you don’t want to get in the way of it with whatever this is with Steve and you. You’re even more desperate for a conversation about it all now. Not realizing the conflicted look that’s crossed your face, Robin nudges her knee against yours, looking up to find both of them staring at you. Robin’s eyes filled with concern and Steve’s under a furrowed brow. 

“You okay?” Robin asks, watching as you slump further into your chair and pick at the sandwich you’re suddenly not starving for anymore. 

“Yeah, you two are just something else is all,” forcing a smile, you groan a little as you extend your legs so you can cross them on the chair next to Steve. Sighing as your muscles in your calves ache at the stretch and you take a large bite of your sandwich, hoping she drops the subject. 

But, if there’s anything that you’ve learned about Robin, it’s that she most definitely will not let something go if she thinks there’s anything she can do to help. 

She shoves food into her cheek, “Come on, you’re amongst friends. What’s wrong? Boss yell at you? Should we egg her car? You need a massage. Or a distraction from the bad day.”

As you look up again, your eyes meet Steve’s. His cheeks turning pink and your body tightens at the thought of just how you’d love to be distracted from your bad day, curious if Steve wants that too. His mouth full of Italian beef and yours soda, she takes your silence as confirmation, and she snaps her fingers, “Oh! You can take my place, eat at Steve’s and he can massage your legs! That is a win-win if I ever heard one!”

“Robin I don’t think-”

She’s already off on a new tangent, worrying about the logistics of her date with Nancy, “So what do you wear to a football game? I don’t even know the teams playing, Steve can I steal something of yours?” 

He nods once, eyes focused on his phone suddenly and Robin continues chattering away, and you try to focus on her questions versus Steve. His eyes are on your calves, the slight bend of your knee until they’ve traveled up the zipper that runs the entire front of your dress, landing on your eyes. Noticing how his gray shirt and the fluorescent lights make his eyes a little more blue today, you jump as your phone vibrates. Peeling your gaze from his, you glance down at the message:

Steve: will you still have that dress on when you come over tonight?

Steve smirks around his straw when your knees touch together, clicking your phone off before Robin can see. Watching the way he swallows, nodding to everything Robin says, although the look in his eyes is unfocused. The way he shifts slightly in the chair, phone still in his hand, your heart starts beating harder as you realize he’s turned on by the risk of all of this - the exact opposite of your original worry. Bravery filling your veins, you slowly type a response and hit send as it feels like you push out of water, Robin’s voice clear again.

You: depends, do you promise to take it off of me?

“Do the footballs go in the stands? Like in baseball?” Robin’s eyebrows are furrowed under parted bangs as she swirls fries in the ketchup and Steve slowly types on his phone before stopping suddenly and narrowing his eyes and leaning forward. 

“Woah, wait. How close are you going to be? Where are your seats?”

Robin blinks at him, fries halfway to her mouth, “I don’t know, like the sidelines or whatever. By the grass.”

Steve gasps and throws more wadded up paper at her as she shrieks and you sink into your chair, hiding your smile as his message back appears: 

Steve: Deal. But only if you promise to not leave me with blue balls again. 

This is a mistake. 

All of it. 

The friends with benefits, the doing said friends with benefits with Steve of all people, and now, most of all, the standing in front of a building with items shoved in your purse that can only be dubbed as presumptuous: a fresh pair of underwear, a toothbrush, and deodorant. You’ve even gone as far as stuffing an outfit for tomorrow in the back of your car. 

Not really feeling this weight of mistakes though, until you saw the text from Steve later in the afternoon after your lunch. You thought it was a joke:

You: Haha, very funny, seriously what’s your address?

Steve: …that is my address. Floor fifty. Number 5030. Let me know when you’re here!

And now here you are. Circular towers with the river below them, the House of Blues, boats parked at docks, a steakhouse, and women dressed in designer clothes with shopping bags to places you most definitely couldn’t afford. This is not a place you had to find parking and walk to, but a place that had a man in a red coat open your door for you and take your keys. A place that has a front desk you have to check into, and a young and bored looking girl asking for your information to which you blurted out, “Harrington?”

She sighs, clicking something on her computer, “Yeah, you want the other building. Go through those doors and…”

Trying to listen to her instructions, but all you can do is feel stupid and like you don’t belong. Nodding dumbly and pushing through the lobby like it was a pool of jello. Limbs heavy, like you’re one of those pieces of fruit suspended in the wobbly red dessert. 

These people probably don’t even know what jello is.

Staring at your reflection in the sleek elevator door as it closes, pressing your fingers to flyways of your hair self consciously. That lobby was full of shiny surfaces, quiet music, and smelled of luxury and stuck up sophistication. This has to be some elaborate prank Steve and Robin are pulling on you. 

The doors open and you walk across the hallway, spinning - this floor doesn’t have any fives on the doors and you jump into another elevator riding it all the way to the top and back down. She said the other building, but how do you get to the other building, is there a walkway? Do you go back outside? As the doors open to the lobby again, a couple that had their noses pressed to their phones the entire ride down from the top floor brush past you on their way out. Your footsteps are too loud, like the plush carpet beneath them is no match for the gravity that is forcing you down. Fingers and ears itching with irritation and embarrassment as you walk out past everyone in the lobby and across to the other building. 

Once inside again, you head towards the elevator when someone stops you, asking you to check in at the front desk, to which you tell them you already had. But, as people in the lobby turn their heads towards the noise, you quickly comply and rush up to the other desk and check in again. This time, an older man with a much kinder face and patient tone is across from you. He chuckles a little when your information comes out as a question again, “I’m here to see Steve Harrington?”

He smiles as he repeats Steve’s floor and apartment number for you, pointing to the elevators and listing instructions on what to do and where to go. Then he taps the counter, “Tell Steve he better pay up when his team loses tonight for me, will ya dear?”

Offering him back the best smile you can manage, you hurry over to the new elevator. As the doors are about to close, another woman enters. Skinny, expensive perfume filling the small space, and jewelry that’s probably worth more than your car adorn her neck and fingers. You know she can smell it on you - that you don’t belong. It’s in the purse of her lips as she glances at you and then the button for fifty lit up. And is she wrong? What are you doing there?

She thankfully gets off at floor thirty, giving you a chance to slump into the wall, resting your weight on the railing. If this isn’t a joke, how had Steve failed to mention he was rich. How had you failed to notice? You yank your hair out of the ponytail it’s in, head turned upside down as you shake out all of the tension from the last few days and chastise yourself. 

What the hell did you get yourself into? Really, what do you know about Steve other than he’s best friends with Robin? Christ, you barely know her! And you just jumped into this friends with benefits relationship with him because, what, he knows his way around a vagina better than some other guys? What kind of standard is that?

The doors open suddenly, hearing his voice as you whip your head up. His eyes blink, sparkling as he tries to hold back a smile at the state of your hair fluffed out and crazy, purse sandwiched between your knees. As a woman responds, she turns and heads towards the elevator, not even glancing in your direction as you exit. When Steve doesn’t follow, she looks over her shoulder, “Steve, aren’t you going down?”

Steve clears his throat as he looks at you with a wink, then at her, humming, “I hope so.”

Her mouth drops open as his fingers wrap around your wrist and tug you gently away from the elevator as the door closes and you hiss, “Steve! What the hell?”

He throws his other hand out, a small noise in the back of his throat escaping before he continues, “She’s always so obnoxious, just wanted to make her face look like that just once, you know? Did you find the place okay? I was kind of worried, was about to come look for you.”

He stops in front of a door and smirks, “Thought you were standing me up for some rich guy.”

Narrowing your eyes as he unlocks the door, you lean a shoulder against the wall and cock your head, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if this is your apartment, and you do in fact actually live here, wouldn’t that make you a rich guy?”

He sighs as the door swings open, but doesn’t say anything, stepping into the apartment. You hesitate, staring down the hallway that you came from, wondering if it’s too late to turn back around. Steve’s head sticks out the open door, eyebrows raised, “As much as the hallway is a great place to hang out, I’m pretty sure the couch in here is more comfortable.”

Rolling your eyes, you push past him and he closes the door behind you and your palms start sweating. 

Oh yeah, Steve Harringotn is rich alright. 

His apartment opens to a sleek kitchen, shiny gunmetal gray appliances, wine glasses and bottles hanging from a rack, and fancy shimmering lights that dangle over the island. Beyond it falls a living room with a couch that does look comfortable. Dark gray, plush and soft fabric that honestly looks like you’d sleep better on it than your own bed faces a giant flat screen. Suspended on the wall above a buffet made of rick dark wood, decorated in picture frames and knick knacks. And beyond all of that, a floor to ceiling glass window that opens to a balcony, which overlooks the rivers below the buildings and faces the lake. 

Holy shit. 

Dropping your bag and kicking off your boots, you notice a little more about Steve, as he pulls out containers from white greasy bags that seem unfitting for the setting. He is rich, and you just never noticed. The way his dress pants and button down fit him just perfectly, the tie that’s now loosened around his neck has to be designer. The watch on his wrist and the cologne that matches the apartment completely. Steve is wealth wrapped up in a cute expensive package. 

Stepping over to the food slowly as he licks sauce from his finger and spins to grab plates from frosted cabinet doors, “Oh! So, I know we were going to watch the game, but I turned on the TV and ‘The Princess Bride’ was just starting and I…” He stops when he sees your face, frowning at him and then the food and looking around the apartment. He holds his hand over his chest, “Oh, god, you hate that movie don’t you? That’s it. We can’t be friends anymore. I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

Grabbing a plate from him you shrug, “Actually, it’s one of my favorites. I was planning to go as Buttercup this year for Halloween.”

He pokes your furrowed brow and leans against the counter, “What’s with the sour mood then?”

Loading food onto your plate, you laugh a little, “I just…I guess I’m still overwhelmed by the chaotic arrival and trying to wrap my head around the fact that there’s cheap food on your counter, yet a take out bag for the steakhouse in your garbage,” pointing at the bag poking out, “I mean you live in a place that oozes money Steve.”

He pokes his tongue in his cheek at your words and huffs, “Chaotic arrival?”

Shrugging again, he gestures over to the couch and you shove an onion ring in your mouth, “Mmm, went to the wrong building, had to check in twice, stuffy people judging me…”

Steve flops onto the couch next to you, “Oh shit, I didn’t even think to tell you about the buildings. I…I’m sorry.”

Shaking your head, you wave a hand at him, “It’s okay. Just things you ritzy folks don’t notice like us peasants.”

He groans, standing up from the couch and heading to the fridge, holding up a beer with his eyebrows raised. Snickering around your food you put on a show and frown, “What? I get the cheap stuff? No bougie scotch?”

He rests his free hand on his hip, rolling his eyes, and grabs a second beer, as his muffled voice from inside the fridge calls out, “I do have Scotch if you want some. I personally wouldn’t drink that with a hot dog, but hey, to each their own. Do you want Ranch?”

You scrunch up your nose in disgust, “No? Do you have ketchup?”

He stands and spins, “Ketchup? Why do you need ketchup? There’s already some on the hotdogs?”

“For my onion rings?”

“Ew.”

Gasping as he shakes his head, he does come back over with a bottle of ketchup, ranch, and two beers. 

Nudging his shoulder as you dip an onion ring into the ketchup, “Have you even tried it? Poor rich Steve Harrington, never had ketchup on an onion ring?”

“What in the world does being rich have to do with ketchup on onion rings?” he leans away from the onion ring you push into his face, grabbing his own and dunking it in ranch, “Ranch is by far the superior condiment.”

Rolling your eyes, you pout your lips, “To each their own.”

It’s quiet as you both settle back, eating and tuning into the movie. Steve snorts at Inigo’s impatience for Wesley to arrive at the top of the cliff and glances at you as you smirk around the lip of your bottle, “What?” coming out of your mouth as he keeps staring at you. 

He runs a hand through the back of his hair, yanking off his tie before he stands and brings the condiments back to the kitchen, tossing the trash as he comes back, “Are we…are we okay? I know Sunday was kind of awkward, and lunch today was…”

“Awkward?” you finish for him with a smile.

He sighs and rests his elbows on his knees as he sits back down, “No? I don’t know. How does this all work? Do you still want to…I mean, I just got this feeling you didn’t since you didn’t text or call on Monday and then maybe I came on too strong with that text today and-”

Your hand shoves his shoulder, “You didn’t text or call me either Steve.”

“Okay fair. That’s…” he blows out his breath and leans back, smiling, “That’s fair. I’m sorry. I just don’t know how this is all supposed to work, I’m rusty. We kind of jumped in without a real plan.”

Glad his thoughts are lined up with yours, your eyes travel to the napkin with the logo of the restaurant on it and think of an idea, “Okay, so, Robin doesn’t like Red Hot Ranch?”

Steve shakes his head, “Nope. She got sick last time and thinks it was from them, but I know it’s this bagel place she refuses to stop going to where I have no doubt in my mind the guy sneezes into the batter or something because it’s so gross and-”

“Steve,” you laugh and interrupt him and he bites his lip and you continue with your thought, “How about we use that as our code then? Red Hot Ranch means we want to hook up?”

His brows furrow together and you rush to add on, “That is, if you still want to do this?”

His eyes jump up to yours quickly and he nods furiously, “Yeah, yeah I want to do this.”

He starts to lean in and you push on his chest, “Woah, down boy. I know I’m a catch, but slow your roll.”

Steve grins, faces close together. Too close. You can see the freckles that dot his nose, smell his shampoo that’s pine trees and something earthy and you can’t focus on anything other than how his lips curve into a smirk and his tongue pokes out and licks his top lip briefly. 

Leaning away from him, you glance at the movie playing, the remnants of ketchup and ranch and the luxurious apartment around you, only a few things, but more than you knew about him before now. Deciding you’re going to need to know more about him to convince Robin you’re actually getting take out with each other, you slap his thigh and push back, “Okay. Twenty questions. I know nothing about you Steve Harrington.”

He sighs, grabbing his beer and taking a sip as he slumps back into the couch. Turning only his head to look at you with a fake big pout on his lips, “I thought the whole point of this arrangement was to not talk?” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down. 

A snort falls from you as you take a sip of your beer as well, kicking a socked foot against this thigh, “No, the point of this arrangement was sex - friends with benefits. I’m just putting emphasis on the friends part right now. Plus, we need to show we’re friends to Robin if she finds out we get take out all the time together,” you move your fingers into quotations around the words ‘take out’. Watching the way his Adam's apple moves as he takes another sip, you continue, “How about for every question each of us answers, an article of clothing can be removed?”

Steve grins, eyes roaming over you, “I don’t think you have ten things to remove.”

Setting your beer down, you raise your eyebrows, “Okay fine. Ten questions. Five each. Happy?” He twists his lips into a scowl and you roll your eyes, “Steve, what are you scared to share your secrets with me? Truly, nothing is going to turn me off because I already know you’re rich and I’m still here.”

His thumb rubs the paper label of the beer off and rolls his eyes before he sits up straighter, eyeing you cooly, “Alright honey, do your worst.”

Ignoring the honey, you look around his living room. Taking in the obviously hand made blanket draped over the arm next to you, your eyes zero in on all the framed photos under the TV again. Only one photo, a group shot, has people older than Steve in it. The man has his hand on Steve’s shoulder, and you look back at him, “Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head as he says, “Nope,” taking a swig from the beer and looking at your dress pointedly. 

Crossing your arms as you stand, you pad over to the console, fingers dragging on the frame, “What, no elaboration? Is this them?” 

Steve smirks, eyes trained on the bottle he holds against the coffee table now, “If I answer both of those, is that three questions?”

Raising your eyebrows, you wait for him to respond until the paper label is completely shredded and he sighs, not making eye contact with you as he responds, “No, that’s not my parents. That’s Joyce and Jim Hopper, they live in the town Robin and I - and Nancy, grew up in, in Indiana. And I’m not close with my parents. My dad is an asshole who thinks I’ve accomplished nothing in life and my mom spends her days drinking while online shopping and hiring private investigators to snoop on her cheating asshole husband.” He clears his throat and looks at you finally, “Dress. Off. Now.”

Toeing off one sock, you push it across the floor, trying to lighten the mood, “Once I take my dress off, you’re going to be too distracted to answer anymore questions.”

He frowns, but his lips start to twitch upwards, “Come on, that response is at least worth both socks?”

Grinning at the shift in his tone, you pull off the other one as you place the picture back. Your fingers brush over more of the frames and trinkets as you whisper, “Your turn.”

“Same question, are you close with your parents?”

Fingers freezing and shoulders tensing, your breath catches at the unexpected question, pushing out a quiet, “No.”

Sensing he’ll just tease you like you did him, you’re shocked to see his soft eyes gazing at you with nothing but care and reassurance when you turn to face him, “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me. We seemed to have struck a nerve we both weren’t aware of in each other.”

Slowly, you bring yourself to sit on the coffee table in front of him. He was able to be vulnerable with you, the least you can do is repay the favor, right? Voice quiet as his fingers brush your knees, “I’m not close with them because they’re not alive. I was though, once upon a time.” 

Trying to smile and lighten the mood, he smiles softly too, a quiet blanket wrapped around the pair of you in a shared somber moment. He leans down eventually, head close to resting in your lap and removes his socks, tossing them in the general direction of yours. You whisper, “You’re trying to cheat. I only answered one question.”

His smile grows wider as you bump his cheek with your knee and he sits back up as you question, hoping this one eases you back into familiar light hearted territory, “Okay, first kiss?”

Steve’s hands on your thighs, knees bumping yours as his fingers play with the hem of your dress and he clears his throat, “It was with Cassie Peterson. I was twelve and I,” he looks up at you as his cheeks turn pink in an unfairly endearing way as his finger traces the zipper of the dress all the way up to the top and fiddles with it, “I missed.”

Pulling your lip between your teeth to fight a smile and laugh, “You missed?”

He scoots even closer, your knees falling between his spread ones, thumb and forefinger tugging lightly on the zipper, warm breath fanning across your neck and chest as your hands find his shoulders and he continues, “Yeah. I closed my eyes and went in, super confident. I hit the side of her nose, readjusted really quick, but yeah,” his other hand squeezes the exposed plush skin of your thigh, “What’s your favorite food when you’re sick?”

Blinking at him, your breath catches in your throat as he pulls the zipper lower as you breathe out, “Pancakes.”

His free hand cups your elbow, nudging you to stand and he pulls the zipper slowly, the back of his knuckle dragging down your body until the dress falls to the floor pooling around your feet. His apartment feels heavy, hazy, thick with the tension and want that you’re both fighting to not just jump head first into. His hands roam up the outside of your thighs as his gaze travels over your body. Fingers brushing up your sides as he stands before they meet yours on the button of his jeans. 

Your bodies knock together as you push closer, noses brushing as you ask, “Favorite movie theater snack?”

Steve’s fingers drift up, skimming over the lace of your bra that curves around your breasts as yours push his jeans down. His nose nudging into your cheek as both of your breathing grows shallower, warm breath against your skin as his lips move across your jaw before he speaks into your neck, “Milk duds or M&M’s thrown into the popcorn.”

Your lower halves press harder against each other, the bulge under his boxers a color to match the band of black his fingers run along your back until they move over the clasp as he asks, “Sunrises or sunsets?”

Your eyelashes flutter as his mouth moves lower, hot breaths and wet lips pressing into you until he’s sucking a bruise into the skin of your exposed chest as you fumble with the buttons on his dress shirt and gasp out, “Sunsets.”

Pulling his mouth off you as you push the shirt from his shoulders, he grabs under your thighs, hoisting you up as a squeal leaps out of your chest at the sudden movement. His hands move to under your butt as you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, fingers in his hair as he carries you to the bedroom. 

Steve lays you down on his comforter, your hands falling to glide across the fluffy gray material as you peer up at him. Voice breathy as he pushes your legs apart and you narrow your eyes at him, “Tell me the honest to god truth, do you have a boat down at one of those docks fifty ritzy floors beneath us?”

His fingers graze up the inside of your leg, ankle to thigh causing a shiver to run through you as he hooks his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulls them down slowly. Mouth kissing up your leg even slower before pausing on your thigh and looking up at you, “No,” mouth hovering over your exposed center he smirks as he adds on, “But my dad does.”

A moan falls from your lips as you feel his smile against your folds, his tongue slowly licking through you. His lips mold around your swollen clit, hips jolting up as he flicks it under the vacuum he’s created. Hands gripping the luxury bedding that makes your own sheets you splurged on at Target feel like actual garbage in comparison. 

He pulls away as you whine, nose nudging into your skin and he kisses the dip where your thigh starts and peers up at you, cheek pressed to your skin, voice turned raspy, “Tell me the honest to god truth,” your eyes rolling at the repetition of your words before he continues. Eyes mossy and mischievous as he kisses up your stomach, “If I asked you to sleep over so we can do this all tomorrow morning again, would you say yes?”

His tongue licks up the underside of one of your breasts, lips sucking on a hardened nipple before dragging his teeth across the peaked flesh and you gasp out, “I have a change of clothes down in my car,” he moans at your admission, pulling his lips away with a string of saliva still connecting him to you. Hands on either side of your head, his weight rests against you comfortably and he rolls his still clothed lower half against you as his lips connect with yours, slow and patient until he feels you lift your head slightly, pushing back against him. 

Steve’s teeth tug at your bottom lip as his hardened length presses through his boxers into your center. Already feeling overstimulated from the teasing, you can tell it’s going to be a long, but extremely enjoyable night. He pulls away from your lips, and drags his own down your body again. Hips grinding into the mattress as his tongue licks through you at an agonizing pace. Your hands find his hair and tug as you realize, “Wait, I…” eyes fluttering as his lips suck and teeth graze one of your swollen lips, “Steve, I can’t afford…jesus christ,” moaning as his nose nudges your throbbing button and you push out, “I can’t afford valet overnight parking.”

His mouth pulls away with an obscene pop and he looks up at you from between your thighs, cheeks pink, lips red and glossy with your arousal, and eyes a little dazed as he questions, “What?”

“What?” you repeat back to him, suddenly unsure of what you had been saying with the view you’re focused on now. 

He smiles and kisses your thigh as your knee raises and your hands grip tighter in his hair from the feeling of his breath fanning across you at his question. He lifts his head a little higher, eyes glancing down and watching the way your hips try to chase him involuntarily, before he asks, “What did you say about valet?”

Closing your eyes, admitting, “I can’t afford it.”

When you open your eyes again, his eyebrows are bunched together and he shakes his head, “We don’t…oh shit, you did the House of Blues valet didn’t you?”

“What?” voice cracking as his tongue flicks out and goes back to work on you.

He hums, pausing his movements, just briefly, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out later.”

“Steve, I-” cut off by the moan that falls out of you as his tongue prods at your entrance. 

His hands run down your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders as he pulls back, “Go ahead, honey, relax, you gotta be able to tell Robin some sort of half truth right. I made you feel real good after a long day at work, right?”

He licks a long stripe up through you slowly and you groan, “Steve, don’t talk about Robin when you’re eating me out.”

He laughs, your body prickling with goosebumps as he apologizes, “Right, sorry.”

As Steve’s mouth molds around your bundle of vibrating nerves, his fingers slowly tease your entrance and your sounds echo off the walls of his room and you forget all the worries you’d had about this arrangement. The thoughts you had standing outside the buildings are long gone.

If this was a mistake, it was one you were going to happily continue to make. 

The ten questions game becomes somewhat of a ritual for Steve and you during the next several weeks. Sure, there are days where one of you messages ‘RHR?’ and a time. Those days, it’s quick and one of you is apologizing to the other as clothes are ripped off and sex ends up against the wall, the first surface you both fall into, or right on the floor when you get the door closed. On those days, it’s fast, rough, and downright filthy. It’s pornographic moans and skin slapping together harshly, usually ending with you rolling off of each other with glistening and heaving chests. Steve breaks the ice with a joke about his nose bleeding or thinking he pulled something, causing you to hide your laughter in his shoulder or chest. 

It is fun though, this whole friends with benefits thing. And most of the time, you aren’t in a rush, enjoying take out and learning more about each other. It’s endearing somehow, to know Steve’s favorite color, ice cream flavor, or superhero as he gives you orgasms left and right. It’s also been fun to gain confidence with each other, learning to be more vocal in bed and what the other liked or disliked. 

Steve discovers that if he runs his fingers through your folds slowly, teasing your entrance and clit just barely, you’d beg for him, practically in tears as you cling to his body, gasping out his name. It’s his new favorite thing to do - pretty little sighs and back arching off of the bed before he finally gives you just one finger. One morning in the shower, you kiss the two moles on his neck and whimper his name against his ear and he came immediately, pulling away from you with wide eyes and sputtering an apology. You test your theory the next week, doing the same motion while straddling him on his couch and he cums in seconds again with a groan and fall of his head to your shoulder as you laugh at your new little trick. The ticklish back of your knees discovered as he took you bent over his desk and he poked at them and grinned like a kid in a candy store until you were laughing so hard he had to pull out of you and let you relax. 

You’ve never had so much sex in your life, feeling a little like an insatiable teenager who just discovered what an orgasm is. The weeks are filled with every position the two of you can come up with, tangled in sheets, straddling on couches, up against counters and Steve even manages to convince you (you’ll never admit it took very little), out onto his balcony at sunset one night. You thought you knew what good sex was, but sex with Steve is always different, and somehow, despite being more satisfied than you’d ever been, it’s leaving you wanting more. If you’re not having sex with Steve, you’re thinking about him, where you’ll do it next, and all the ways Steve is going to shoot you into another galaxy. Perfectly precise thrusts and presses of his fingers and silky lips that spit out smooth and smug dirty talk like it’s their job all delivering you to mind blowing orgasms over and over again. 

It was eye opening, no strings, and everything you wanted. Sex with Steve is like your own personal supply of the best drugs. A text away from blissfully slipping into euphoric ecstasy that he’s the master at providing. It was easy to get caught up in him, in each other, and you didn’t even feel guilty, until you did. 

A phone call from Robin begging you to come to a lake day with her and some of their old friends before a big party that night. Exhausted from a pretty intense night with Steve, you’re ready to decline when she whines loudly into the phone, “Seriously, I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

Laughing, you’re already standing to start packing, “Robin, I saw you yesterday for lunch!”

“Lunch, smunch! It’s not the same, Steve is there half the time, and I’m starting to get jealous!” frowning at the thought, she keeps going before your guilt can pull you under completely, “I’m in desperate need of girl talk. Just you and me. Come! It’ll be so fun, and after the party I can sleepover? Have a good movie night and stay up too late? Go get brunch tomorrow?”

Sighing into the phone, she speaks again and you’re practically able to hear the grin on her face, voice sing-song and pleading, “I’ll even bring the wine. And take out. And my chocolate chip cookies! Can’t say no to all that, right?”

Fingers already tugging your bikini out of the dresser, you laugh, “Okay, okay, I give!”

She squeals and screams to someone about your agreement and then breathlessly into the phone, “Be ready in ten!”

A bag packed with your party outfit, a book, cutie’s and a bag of pretzels, your cheek pulled in as you stare at your swimsuit, realizing the aftermath of your night last night will be on full display. 

Steve had been in some sort of mood when you arrived. Your original plans for the night looked like they were turning south when you watched him toss his phone on the coffee table harshly as you entered his apartment. You didn’t comment though, as he rushed your clothes off, gripping at your exposed skin desperately, or as he panted breathlessly into your lips, moaning your name over and over. You definitely didn’t comment when his mouth traveled over your entire body, biting marks into your skin and squeezing your hips. Melting beneath him as his tongue soothed each and every bruise before zeroing in on your soaking folds. Steve devoured you like a man starved, pulling sounds out of you he hadn’t before, soft hands on your shaking thighs. 

Before you could really catch your breath, he had fucked you into his mattress - rough, and desperate, hooking your legs around his waist and squeezing your hips hard enough to match the bruises he made with his mouth. The way he gently pushed you into new positions, supporting your legs and cradling your back contrasting to the way he was slamming into you had your body and brain buzzing to give him whatever he wanted. It was like Steve took a part of you that you couldn’t get back and you weren’t sure you wanted it, happy to give it to him as he drew two more orgasms out of you before he finally came. Groaning into your neck and brushing his nose against your skin softly, your eyes hooded and glazed over, body clinging to his as you caught your breath. He had mumbled an apology and you had asked if he was okay. Because, sure you’d had intense sex, but that seemed like something else entirely - for both of you. You weren’t typically so quiet, so appeasing to whatever he wanted - liking to take control most of the time. 

“Just a long day, I’m sorry,” he kissed your new marks gently, “I’m gonna shower, want to order some pizza?”

Confused, tired, and fucked out, you nodded as he kissed over all of his marks left on your skin before pulling out of you. Not realizing you had passed out right away until you woke to him dragging a towel over you and pulling a shirt over your head. You had never been so overcome with exhaustion from an orgasm before let alone allowed a guy to care for you like that after sex. That night had been intense and more vulnerable than you would have been with any other person, and a part of you is worried it tipped into dangerous territory with your arrangement.  

Now, turning in your mirror, you focus on the immediate problem. Your fingers trace over the skin on your neck. A few lilac marks dotting just below your ear, pulling the collar of your shirt to see the marks increase across your chest - swirls of red and purple bruises. A few line your hips you notice as you pull the bottoms of your bikini on, and several between your thighs. It’s not a crazy amount, but enough that people will definitely draw certain conclusions. There was bound to be smirks, and questions - questions you were dreading because you knew the loudest ones would be from Robin. 

Deciding you’ll have to come up with some excuse to remain covered all day, you pull on cutoffs and shove your feet into your sandals as the door buzzes. Skipping down the steps of your apartment, Robin and Nancy are talking passionately about something in the front seats and Steve sits in the back, head leaned against the headrest, eyes hidden by sunglasses. He offers you a small smile and a wave of his hand against the door as you jog around the back and climb in. 

Nancy spins, interrupting Robin’s tangent, “Hi! You like pickles right? Steve said you do, and we picked up some sandwiches for lunch.”

Robin spins as well and you have to fight a laugh at the giant sun hat that sits on top of her head, almost taking Nancy out with her sharp movement, “Actually, Steve said you’re a pickle freak. Why does Dingus here know that and I don’t?!”

Nancy rolls her eyes but smiles as she turns back around, pulling out into traffic. Steve flicks Robin’s nose, “Because I’m a good friend.”

Robin huffs, pointing a finger in his face, “She’s my friend. You’re an acquaintance at best.”

Coughing at the irony of that statement, you slide your sunglasses down over your eyes, tucking your bag between your legs. 

Steve gasps, pointing at you with a fake pout, “Wow, not gonna even pretend to argue with her?” his voice changing to a higher tone, “No, you’re my friend too Steve, don’t listen to her!”

Smiling at him with a shrug, Robin points in his face, “Ha-”

Interrupted quickly though when Nancy speaks up, eyes searching both ways and hands diligent on the wheel, “Robin, people are allowed to have relationships with Steve other than you.”

Robin rolls her eyes, “Yeah, says the girl who sucked his dick!”

“Robin!” Nancy scolds as Steve groans, sinking deeper into the seat. 

Laughing, Robin keeps going, “Well, you did!”

Nancy blushes profusely, “I didn’t…we never…so Y/N! What have you been up to?”

Robin chirps, “Yeah suck any good dicks lately?”

Steve coughs, choking on his water, sputtering and dribbling down his shirt, staining the blue a darker shade, “Jesus, Robin!”

She flicks Steve’s knees, “You are a child,” she turns to you, raising her eyebrows and your mouth falls open.

“You do not actually want to know if I sucked any good dicks lately Robin.”

She starts nodding furiously, “Yes. Yes I do, I want to hear all about it. It’s the last hurrah of summer! I want dirty stories. I want truth or dare! I want-”

Steve knocks the brim of her hat down over her eyes, “Save it for your girls night.”

Robin pulls it up, sticking her tongue out at him, “You just don’t wanna hear about all the hot sex she’s having cause you aren’t getting any.”

The back of the seat feels hot despite the breeze blowing through the four open windows and you’re not sure how to respond when Nancy squeezes Robin’s thighs, “Robin, why don’t we play twenty questions, or the license plate game. Save all the dirty talk for the party tonight. I’m sure Eddie will love to get a game of truth or dare going with you.”

Steve’s lips smirk up at the mention of twenty questions and you squirm in the back seat, trying to change the subject as you question, “Eddie?”

Robin grins widely, dimple popping out on a freckled cheek, “He went to high school with us, he’s driving up with some of the munchkins!”  Her smile turns into a smirk as she faces forward, “Actually, I think Eddie is single…”

Steve’s body tenses next to yours but you stare out the window, sighing and keeping your tone sarcastic, “Wow, in this economy?”

Nancy snorts, Steve bites his cheek to hide a smile, and Robin sighs, lifting her hands in surrender, “Listen, all I’m saying is wait until you see the guy. I think even your love and relationship refusing heart will swoon a little at his smile.”

Steve grunts, sinking even lower, his knees pressed to her seat as his hands snap on her seatbelt like an annoying brother, “You sure you’re a lesbian?”

The car erupts into laughter and eventually, evens out into a quiet ride. Nancy and Robin argue over music until satisfied with a joint decision and Steve and your hands sit close together on the middle seat as you look out opposite windows. Ditching the heavy city traffic fairly quickly, the roads twist and curve as you make your way to what Robin swears is their best kept secret since moving to Chicago. A long trip that has your stomach grumbling for lunch and Steve falling asleep. 

His head turned towards you, sunglasses falling down his nose and his hand sliding to touch yours. Letting your fingers dance on the tips of his, brushing over caulouses and anxiously ripped skin on his thumb, you find yourself stealing glances over at him for most of the drive. Noticing the soft shadow his eyelashes make on his skin, the two freckles on his cheek and the small part of his pink lips - eyes tracing over his cupid’s bow. As the car slows to a stop, his eyes open to meet yours, letting you know he had been awake for at least part of your aimless touching and staring. 

The blue of his shirt making the green and golds fade away, his eyes deep like the lake just outside the windshield and his fingers push up against yours, a small smile on his lips forming until a loud thwack against his open window makes you both jump. 

“Steve!” 

Steve’s shades fall off and his head hits the roof of the car and your hand covers your mouth to stop a laugh as he shouts, tone high and distraught, “Jesus Christ, Sinclair! What the hell, man!?”

A boy with curly brown hair sticks his head in your window, making you jump back against the seat, “Sorry, did we interrupt your ogling of each other, hi, Dustin Henderson,” he sticks his hand through the window at you and you shake it as he continues, “When you’re tired of this guy, I live in New York and I-”

Steve swats his hand from yours, looking around to check for Robin, “We were not-we weren’t,” he turns and gets out of the car, frazzled and cheeks tinged darker red than you’ve ever seen them, “Let’s go! Help me get the shit out of the trunk Henderson!”

Dustin rolls his eyes, saluting two fingers as he grins at you, “Duty calls, ma’lady.”

Pulling your lip in as you hide a smile at the reminder of Steve calling Robin ma’lady in your first interaction with both of them. The smile, the curls, the hat - this is the kid in half of Steve’s pictures. Stepping out of the car, you turn to see a long strip of beach, a mixture of sand and rock. Dark blue waves crashing against the shore, it’s a little cove that leads to a patch of forest that juts out into the lake. There’s families with kites, food trucks, and a dock with people climbing into bright orange and yellow kayaks. Inhaling a deep breath, it’s crisp and clear - that scent all the candles and air fresheners try to capture but they just can’t. 

Hearing shouting, you turn to see Robin on the beach as she picks up and spins a girl with red hair, Nancy ruffling the head of one of the boys and hugging a brown haired girl that runs towards her. A third girl, maybe slightly younger than the rest, starts setting up her towel and removes her shirt, dark skin glowing and radiating the sun and a few boys walking by whistle as she waves. The boy from the window, Sinclair, yells something at them and then throws the shirt back at the girl, pointing at the boys. She pretends to cover her ears, siblings you’re sure. Especially when the red-headed girl rips the shirt from him and rolls her eyes, kissing his cheek as his head falls backwards in defeat. 

“Harrington!” you turn at the sound of an older male voice and blink wide eyes at the sight you find. Hopping out of a black Jeep wrangler, doors and top taken off, the man attached to the voice wraps his arms around Steve in the familiar patting and punching of shoulders guy hug.  

Sleeveless band t-shirt exposing ink that contrasts against the pale toned arms it covers, dark curls blowing around in the wind and big brown eyes that meet yours over Steve’s shoulder with a dazzling smile that gives Robin’s dimples a run for their money. 

Something hits him in the back of his head and he spins, smile turning to scowl as another boy in the trunk throws stuff out, “Eddie! Where’s the food? Did you only pack beer?!”

Oh my god.

That’s Eddie?

His arms cross and you watch as the tattoos that swirl around his arms dance as his shoulders flex, “Wheeler, do I look like the kind of guy who would only pack beer and no food?”

The kid stands up, said beer in both hands and blinks, “Yeah, that’s exactly why I asked, did you only pack beer?”

A hip bumps yours and you see a grinning Robin, tapping the side of her lips, “You got a little…”

Shoving her shoulder, you grab your bag and curse Steve a little bit for making it so you won’t be able to lay out in your bikini in front of that gorgeous man. 

As you lay out your towel and Nancy distributes lunches, introductions are made. The “munchkins” it turns out are not munchkins any longer. Kids that somehow fell under the wing of these older ones and all stuck together. This is a big group, but it’s more than that. Watching the way they all interact, it settles in your bones like the truest fact you’ll ever know - this is a family. Noticing that many of them have interactions like Steve and Robin in their own way. Sharing parts of their lunches, tossing chips into each other’s mouths, and catching up and squealing like they were all back in high school again or coming home after a summer away at camp. Steve and Eddie stay over by the cars, leaning against the hood of the Jeep to eat their lunch and you find yourself glancing over your shoulder at them. 

The red-headed girl, Max, you're pretty sure, sits next to you, eyes serious behind thick glasses as she states rather than questions, “So, you’re Steve’s girlfriend.”

Shaking your head quickly, “No, I-”

Sinclair, Lucas as you’ve now learned, leans around her shoulder, “But earlier, in the car you and-”

Nancy interrupts as Robin’s head turns towards the conversation curiously, “Oh shoot! I forgot my sunglasses in the car! Lucas, would you go run and grab them for me?”

He nods, hitting his thighs as he stands up and looks around, “Anyone else need anything?”

“Yeah! Tell the ice cream man I’d like a cup of that sherbert they’re selling at that truck over there,” Erica says from her spot in the sun without opening her eyes. Smiling at his exasperated sigh and eye roll worthy of the older brother you had suspected him to be. 

Lucas jogs off, intercepting Steve and Eddie on their way to the group and you make eye contact with Nancy as Max is distracted by something El is saying. She smiles - thin lipped and small, and you know she’s onto you and Steve. 

Turning your gaze down to the sand running through your fingers you question, “Ice cream man? Is that Eddie?”

All the kids laugh and Nancy pulls her mouth in, fighting a bigger smile as Robin grins from her spot laying in the sun next to you now, “No, Steve. We used to work at an ice cream shop. Scoops Ahoy.”

Dustin laughs, “He had to wear these little shorts and say ‘Ahoy’ when people came in, had this sailor’s hat and-”

“Okay! Thank you, Henderson! No more storytime boys and girls,” his voice calls out loudly. Turning your gaze up to see his eyes hidden underneath sunglasses sitting above pink cheeks as he tosses popsicles at all of the kids.

Handing Erica her sherbert as he sighs and she sings, “Thank you Steven.”

He hums as he sits down by all the kids and you question, “So, what? Once an ice cream man, always an ice cream man?”

“Something about making a deal to provide ice cream for life despite not having worked there in years,” Steve mumbles, glaring at Erica who grins around her spoon and Robin laughs. 

Sun blocked suddenly as someone sits next to you, a hand holding out an ice cream cone with a scoop of your favorite flavor, “Hi, I’m Eddie, I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I just moved to Chicago, I’m in a band, and I do have friends other than these children.”

Laughing, you shake his hand as you balance your newly acquired ice cream in the other, introducing yourself. 

Steve stands quickly, tossing a football at Lucas and soon most of the boys join in after shoveling their popsicles away and the girls start playing volleyball. Leaving you in the sand with Eddie, you get the utter enjoyment of watching Robin attempt to look for the ball and run around while wearing her sun hat.

Eddie and you make small talk and you find yourself knocking his shoulder with yours and flirting much more than you intended, but he's a smooth talker and sharp and you get why Robin brought him up all smugly. A game of football that ends with Steve buried in the sand and a game of volleyball with Robin rolling head over heels later, and the kids make their way to the water and the "adults" are standing close by, sharing beers. Eddie and you had both opted to remain laying in the sun and read. A well worn copy of ‘The Hobbit’ sits in front of him that he shrugged and turned pink as he admitted he reads it every summer.

He hasn't paid much attention to it though, from what you can tell, catching his eyes on you more than once. You're brought out of your book yet again when the pads of his fingers glide over one of the purple bruises on your neck you'd managed to keep hidden for most of the day.

He gasps as you squirm at his touch, "Oh my god, has the angel who's been flirting with me all day had a secret devilish side the whole time?"

Rolling your eyes, you close your book, eyelashes fluttering as his fingers curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath warmer than the sun beating down on your skin as he whispers, "So, tell me, are these 'She's my girl' claiming you love bites or are they  'A romp in the hay until you find prince charming' bruises?"

Breath hitching at his words and his body turning on its side and moving closer to yours, you whisper, "I'm not really the prince charming type.”

He grins and leans in slowly, “No? No distressed damsels? No knights in shining armor?”

Your eyes dance around his face, landing on his brown pools that are about to swallow you whole as you touch your nose to his, “Nah, more like a wench on a ship full of pirates.”

He moans loudly, biting his lip, nudging his nose into your cheek when one of the kids shrieks "Eddie!"

He curses under his breath, propping up on his forearms and shrieking as he turns his head, "What?!"

"I need your help!" It's Dustin and he's trying to take something out of the jeep that looks a lot like a surfboard and you’re trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  

Mumbling under his breath he starts to get up and then rethinks rather quickly, head dropping, and hips squirming, "Uh, just a minute!"

Letting your laugh escape finally as he squeezes his eyes closed. Pressing your body closer to his, you feel what he’s so concerned about and whisper, "Do you need help?"

He shoots you a look, scowling but eyes shimmering, "I don't need any more help from you, you secret seductress."

He boops your nose with his finger and races over to Dustin after another few seconds, looking back at you and motioning with his fingers that he’s watching you.  

Turning to sit up and face the lake, you make eye contact with Steve. His gaze hard and his jaw clenched, he quickly looks down at his beer, sliding his Ray Bans back over his eyes. 

Eddie runs past you with Dustin helping to carry the boogie board, and ends up being roped into something in the water with the kids. You’re lost in peeling a tangerine when Steve sits down in front of you, shoving into your space, “Can you put some sunblock on me?”

Glancing up, Robin and Nancy are on a walk down the strip of beach, and Eddie is still in the water. Sighing, you trade him the orange for the bottle and motion your fingers to spin. He does so with a smile, stealing one of your slices which earns him a disgruntled noise from you. As you squeeze sunblock onto your fingers, he clears his throat and you glance up to see him holding a segment over his shoulder for you. Stomach flipping as you grab it from his fingers with your teeth and hum a thank you around it. 

“Mhm,” he nods as your fingers press into the hot skin on his shoulders, brushing and pushing the lotion over his tanned skin, fingers lingering on some of his freckles he clears his throat again and asks, “So, Eddie, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you tap his shoulder, ignoring the question, “More fruit please.”

Pulling it from his fingers again, your lips brush over one of them, slightly dipping into your mouth and he sighs. Your hands rub more lotion into his neck before he spins to face you. With still some left on the tips of your fingers you brush it over his freckled and slightly pink nose and his eyes fall closed slowly. 

Steve’s elbow’s resting on his bent knees, tanned skin glowing in the afternoon sun and his hair disheveled and almost looking better this way - windswept and free. Your fingers ache to run through it, to be softer and sensual with your touch instead of rough, desperate to be closer to the cute man before you. Especially when he opens his eyes, golden and sweet like the last part of summer you were all clinging to. Mouth parting as he holds another piece of the fruit up to your lips and your fingertips linger on his cheeks. Eyelashes fluttering together as you bite into the slice, juice bursts in your mouth - refreshing and cold, exactly what you need to tame the heat between your stares, even if just a little. A part of you wants to lean into him, to let the taste of the citrus dance between your mouths and wash over the both of you. To tangle together under the warm sun and let the sounds of the lake drown out anything but that moment between the two of you. Lips sticky, aching to press into his, he swallows harshly at the way your tongue darts out to lick them free of the juice.   

His eyes fall to the peel and he clears his throat again, but before either of you can speak, Robin huffs, dropping down next to you. Tugging on the side of your shirt with a whine, “Will you come swim with me? Please?”

Ready to decline, Steve backs away and takes a sip of his beer that he’d nestled into the sand. The sweet shared snack and moment gone as his eyes return to being hidden under his glasses and he smirks, “You should. You’ve been covered up all day, what’s up with that?”

Shooting a glare at him, because Steve knew damn well why you’d been covered up all day. Robin nods furiously, pulling you up to stand, “You really have. And you can read on the way back. Swimming is now or never until next summer.”

“Robin, I don’t-”

Steve pretends to be helpful, finger snapping and pointing at you like he’d just thought of the idea, “Don’t you want to show off a little for Eddie?”

“You’re right, yes, thank you Steve!” Robin touches her nose after pointing to him, “Sounds like a perfect plan to me.”

Groaning as you remove your bottoms, Steve’s marks not as noticeable, she yanks the bottle of sunblock from your hand and squeezes some on her fingers, nodding at your shirt. Removing it with a wince as she whistles loudly, “Goodness gracious girl, no wonder you’ve barely had time for me!” she rubs the lotion into your shoulders.

“Robin,” you hiss. 

She shrugs, “What? We’re all adults. Hickies are hot. I bet they just rile Eddie up more. Who’s the animal who did this to you though?” she wiggles her eyebrows up and down. 

Steve’s smirk drops as you fling your clothes at his chest harshly and follow her down to the water calling loudly, “He’s no one important.” 

Laughing as you turn to see Eddie, who’s waist deep in the water, his dark curls dripping down his chest that’s also littered with tattoos. He whistles loudly at you and then pretends like he’s been shot in the heart, falling on his back into the water with a large splash. As Robin bumps your hip, grinning widely, you steal a glance back over your shoulder to see Nancy hitting the back of Steve’s head and him kicking the sand. 

The drive back into the city is a different kind of quiet than the one out. With Nancy’s eyes fixed on the road and Robin’s snores drifting around the car softly, Steve and you curl into your doors, pushing as far from each other as you can. As the thick trees make way to lush green yards of suburbia to the concrete and brick walls of the city, the moment you’d had with Steve gets further away - lost and buried in the sand. 

The sun dips lower, tangerine and pink lighting up the inside of the car in what should be a perfect summer sunset. Risking a glance over at Steve, his head leaning against a now closed window, hands aimlessly fidgeting with his sunglasses in his lap. You can’t explain it, but something about Steve getting you undressed to show off the hickies he knew he’d given you made you incredibly mad at him and turned on at the same time. Like he was staking a claim over something, over you when it really wasn’t his place. He didn’t get to stop you from seeing other guys, he didn’t get to be jealous even if it was a little hot. Maybe Steve needed a reminder of how this arrangement was originally supposed to go. 

Like he was reading your mind, he turned his head to catch you in your stare. His eyes moved around your face slowly, releasing a deep breath through his nose. Watching as he slowly pushed his hand closer to yours that had fallen into the middle again. His brow furrowed, lips downturned as his fingers bumped against yours, it felt like your heart was threatening to crack out of your chest as he traced up your hand slowly, drawing small circles in an entirely too familiar and too intimate way. You were never supposed to be at his beckon call - you were never only supposed to be with each other. Had Steve even gone on a date since this had started? When the thought of him with another girl made your stomach churn, you realized maybe you needed the reminder too. 

Nancy cleared her throat, her eyes on yours in the rearview mirror and Steve didn’t move his fingers from the back of your hand as she spoke, “You’re still going to the party right? Robin really wanted you there.”

Breath blowing through your parted lips slowly, you nod, “Yup,” you slowly pull your hand from under Steve’s as you keep going, “Eddie and the kids going too?”

She hums a little, nodding, “Well, Eddie is. I think the kids decided to stay back,” she nudges Robin’s shoulder gently as the car pulls to a stop in front of her apartment. Steve tries to snag you, but you brush past him, calling the shower first. Your polar opposite thoughts swirl around your head, body torn in two as you wash the sand, sunblock and day off of you and down the drain. 

Stepping out of the shower and back out into her room, you’re met with all of the girls bustling around. You had pushed past noticing any details and straight to the bathroom she had directed you to. Clean and wrinkle free fluffy comforter, soft curtains, and a dresser adorned with framed photos, trinkets, and a bottle of perfume. The younger girls are pulling out clothes from the closet begging Nancy to let them borrow things as she laughs and pops on earrings in front of a small vanity nestled in the walk-in closet. 

Pulling your dress on, you push any thoughts of Steve’s reactions to you in it (or how he’d take it off of you), from your mind. Snug and clinging to your curves in all of the right places, shimmering black, short, and sleeveless with a halter neckline perfect to hide his marks. The girls pop their heads out of the closet and giggle as Robin whistles at you and motions for you to spin around, “He’s not gonna know what hit him!”

Faltering in your spinning, you glance up at her with wide eyes, “Wh-what?”

She scrunches her nose, tilting her head, voice laced with a ‘duh’ tone, “Eddie?”

Smiling at her, you nod, “Oh, right.”

Robin finishes tying her platform converse and looks up at you from her spot on the ground, laughing, “Who else would I be talking about?”

Gut churning, throat becoming tight, Nancy saves you yet again, “Alright girls, we’re off. I better not find anything missing when I get back,” she points at all of them sternly but winks. Robin follows and pulls you along back down the short hallway. 

The boys have already set up their DND game - the reason they’re staying back - at Nancy’s dark wood high top dining table. The girls flop onto a large white plush couch, sorting through movies on Netflix as Nancy reminds everyone there’s money for pizza on the fridge, and not to drink all of her wine or beer. She’s listing more reminders that have them waving their hands above their heads and humming, pretending they’re listening but not really hearing a word. 

To be honest you haven’t been listening either, only tuning in when you hear Dustin groan, “Jesus Christ Steve, I think your drool just dripped down onto my shoulder.”

Head lifting up to see his eyes on you that quickly shoot to Dustin, glaring and shoving at his head, not missing the way Eddie looks between the two of you with a frown. Gulping down the guilt, you push on with your plan to remind Steve you can sleep with other people and call out, “Hey Eddie, can I use your arm? Heels and I aren't typically friends.”

He obliges right away, smiling and helping you down the steps and to the waiting uber. You’re sandwiched between Steve and him on the ride to the party, Robin and Nancy in the seat in front of you. Steve on your right, a simple white button down and dark jeans, the glint of a gold chain just touching dark chest hair that peeks through the top of the shirt lit up as the orange glow of streetlights passes through the car. Eddie on your left, black jeans with ripped knees and a black fitted t-shirt and a silver chain holding a red guitar pic centered on his chest. Christ, they’re like opposite day angels and devils on your shoulders. 

Both boys shift slightly, their thighs warm against yours as they spread their legs in acts of dominance. Their knees pressed to the bare skin of your own burning your skin. Steve’s button down soft as it brushes your shoulder. Eddie’s skin hot - muscles flexing slightly as his arm nudges your other side. Steve’s cologne that you have dreams about lingers as the new scent of Eddie pushes to the forefront of your senses. It’s nice, different and not as heavy, subtle and simple - clean. Not as rich.

Your breath hitches as Steve’s head turns in your direction, his lips brush over your ear, breath warm as his lips part to speak. Before he can say anything, you lift a hand and touch the rings on Eddie’s hand, cold metal soothing to your fraying resolve, “These to show everyone how tough you are?”

Eddie grins and wiggles his fingers beneath yours as Steve huffs, the breath hitting your neck and goosebumps rising in its wake. As you continue to fiddle with Eddie’s rings, you hate that the eyeroll of Steve’s you catch out of the corner of your eye sends a wave of arousal through you. Your thighs already sticky, pressing together at the thought of making Steve frustrated and flustered. He catches the movement, eyes turning darker in your quick gaze upon them. He wasn’t just jealous, he likes that he is, and he knows you like it too now. 

The uber’s sudden halt to a stop at the curb nudges you closer into Eddie’s side and you take advantage. Slinking your arm around his, fingers wrapping around his bicep, you let him help you out of the car. The already short hemline of your dress riding up further, hot summer day turning cool as the wind touches your exposed skin. Doing nothing to stop the fabric from hitching higher, a smirk threatens to crack your neutral face as a small groan comes from behind you, knowing Steve just got a flash of your red lace thong. 

Thumping bass coming from the brownstone, you cling to Eddie’s side as he helps you up the steps. Staying wrapped around him as Nancy introduces you all to her co-workers and the host. Eventually, you remove yourself from him, off to search for a drink and a small reprieve from the eyes of Steve you can feel on the back of your head. Making a show whenever you see him approaching - tugging Eddie’s arm or a curl. Back arched as you reach for another drink or steal Eddie’s cigarette for a drag when you follow him out to the patio. Steve and you are never far apart all night, but not close enough. Like gravitational pulls centered on each other, orbiting around the other like you can’t help it. At one point he finally breaks, his hand brushing your lower back on the way to get a drink and it takes everything in you not to follow him. 

Instead, you end up heading in the opposite direction, down a hallway to find a bathroom. Dimly lit by candles, you don’t even turn on the light, relaxing in the soft glow they give off. As you go to close the door, a large foot and hand shove themselves into the crack. Before you can protest, Steve’s body slips through the door and closes it, thumb pressing to the lock. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you face the sink, fingers trailing along the swirls of shimmering cracks in the granite, “What do you want Harrington?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but comes to stand behind you. Watching in the mirror as his fingers glide over the marks on your neck and shoulder, his marks. Your breath catches in your chest as he steps closer, a hard bulge pressing into your ass. 

Repeating your words, you spin to face him, bodies pressed together and your voice straining to be icy, “What do you want?”

His hands find your hips and he nudges you back against the counter as he rolls his hips against yours. Leaning in closer, he brushes his nose against yours. His breath mint and rum, his reapplied cologne after the day and lingering smells of the lake surround you, the scent of Eddie from the car forgotten. It’s all mahogany, woodsy, luxury and you hate that you love it. Your lips catch his as he presses himself even closer as he speaks quietly, voice rough from the day of yelling and the drinks he’d been pounding, “I think you need a reminder.” 

Your hands fall back against the counter, breath hitching at his words. Steve’s reminder can’t be the same as the one you’re trying to give him. As he squeezes your hips a little harshly and you breathe out, bottom lip catching his again, “Excuse me?”

He laughs a little, quiet and raspy, rolling his hips against you harder and gripping at your thigh roughly, “I’m not important?” his lips skim over your jaw, sloppy and hungry, his breath short and ragged as he mouths at your neck, “It was my name you screamed last night when you came,” lips pressing a kiss under your ear, punctuating each word with more, “All. Three. Times.” 

His fingers brush under the hem of your dress as he pulls his head away, kissing your temple as your eyes flutter closed, “It’s cute you’re trying to make me jealous…”

“I’m not-”

“You are,” his voice strong as it interrupts yours, fingers brushing the damp front of your underwear as his lips smile against your jaw, nose nudging into your cheek, “You picked out this slutty dress for me.”

Fighting every nerve in your body, Steve’s commanding tone and attitude making your thighs sticky. Stomach flipping at the sinful way he rubs slowly over your underwear, you keep your voice surprisingly even, “Are you calling me a slut?”

“I’m not,” he removes his hand and spins you to face the mirror again, mouth hovering over the skin below your ear as he whispers, “But you’d like it if I did.”

Steve looks at you through the reflection, mouth latching onto your skin, teeth grazing lightly before sucking. Burning you with the heat of his gaze and mouth, your feet push together, body arching back into his as his tongue soothes yet another mark from him. His eyelashes flutter at your movement, hands running down your sides slowly, his mouth and touch causing your skin to heat up and fill the small room with heated lust to match the warm orange glow of the candles. 

He removes his mouth with a quiet pop, pulling up the hem of your dress frantically, two fingers pushing over the front of your underwear again. Rubbing up and down slowly, he laughs again into your ear, “You want me to call you a slut. That’s what your little show tonight has been all about.”

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his fingers start circling your clit through the fabric and his other hand grabs your jaw, pulling your gaze to yourself in the mirror as his hot breath fans over your ear and his movements grow faster, “Flirting with Eddie, this dress, showing me this pretty little thing,” his fingers snap the band on your hip harshly, clenching around nothing at the movement as he continues, “hiding under it in the car, wanting to do this with Robin right outside.” Lips against your temple as he huffs quietly, “I’m not important.”

His fingers stop suddenly, pulling off of you and you whine, squirming against the hold he has on your chin and he slaps your ass, the sound of his fingers hitting your skin echoing around the small bathroom, the harsh movement sending your hips forward into the counter as he starts to grind against your ass. Mouth right against your ear as he practically growls in it. 

“You are a slut.”

A desperate moan starts to fall out of you and the hand on your chin quickly moves over your mouth. His fingers soothe the mark on your ass before reaching around to slowly rub over your clit again as he commands against your ear, “Quiet.”

Nodding as your hands grip the countertop and he grinds into your ass in rhythm with his fingers. Steve’s mouth travels up and down your neck, kissing and licking his marks as you grind back against his movements, one of your hands reaching down and holding his wrist tighter to you as he rubs faster. The hand over your mouth tugs your head to look at yourself in the mirror, fingers around your jaw as he laughs into your ear, “Look at you. I’m not important?”

Shaking your head no, your body arches back into him, his hand leaving your mouth to push your lower back so you’re leaning against the countertop, hand gripping his wrist as he rubs faster, your arousal soaking and ruining the red thong as he grinds into you harshly. His hand slaps your ass without notice again, shooting you forward and his fingers slide under the lace just barely, and he whispers, “Come on baby, make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”

He swirls and swirls his fingers, pushing them down through your folds as moans and whines threaten to push past your lips. His thumb takes over against your clit and he slaps your ass again, cupping it and pushing against you harder, grunting out a quiet, “Fuck.”

“Who’s making you cum like this?” whispering in your ear as he rubs even faster, your stomach tightened and ready to snap, knees bumping the cabinet doors with every push of his erection into your backside. He slaps your ass again, red and stinging, tears wetting your lash line as he speaks a little louder, “I asked you a question slutty girl.”

“Yo-you,” choking it out as he takes your hand off of the counter and pushes it into your folds. 

Watching as you take over with a whine bubbling out of your pouting lips as he removes his fingers and licks your neck up to your ear, asking, “Who’s pussy is that?”

Clenching around your own fingers, you gasp out, “Yo-yours, Steve.” 

Eyes squeezing shut as he nods against your temple, “Right, baby. Good girl.” You focus on rubbing tight circles, stifling a moan at his words, almost missing the sound of his pants unbuckling. And when you hear him curse under his breath quietly, your eyes shoot open to see him stroking himself, other hand on your ass, squeezing the doughy flesh beneath the pads of his fingers. Biting down hard on your bottom lip as he moans, mesmerized by the way he watches the warm and sticky release drip down and cover you, squeezing your ass with both hands as pushes himself against you, his cum dripping over and into your ass, whispering, “Mine.” 

His claim over you sends the gush of release over your own fingers, head falling forward with a ragged breath and shaking legs. Neither of you say anything as you catch your breath, slowly starting to clean yourselves up. 

You’re leaning against the counter, clutching your soaked panties you’d opted to just remove as Steve helps clean up your face. His eyes serious, mouth pursed in a frown as he steps closer to you with a damp washcloth. His thumbs brush under your lash line, removing smudged make-up as you try to catch his eyes. When they finally lock with yours, his chest still heaving with breaths through his nose, you whisper, “Are we gonna talk about the last two days? Or no?”

Steve opens his mouth when a loud knock on the door startles you both. 

Steve calls out, “Find a different bathroom!”

“Open the door, Steve, or I tell her right now!”

Steve swears under his breath and opens the door, peeking his head out slightly before yanking on the front of Eddie’s shirt and pulling him into the bathroom harshly. 

Eddie smirks, leaning against the door as he looks between the two of you, and sings, “My, my, aren’t you two just naughty little heathens.”

Steve’s head drops, his hands rubbing his temple as your eyes bounce back and forth between the two boys. How did you let it get this far?

You are so fucked - and not in the good way. 

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long. Ya'll have no idea how much I poured into this, how tough writer's block was and how much I bugged my sweet friends and my beta @sweetsweetjellybean about this. Please let me know what you thought! I can't wait to share the next parts - updates will hopefully be more timely from here on out, but I appreciate your patience.

WCIL Tag List: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @hollandweather

*names with a cross through - tumblr wouldn't let me tag you 💛

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

(Small, frivolous rant incoming, apologies)

One thing I wish the Destiny fandom did more of was dabble in the utter horror this universe holds, especially when it comes to portraying the vile atrocities committed by many of the cosmic level characters.

Destiny‘s T rating holds it back so much in my opinion (but it still manages to lay down excellent foundations for horror and more mature themes!!) and I really wish there was more fan works that explored the unimaginable tragedies that occur in lore!!

When you really dwell on the scale of many of the disasters that happen in lore, it really dawns on you just how sinister and monstrous many of the larger villains are. Antagonists like Eramis are much more grounded, certainly not saints though, but some of the antagonists we have encounter are truly odious in their behaviors, even if they are deluded into thinking what they are doing is correct (like the Osmium siblings ravaging whole star systems in pursuit of the sword).

For example, it’s no secret that I LOATHE the Witness like no other. This wicked entity has me fighting bile at the mere thought of it and I truly think the way it delivers cruelty with such a sense of compassion and righteousness to be the most stomach wrenching form of being baneful. I could not think of an entitlement more deplorable than the Witness‘ and it’s existence is a travesty that has caused irreparable harm that spans EONS.

Yet, in my experience, I never see much content that taps into the horrors experienced by those touched by the Witness and its pawns, such as the Noesis and humanity during the collapse. There are INCREDIBLE artistic and written works that tap into the psychological horrors of exos and the unethical hell Clovis was putting people through, but not as many on the more cosmic horrors from what I have seen!!

This may just be a me thing and the personal reasons why I want the Witness put under a hydraulic press speaking, but I often see plenty of depictions of the Witness being uncharacteristically soft and having deeper feelings towards its disciples, but works about its vengeful rage, simple mindedness, violation of the autonomy of others, and predatory grooming are quite barren.

I wish to see just how HEINOUS it is displayed in all its turpitude and how it leaves a festering rot on everything and everyone it touches. I love the Witness because it is so evil in it‘s actions and my heart SINGS any time I see people tap into the trauma it causes, especially for characters like Rhulk or Savathûn!!

There is so much room for exploring just how vast the Destiny universe is when you decenter perpetrators in stories and focus on the incomprehensible number of victims.

Destiny genuinely has a character running around with the title „The Final God of Pain“ haunting people and refusing to permanently die, but there is only so much a T rated game can do and I feel like Destiny enjoyers can go beyond what’s in game in such creative ways!! Just thinking of the fall of Torobatl has me going „Wow, I’m actually so sick to my stomach, I need to honor Caiatl and really capture the pain of such an event!“

The latest lore on the Qugu? My chest HURTS.

Some of the hive experimentations? The hive in general? Hell is not hot enough for what the Witness lead them into.

But you know what they say, be the change you want to see in the world! Create the content you want to enjoy and promote the content you do enjoy!! I wish to dabble into the darker areas of lore, and of course, promote Witness hatred any chance I get!! Hopefully I get more time to write about these things and really value the work the Destiny writers have put into portraying such strong feelings of loss time and time again!!

And also!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read The Garden‘s Witness by Titanmaster_117 !!! ESPECIALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER, I COULD RANT ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF PROSE ALL DAY, IT GENUINELY MADE ME CRY!! PROMOTE THE CONTENT YOU ENJOY ALL DAY, EVERYDAY!!

But this is just something I’ve been thinking for some time now. This isn’t condemning anyone in the fandom or saying there is an issue, just a desire I would love to see (and hopefully fulfill if I ever get back into writing for Destiny!) If you guys have any recommendations for Destiny works that are horrific, focus on themes of loss and devastation, or hate on the Witness, feel free to mention them so other people can find them!!

Not enough Witness hate going around for my liking… this looks like a job for me.

[void-dude]

I have to single handedly thank you for reminding me of Tad's existence I adore your take on him and I think I'm going to suck up every drop of content of him and Stan with a silly staw

Not to be a helpless sap but the amount of positive feedback and engagement has genuinely made me incredibly happy and sometimes even distressed (in a good way!) I can't thank each and every single one of you enough for the support and simple engagement you've given me! I don't have the words in my broken vocabulary to properly convey the happiness I feel whenever I see people enjoy my silly art and create their own things because of it. This is the first time I've gotten fanart and asks about stuff I make and honestly it's such a motivator! Thank you! Thank you all so so much for sticking around for a while! I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I enjoy making it!

[blueskittlesart]

*sigh* thoughts on Nintendo's botw/totk timeline shenanigans and tomfoolery?

tbh. my maybe-unpopular opinion is that the timeline is only important when a game's place on the timeline seriously informs the way their narrative progresses. the problem is that before botw we almost NEVER got games where it didn't matter. it matters for skyward sword because it's the beginning, and it matters for tp/ww/alttp (and their respective sequels) because the choices the hero of time makes explicitly inform the narrative of those games in one way or another. it matters which timeline we're in for those games because these cycles we're seeing are close enough to oot's cycle that they're still feeling the effects of his choices. botw, however, takes place at minimum 10 thousand years after oot, so its place on the timeline actually functionally means nothing. botw is completely divorced from the hero of time & his story, so what he does is a nonissue in the context of botw link and zelda's story. thus, which timeline botw happens in is a nonissue. honestly I kind of liked the idea that it happened in all of them. i think there's a cool idea of inevitability that can be played with there. but the point is that the timeline exists to enhance and fill in the lore of games that need it, and botw/totk don't really need it because the devs finally realized they could make a game without the hero of time in it.

[cuntyfieddemon]

lilia calderu dies in the episode of her trial

rio is death

agatha gay as hell

[kiyomitakada]

did you guys know that death note is good and i like it

[harbingersecho]

I don't feel pain I never escape I'm under the bed I'm licking the floor

[specialtysacrifice]

"Oh fu- that's so asinine, thats... that has nothing to do with you-"

Think He Can Hear Us Through the Walls? (think he wants to get involved) by @ratcoffin69 is very fun !! I loved the scene where they were just talking over eachother I had to draw it.

The text is lifted right from the fic, if ya wanna know what it fully says I'd recommend checking out the fic ;)

[lwiann]

Still so baffling to me how you cant completely ally with gortash as durge with all that history. For a game that lets you do some truly heinous things.

[everythingisconfetti]

what is the best love song ever written and why is it Fair by The Amazing Devil?

[good-beans]

My @milgramcf Zine came in last week and I just wanted to say thank you for all the hard work the mods and creators put into it!! I've never been a part of anything like this before -- it was such a fun and coordinated project, and the final book came out stunning 🤩 It's exciting to participate in a charity project, and I love my little items haha!

[galaxywhump]

Starry-Eyed

A little something about one of my D&D characters, an owlin Circle of Stars druid named Gienah.

contents: character expecting to die, dehydration, amnesia.

~~~

He opened his eyes to the endless starry sky above him. There were sensations and stimuli - dull, pulsating pain in his head and back, gentle sloshing of water, a hard wooden surface beneath him - but he was too captivated by the sky to pay attention to any of them, his eyes following the stars, searching for paths between them to create constellations. He couldn’t help but smile, which then turned into almost tearing up from how overwhelmed he was by the beauty and grandness of the sky.

When he took a deep breath, the pain intensified, snapping him back to his senses and making him wince. Why was he in pain?

Where was he?

He sat up abruptly and immediately hissed when his head protested this sudden change in position. When his ears stopped ringing and his vision cleared, he looked around, and what he saw chilled him to the core.

He was in a small boat, alone, and all around him, as far as the eye could see, were the inky depths of the ocean.

There had to be something, though, right? Land or a ship, because he couldn’t have been in this boat for too long, considering he was still alive and felt… alright, aside from the pain. He must have ended up here somehow, but how?...

His head throbbed with agony again, but he was determined as he searched deep within his mind.

“Gienah!”

He flinched at the auditory memory, a word said in an authoritative tone that almost made it sound like he was going to be yelled at.

He? Yes, because the word was his name. Gienah. He was sure of that.

Other than that, though, there was nothing. He was trying to remember, but it felt like he was grasping at the thinnest threads that slipped out of his hands and disappeared, pages in a book that faded in front of his eyes, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing, he was lost and in pain and he was going to die. 

He looked around frantically, but there didn’t seem to be much in the boat, other than two oars. No food, no fresh water - and he did make sure, rummaging through the boat before having to accept that there really wasn’t anything that could help him survive. He had no way of getting out of here- No, he had wings. He was an…. owlin, that was the word. He spread his wings a bit just to remember the sensation, and grimaced when a spike of… something hit his mind. A bad memory, maybe? He’d take bad memories over no memories, but the spike passed, leaving behind a vaguely upsetting void. 

Regardless, he knew he didn’t have enough stamina to just fly forever, so leaving the boat when there was no land in sight would be an even more certain death sentence. He shuddered, imagining crashing into the sea, resigned and exhausted. No, he’d have to choose a direction and row, and hope he would come across some land he could fly to. And then… He didn’t know. He’d decide when he survived.

Dizziness overwhelmed him, so he lay back down, just for a moment, until he felt strong enough to start rowing. Was he even strong enough, though? It sure didn’t feel like it. 

No matter. He stared up at the night sky, at the moon and the stars, and he never wanted to go back to the horrifying reality of his current situation.

As he lay there, slipping into comforting mindlessness, he realized that one of his pockets felt heavier than the other. With a small spark of hope, he reached inside, and his fingers closed around a small object. When he held it up to examine it closely, illuminated by moonlight, he realized that it was some kind of whistle, made of gold-colored wood. He turned it this way and that, looking it over with narrowed eyes, but as much as he’d hoped that his seemingly only possession, barring the clothes on his back, would give him some answers, it ended up resulting in even more questions, especially when he realized that his beak didn’t even let him use it. Why would he have this? Was it really his? How did it end up with him if it wasn’t? He sighed and dropped the whistle back into his pocket, fixing his eyes on the sky again, only to have yet another realization.

He’d chalked the sensation up to hunger up until now, but he realized it was something different, a swirl of… energy inside him, and when he raised his hand, almost automatically, he remembered something, whispered a few words, and a few sparks appeared in his hand, only to fade away. Magic. It was magic.

His name was Gienah, he was an owlin, and he knew how to use magic. That was a start. What kind of magic was it, though? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tuning into the energy inside him, or… not really inside him, not to begin with, instead creeping closer from all around him, from the sea and the sky, from the fish and the seagulls. It came from nature, then. What was this called?

He knew the word, but couldn’t recall it, as if he’d hit a wall in his mind. Not like it mattered right now, anyway; his magic didn’t feel strong and focused enough to help him. He had to do his best on his own, then. He had to survive if he wanted to avoid dying out here and becoming food for the seagulls.

So he sat up, rolled his shoulders, picked up the oars and started rowing. He’d much rather do this during the day, but every second was precious in this race against time. Besides, he could focus on a specific star - the brightest one - and use it to stay on course. He could do this.

Just like he suspected, he wasn’t very strong, but determination pushed him forward. It didn’t matter if his arms felt like they were on fire, he had to push himself far beyond his limits if he wanted to survive, even when the pain was forcing tears out of his eyes. Only when he felt his muscles fully give out did he take a break, letting go of the oars to massage his sore arms and breathe deeply. Looking around, he still saw nothing but the open sea, but it was going to change. It had to.

Having to go back to rowing filled him with dread, his entire body screaming at him to save himself from the strain, but he had no choice. Although… He focused on his apparent magic again. Could he do anything to make this easier for himself, even though he wasn’t especially powerful? Drawing from nature… 

Frowning, he touched one of the oars. It was made of wood, not entirely smooth, though not rough enough for splinters, giving off a makeshift feel. A competent work from an amateur - and he could do something with it.

He grabbed both oars and closed his eyes. Just like with the sparks earlier, it was… an instinct, something that he had practiced so many times that even his mangled memory wasn’t an obstacle. He whispered a few words and tapped his fingers on the oars, and…

He opened his eyes slightly and gasped when he saw the oars glowing with thin veins of light that permeated the wood and climbed up. The oars felt… lighter, somehow, and when he put them in the water and pushed, there was less resistance than before. It worked. He could do this - this time the reassurance had more conviction behind it.

This continued into the next day, casting his spell, rowing, resting, searching for land or a ship, focusing only on the task at hand, because he knew that if he gave in to hopelessness, he would only doom himself. He could barely feel his arms, but he kept rowing, forcing himself into a murderous routine, tuning out everything else. His fingers were sore and stiff, and he felt like they were frozen solid every time he had to open his hands to let go of the oars. The only mercy was the weather, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds from time to time; he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle being constantly exposed to its scorching heat.

Night finally fell, and he took a moment to look up at the stars once again. There was something… soothing about them. They were constant, unchanging, always there, unswayed by what was going on in the mortal realm. Uncaring, maybe, and yet… calming in a way.

Slightly reinvigorated, he went back to rowing until he passed out from exhaustion.

When he woke up in the morning, his throat was bone-dry. He tried to clear it, but all it achieved was sending him into a coughing fit that only made matters worse. He was parched, and there was nothing he could do about it. Hunger was also making itself known, but it was a less pressing concern. Dehydration was going to kill him much faster than starvation.

It took all his willpower to fall back into the routine. Row, don’t stop rowing, ignore the pain, then the numbness, the hopelessness that squeezed his heart like a clawed hand, piercing it, tormenting it. Ignore the shallowness of his breath. Ignore the dark spots dancing before his eyes. Ignore the thirst, the thirst, the thirst. Ignore the fast approaching lonely death.

Then he started slipping. With what little strength he had almost completely gone, even supported by magic, he wasn’t even pushing at the oars hard enough for the boat to gain considerable speed, and the gentle waves, while more welcome than a storm, weren’t of much help. His hands were shaking, his shoulders were locked in agony. He let out a sob, then another, until he broke down fully, still rowing, still fighting, even though there was no point. Tears were clouding his vision until he could barely see anything, and maybe he was going in circles, there were no stars guiding him after all, it was so hopeless.

With a frustrated groan, he fell backwards, hitting the bottom of the boat hard, staring at the heavy, overwhelming clouds hanging over him, as if the sky was threatening to come down and crush him. At least it would be a quicker death.

He shuddered. Despite his hopelessness, he still… he didn’t want to give up. He could still try. At night, maybe, when he could use the stars to navigate. Right now he just needed to rest.

His sleep was fitful, he tossed and turned, unsure whether he was waking up from time to time or simply dreaming. His headache was killing him, his body felt heavy like lead, and his heart had sunk deep into the ocean.

When night came, he opened his eyes, but saw no stars. The night sky was obstructed by clouds.

Before he knew it, he was crying again, dryly, because he was too dehydrated for tears. He really was going to die here, barely remembering who he was and not remembering his life, what had led up to this, at all. Not knowing whether anyone would search for him, miss him, mourn him. Alone, heartbroken and scared, with nothing and no-one to comfort him in his final moments.

Exhausted, Gienah allowed himself to fall back asleep, not knowing if he would wake up again.

[sualne]

wanted to know how much ive written, there's some stuff ive deleted entirely but i've been trying to keep all the "rejects" for record reasons, so far it's: vamp AU: around 49k (WIP) modern AU: around 56k (first draft, incomplete), around 12k (currently rewriting). total around 117k.

i've published about 28k, all vamp au and this is without counting the small unrelated op oneshots ive given up on a while ago.

i keep going back & forth, writing & deleting, making notes to fix the whole thing, start again from the left. i know ive been working on those since october but i hadn't realized just how much there is, and almost none of it is presentable yet. it's not that i don't like the style or anything, it's a bunch of scenes cobbled up together with a lot of nothing between them. i know what happens inbetween but i haven't gotten to writing it yet. there's just so much that's missing.

on one side im impressed by how much there is, for someone who couldn't write for years im so happy but on the other hand, it's all WIPs, it's neverending WIPs. i'm writing gruyère.

[kourota]

[ No Longer Human ]

[lailuhhh]

Okay okay so I had this AU idea but it’s not something I could pull off so I’m here going to yell about it because I can’t stop thinking about it. And maybe because I think you’d write it so well

What if Mac didn’t want to join the army? What if Harry or James forced him too? And he’s been banned from coming home(for a specific period of time). Is it because Harry’s sick and dying and doesn’t want his grandson to see him like this? Is it James for a more sinister specific reason?

So Mac doesn’t want to be there. He wants to go home. He’s had basically bad experiences with most of the people he’s interacted with(I’m a sucker for Mac’s previous overwatches being awful to him) and Peña was the exception but he’s gone and now he’s stuck with Dalton and he’s got so much time left here still and Dalton gets to go home soon.

They still don’t get along but Mac still saves Jack and he’s shocked when Jack stays because he gets to go home and choose to stay. Ahh it would be so interesting.

✨✨✨✨✨✨BESTIE✨✨✨✨✨✨

Okay what if Mac’s considered a troubled child? He has a record of everything that he’s done and really the only big thing was exploding the football field. He’s the weird kid but is still the Mac we know and love

Assuming everything is still pretty much the same, Harry and James still talk and James gets updates on everything Mac does and that was like the decision of him going to the army. Harry opposes it because he knows the horrors of it but doesn’t really have the final say in anything because while he’s technically Mac’s guardian, James is— unfortunately— still his father

Let’s assume Mac got a scholarship, but it’s really James setting his plan into place and through the magic of television, through signing all the paperwork and everything and getting the scholarship settled, Mac said he’d join the army when he turned 18

So Mac more or less gets literally escorted out of his dorm and shoved onto an army bus and taken away to basic, all while calling Harry trying to figure out what’s happening but Harry just tells him he signed a contract. Mac even calls the Bozers to try to help out because they actually care and don’t want him sent into a battlefield

Training and everything passes, old overwatches come and go, Peña is the only person who says the whole situation is fucked up and tells Mac he’ll look into it because legally the contract Mac signed was null and void because he signed as a minor without his guardian present so he really shouldn’t be there. James gets word of it because that’s just a big problem so he had a plan to keen him from finding anything out, but Peña ends up dying from the Ghost’s bomb and James doesn’t have to Deal With Him™️

At that point, Mac is pretty much cut off from everyone because he didn’t want to be there and the only person that seemed to care and believe him died. Then he gets transferred and the whole interaction with Jack happens and the scene where we see Mac disarm the IED with a battery and gum, how they’re kinda warming up to each other, Mac is still completely closed off because he just hates it there so much, even though Jack is trying to be a decent guy

And then when Mac goes off on his own—

“Now, we need to get on the same page, kid, and I mean right now. That is, if you want to keep breathing. Next time you wait for me to take my position before you go scampering off like that, you hear me?”

“Whatever. Not like it would’ve mattered.”

Which leads to a blowout of Mac yelling how much he hates it there and that he was basically kidnapped from college because he knew that, while he didn’t read the full contract, any agreements would’ve been void like Peña said because he was a minor and he didn’t have the power to consent to actually joining the army

When Mac saves Jack, it’s more of a if it was just me I wouldn’t really care but I’m not going to let you die just because my life sucks and Jack can see Mac going in a downward spiral and knows that if he doesn’t stay then Mac won’t make it out of the sandbox

The last few days is basically how they first met, but Jack’s making an effort to actually be the guy we know and love but Mac doesn’t want anything to do with it because Jack’s leaving and what’s the point of trying to be friends with someone you’ll never see again

So when Jack actually pops into the side of the humvee

“Why’d you come back? You had the opportunity to go home.”

“My home will still be there. I told ya before that I get all my bomb nerds home and yer no exception. You were dealt a real shitty hand and it’s fucked that no one will help ya get to the bottom of it. So I’m gonna stay here, make sure ya get home so you can stick it to those that fucked ya over”

So Mac’s tour gets finished, and since Jack actually holds power, they leave and Jack gets on contact with his buddies up the ladder to help get to the bottom of it and it takes a while but they eventually get the documents Mac signed and then consent forms signed by James and that just starts a whole whirlwind of the true James Hate we deserved

**Bonus points for if Harry died while Mac was deployed but they didn’t let him go home because James knew he would go AWOL so all his free days and leave had to be on base, also Mac assumed that Harry was the one that consented to him joining so he pretty much hated him until he found out the truth

All assuming Mac signed the scholarship forms when he was like 16 because you can legally sign up for the army when you’re 17

[bythehearts]

not to bring tiktok drama on tumblr but like every time a ‘scandal’ comes out with one of these ‘production companies’ that make fan films i always hope we’re finally gonna discuss how they professionalize something that should be an hobbyist endeavor… and yet every single time i’m disappointed.