#full sleeve t-shirt combo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

striveattemptfail · 3 months ago

Text

maybe it's a little too early (to know if this is gonna work) | Logan Howlett/Wade Wilson, 5.2k, M

@poolverine-week: Day 6 – Sharing Clothes

Summary: Five times Wade steals wears Logan's clothes, and one time Logan wears Wade's suit. Rated for allusions to sex, but nothing explicit. Takes place some time after the movie’s events; assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. Read on Ao3

A/N: Thank you to B @broosepayne for helping out with random details + thank you to @fuckselfloveihatemyself for suggesting "impersonation" for the final scene. Shout out to the Manga Hoes server for listening to me bitch about finishing this fic lol. Un-beta'd and I apologize /o\ Title from You Look Good In My Shirt by Keith Urban—just be grateful I didn't give this fic the exact same name lmaooo

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Nothing / Wearing Wade’s Clothes ]

The first morning he wakes up in Wade’s timeline—his new universe—Logan has on nothing but a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of highlighter pink Hello Kitty boxers. He desperately needs something to wear aside from what are basically undergarments because he came into this world with nothing but his X-Men suit.

Or what’s left of it anyway.

Which is why, once he finally gets up from the pull-out bed, he sees Wade trying on the jacket that the TVA gave him after they destroyed the Time Ripper. Wade is in front of the only full-size mirror in the apartment, twisting his body every which way to inspect the jacket.

Then, he catches Logan’s reflection in the mirror.

“Morning, peanut!” he greets, turning around to face him with a smile. “I’m trying this on to see how it fits on me.”

“Uh, yeah. I see that,” Logan says with brows furrowed. “Why?”

“I was thinking about grabbing you some clothes but need a reference for your size.”

“Bub, that jacket is too big even for me.”

“...okay, yeah,” Wade eventually concedes, “but it’s the only thing you own that isn’t shredded to pieces from the Time Ripper.”

Unfortunately, the moron has a point. As it is, the boxers Wade loaned him are a bit tight on his waist, and the collar of the shirt is snug on his neck, but it’s not like Logan’s in any position to complain.

“I have to swing by Target to grab supplies for Dogpool anyway,” Wade continues before making kissy faces at the dog in question. “We need to get you some treats, huh, little missy? Yeah! And then we’ll get honey badger some clothes that actually fit him!”

And, well, it’s not like Logan is keen on stepping outside of this apartment in the brightest colour he’s ever worn in his over 200-year existence. It’s also not like he even has the funds to buy himself a hotdog from the street vendor around the corner, much less purchase anything for a new wardrobe. So if Wade wants to go out and buy some clothes for him, Logan isn’t going to stop him.

He grunts his assent as he makes his way to the kitchen, muttering a gruff Fine as he starts on a cup of coffee.

Later, when Wade leaves for Target, Logan grabs the now tossed aside TVA jacket.

If he happens to take a sniff of it once Wade’s out the door (inhaling the scent of cloyingly sweet body wash, hot sauce, and something Logan is fast recognizing as Wade), it’s simply because he wants to know whether it already stinks after yesterday’s events.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: One Load of Staples ]

Luckily for Logan, Peter and Dopinder volunteered to help Wade clothes shop when he went to Target. Apparently, Wade wanted to buy all sorts of brightly coloured cutesy shit—like much of his own clothing, allegedly so the two of them could match—but Peter and Dopinder manage to rein him in and grab a few staples. T-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, boxers, socks, and a pair of shoes that’ll fall apart in about a month if Logan has to guess.

It’s enough for him to survive on until he can buy more clothes, and enough to produce a load of laundry once the day arrives. Luckily, the apartment has a washer-dryer combo in the unit, so he finishes the single, meagre load of clothes he owns in no time. He’s bringing them to the bedroom to put away when he finds Wade already inside, standing there in nothing but the smallest pair of tighty-whities Logan’s ever seen on a man.

“What the fuck,” is all he can say.

“Hey, honey badger!” Wade greets, normal as ever, as if he’s not exposing miles of skin and taut muscle that Logan would love to—

He messily dumps his clothes onto the bed, scowling at Wade.

“Why the fuck are you naked?” he demands.

“Oh, please, I’m hiding all the goods,” Wade brushes him off. He turns back to the heap of clothes on the hamper, presumably to find something that doesn’t smell like wet dog or weeks old nastiness.

Shit. The damn briefs aren’t even large enough to completely cover Wade’s ass, and Logan can see a hint of cheeks peeking through.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Logan rolls his eyes, hoping that his frown hides the conflict inside him.

With a smirk that can only spell trouble, Wade faces him again to thumb at the waistband of his underwear. “Would you rather I take them off?”

Logan snarls, averting his gaze to the small mound of clothes he has to put away. He angrily starts folding things, breath coming out in huffs that he hopes convey annoyance.

“Jeez, who pissed in your coffee this morning, kitty cat?” Wade complains, letting go of the waistband. “It’s not like I’m rubbing one out in front of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, bub,” Logan spits, throwing down another folded shirt.

The problem—like most things—is because of Wade.

It’s hard enough to share any amount of space with him, much less sleep in the same bed together every night, and Logan’s only a man. He might be too proud to admit it out loud (especially to a blabber mouth like Wade), but god fucking damnit somehow the fucker’s gotten under his skin. He makes Logan crave for more than innocently spooning in the early hours of the morning, want more than stolen glances when he thinks Wade isn’t looking.

It doesn’t help that Wade flirts with him constantly. People used to chastise Logan for how aggressively he pursued Jean back in the day. Now, he knows it’s nothing compared to the constant boner Wade has towards anything that speaks to him.

Logan needs to stop this train of thought—thinking about Wade’s boner is only going encourage his own.

“So, why are you naked?” he asks, probably angrier than acceptable for a conversation like this but, fuck, does Wade bring out the asshole in him.

“Technically, I’m not—”

“Fine, almost naked, you annoying prick.”

He looks up to find Wade with narrowed eyes, shooting him a dubious look that can only say, Are you serious?

“Obviooouslyyy,” he drawls out, rifling through the hamper again, “I thought I had more clothes left.”

Logan looks at the mountain Wade’s digging through. “Wait, you’re completely out of clean clothes? How the fuck did that happen?”

“I don’t know!” Wade throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ask the author!”

“I have no idea what that means,” he admits. “Anyway, why are you only in underwear?”

“What? You want me to steal some of Blind Al’s shit?” Wade pauses then, clearly mulling it over. “Actually, now that I think about it, her tracksuits would look great on me. They’d fit like baby clothes on a high schooler but it could be like a Y2K revival. Juicy Couture à la Wade. I’d smell like mothballs and old lady all day but it’d be worth it, I think!” He ends the rambling with a toothy grin.

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response. He scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Just... put on some damn clothes, bub.”

“Fine.”

Wade—probably in an attempt to piss him the fuck off, as usual—stares at him with a piercing gaze, maintaining eye contact with Logan as he grabs a white t-shirt from the folded pile and slides it on.

Logan just glares at him, jaw clenching tight.

The worst part is that he’s not even mad that Wade’s grabbing shit that he just folded. For some fucking reason, there’s a small but very loud part of Logan deeply satisfied to see Wade in his clothes again. He hasn’t worn anything of Logan’s since trying on the TVA jacket that first day home, but seeing him in one of Logan’s tees is apparently doing something for him.

Wade spins in place, and Logan notices that the hem of the t-shirt barely covers Wade’s crotch, skims the peak of Wade’s pert ass. Once he faces Logan again, he pinches the sides of the shirt like he’s holding a skirt, dipping into a small curtsy.

“Is that better, oh, prudent majesty?” he taunts.

Logan finally snaps.

Before he’s even conscious of it, he’s striding over to where Wade is still staring at him, his expression turning confused though still playful.

“Woah, big boy, I didn’t think you’d be that pissed—”

Logan grabs his face and cuts him off with a kiss, Wade making a surprised noise against his mouth before finally kissing back. Even though Logan is leading, Wade still gives as good as gets, his tongue darting into the cavern of Logan’s mouth when he gasps for air. He’s not sure how long they suck face for, but when Logan finally pulls away, a satisfied noise rumbles through his chest at Wade’s stunned but amused face.

“Finally got you to shut up,” Logan teases, words coming out shallow and thin.

“Oh, it’ll take a lot more than that, old man,” Wade quips back, and another purr builds in Logan’s chest when he hears the gravel in Wade’s voice. Wade throws his arms over Logan’s shoulders and crashes their lips together again.

Neither of their laundry gets finished for a long while after that, both of them too caught up in seeking pleasure from each other. Most of Logan’s freshly laundered clothes lie wrinkled on the bed for hours until he remembers to put them away. Wade doesn’t even start on his own laundry until Logan tells him that Althea would definitely kick his ass if he wore her stuff.

But he continues wearing Logan’s shirt until his own clothes are finally clean, so Logan can’t complain at all.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Half Complete + A New Suit ]

They’re suiting up for an X-Men mission when Wade snatches the Wolverine cowl before Logan can put it on. He’s still in the middle of zipping up when he spots Wade grabbing it out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t even need to turn around to know that the dipshit’s already wearing it.

“Give it back,” he says absentmindedly, buckling in the last straps of his suit.

He turns around and shoots Wade a flat look, correct in his assumption that Wade put it on. Typical Wade, he’s wearing his Deadpool mask underneath the Wolverine cowl.

“How do I look?” Wade asks, voice lilting with anticipation.

He looks like someone threw up primary colours on his head and decided to call it a mask.

“You look like someone threw up primary colours on your head and decided to call it a mask.”

Wade gasps, clearly offended. “Rude!”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Just hand me my fuckin’ cowl, bub.”

“Mmmmm, no.”

He never makes shit easy. Logan can only sigh.

“Wade, we gotta leave for the mission brief,” Logan reminds him. They’re about to leave on time for once, and that never happens. “Gimme my goddamn cowl.”

Wade ignores him, as he often does, sauntering over to Logan with a sway in his hips, and Logan quirks a brow at him. He knows what that walk means, and suddenly heading to the X-Mansion for a mission is becoming the last thing on his mind.

Wade drapes his arms over Logan’s shoulders, and Logan automatically places his hands on Wade’s hips. Even beneath both masks, Logan can tell that Wade is waggling his non-existent eyebrows at him once they’re pressed close together. “Wanna inspect the wind resistance on these blowjob handles yourself, peanut?”

Logan snorts. “No, because I don’t wanna see my own mask sucking my dick.”

“Aww,” Wade whines, and Logan can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it, “you’re no fun!”

“‘Sides,” Logan murmurs in his ear, low and sultry, as he pulls Wade closer, “I like seeing your face when we’re together, bub.”

He moves a hand from Wade’s waist to slightly lift his Deadpool mask at the collar. He then ducks his face into the curve where Wade’s neck meets shoulder, mouthing at the now exposed skin there. He smirks when he feels the catch in Wade’s throat.

“I thought we had to leave for the mission brief?” Wade mocks, but it comes out breathy and very pleased by the turn of events.

Logan hums mischievously, nipping at Wade’s neck. “Don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Cool cool cool,” Wade babbles, body pressing against Logan’s, all hot and eager. “I just—oh, fuck, honey badger—I was just thinking—”

“If yer thinking, then I ain’t doin’ this right,” he grumbles, words starting to slur together because there’s something else he’d much rather be doing with his mouth. The hand he still has on Wade’s waist travels to his crotch. Wade bucks his hips into Logan’s open palm with a husky groan, already half-hard.

“You’re doing everything so, so right,” Wade gasps, hips rutting into his grip. “It’s just—ngh—you better be the one taking off this suit, because I did not spend five whole minutes and half a thing of baby powder squeezing my ass into it just to—oh, shit!—strip it off again.”

With a final lick to his pulse point, Logan pulls away just enough to look at Wade. He smirks at the way Wade is panting, puffs of breath hitting his face in needy bursts despite the fabric covering Wade’s mouth.

“I gotta take off your clothes?” he confirms. Wade nods jerkily. “S’not a problem with me.”

And he drops to his knees, unbuckling Wade’s utility belt to do just that.

They do eventually get to the X-Mansion—just 30 minutes late, and they completely miss the briefing. Colossus looks at both of them in disappointment when he relays the abridged version of the mission objectives while they fly to their destination on the X-Jet. Frankly, Logan only half listens to the giant, completely unapologetic in his lack of focus. Being distracted is well worth it as he mulls over the events of the past hour.

Because Logan discovers that, while he might not get off on seeing his own cowl blowing him, he doesn’t mind when he’s on his knees looking up to see it thrown back in pleasure.

At least as long as Wade’s the one wearing it.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Signature Items Acquired ]

The next time they leave together, it’s to meet Vanessa and Dermot for bowling. Logan’s ready before Wade is, waiting in the living room because apparently how long it takes Wade to decide on an outfit completely depends on how he’s feeling.

Thankfully, today isn’t too awful. He’d only worn the Deadpool mask in the morning because he, quote, “felt like skewered chicken intestines,” and nearly cancelled on bowling altogether. But after an orgasm from Logan and cuddling from Mary Puppins, his mood had turned around.

All of which means that Wade is now in a mad dash pulling an outfit together. Logan knows better than to try and help him or force him to hurry up, so he’s left on the couch quietly grumbling to Mary about how he thinks Wade looks good in basically everything he wears.

He’s proven absolutely right when Wade finally steps out of the bedroom. Logan barely registers the full outfit because he’s completely focused on one item.

“How do I look?” Wade asks with a sly grin, walking over to the mirror to inspect himself. He twirls in front of his reflection while smoothing down the leather of the jacket he’s wearing.

Logan’s jacket.

He’s unable to put words together with the way his brain is currently short-circuiting. He grunts in response anyway, knowing that Wade will keep talking even if he doesn’t reply verbally.

He’s proven right yet again because Wade continues without missing a beat. “You think I should switch styles? Give yours back and get my own? Jackets aren’t really my thing though... Oh! What if I got a cape instead? It’d help for ‘no capes’ AUs to actually shed a cape, huh? Has there ever been a DP with a cape? I don’t remember seeing one when we fought the Corps.”

He hums a contemplative sound as Logan stands up from the couch, making his way over to Wade.

“Maybe I need to test trial this,” he continues to ramble, “maybe I can borrow Cable’s shawl-cape thing!”

Even Logan is surprised when he immediately interrupts Wade’s babbling with a stern: “No.”

Wade’s eyes snap to his, confused by the sudden harshness and increased volume in his tone. He makes a questioning noise and shoots Logan a displeased look.

Remembering that Wade will only ramp up how annoying he is if Logan bosses him around, he shakes his head and tries again. “I mean, just—you can, uh, keep mine.”

He clears his throat, eyes darting away to take in how the jacket fits on Wade. It’s a little loose on him, a little too broad because Logan’s chest is a bit wider than his, but it sits well on his frame nonetheless. After awkwardly patting Wade on the shoulder, Logan’s hand slides to Wade’s bicep, then down to cuff where Logan thumbs at the leather there. His fingers bump Wade’s hand and he feels electrified by the touch.

When their eyes meet again, Logan’s relieved to find Wade’s face as red as his own cheeks feel. He’s not entirely sure who leans in first but their lips meet halfway. The kiss isn’t demanding or dirty, neither of them trying to turn it into something that would lead to sex for once. It’s different from when they usually make out, just soft and lingering, and Wade gasps when Logan’s tongue gently licks at the seam of his lips.

At some point, they wrap their arms around each other, because when they finally part for air Wade’s cupping Logan’s jaw and his hands are on the small of Wade’s back.

He eventually grumbles out, “Keep it, it suits you.”

“Oh.”

It takes a moment for Wade to shake the dazed look off his face, but he recovers by flashing Logan a knowing grin. Logan rolls his eyes fondly.

Of course, the little shit did it on purpose. He should’ve known the moment Wade stepped out with that giant smile.

Afterwards, when they finally meet with Vanessa and Dermot at the bowling alley, Vanessa’s smirk and raised eyebrow are well worth it because Wade keeps the jacket on.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Full Closet ]

Logan’s been gone for almost a month because of an extended X-Men mission. Between stakeouts, recon, strategizing, and actually nabbing the bad guy, it’s the longest he’s been away since Wade and Althea’s apartment became his home.

He walks in and unceremoniously dumps his duffle bag and the rest of shit by his shoes, throwing his keys on the sidetable by the door. Despite it being well into the afternoon, the apartment is surprisingly quiet. He figures Althea is out for “bingo” (likely a coke exchange) but Wade and Mary Puppins’ lack of noise makes him suspicious.

Until he hears the snoring.

He pads over to the pull-out bed to find Wade and Mary napping together. Wade’s curled around her, snoring with his face buried in her very sparse amount of fur, and Mary’s tongue sticks out as she huffs out quiet, little snuffles of her own.

But what catches Logan’s attention is Wade wearing one of his flannels.

It’s one of the thickest he owns, made for colder weather and blistery autumn breezes, a dusty yellow and blue with snap buttons. It’s large on him—like everything else Logan owns whenever Wade wears his clothes—but this particular flannel is loose on Logan, so the fabric almost drowns Wade in a pattern of faded checks.

And like every time the moron steals his crap to wear, Logan’s stomach flips in a way he can no longer ignore.

He’s not sure if they’re exclusive or not. They fall into bed together as easily as they fight side-by-side on missions. But it’s impossible for Logan to tell if Wade is serious about half the flirtations streaming out of his mouth when the idiot’s easy affection gets directed at anyone that looks at him twice.

And as much as he’s loathe to admit it, Logan wants so much more than that. He wants Wade’s lingering looks to mean something other than platonic nothings. He wants the softer kisses they share to be more than a break from sex. He wants Wade to need him the way Logan needs him. Hell, he wants Wade to annoy him in ways that Wade would never bother anyone else, because at least then Logan would know that he means something different to the motherfucker, something more than a roommate he hooks up with.

He wants just Wade, all of him, full stop.

He gingerly sits on the mattress, trying not to jostle the two napping Deadpools too much with his weight, and he reaches over to gently stroke Wade’s cheek with a thumb. Feeling emboldened when Wade doesn’t stir, he leans down to press his lips onto Wade’s forehead.

“Well, g’morning to y’too, honey badger,” Wade slurs at him, voice thick with sleep.

Logan abruptly jerks away, eyes wide, and the movement is enough to jostle Mary Puppins from her slumber. She hops off to nap in her own bed after a grumpy growl, leaving Wade alone on the mattress. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat before clearing it with a cough.

“S’four in the afternoon,” Logan mumbles. Pinching his lips into a flat line, he awkwardly sits next to Wade rustling around in the sheets. His eyes catch the flannel falling open to reveal that Wade is also wearing one of his tank tops.

Logan takes a deep, stuttering breath.

Eyes still closed, Wade blindly flaps his hand around until finding purchase on Logan’s shirt. He tugs Logan back down, and Logan curls over to kiss him softly.

“Welcome home, peanut,” Wade breathes onto his lips. “Missed you.”

He touches his nose to Wade’s. “Missed ya too, bub.”

Wade’s face splits into a slow, easy grin, pulling Logan into laying down. Logan follows him without a thought, gathering Wade into his arms.

“You’re wearin’ my clothes again,” he whispers.

Wade hums, nuzzling into his chest. “S’cold, and it smells like you.”

A pleased purr escapes Logan before he has a chance to stop it, and Wade giggles at him, kissing his collarbone before falling right back to sleep.

They don’t talk about what they are after that, but it’s at that moment when Logan finally realizes that maybe, somehow, Wade feels the same way about him too.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

[ Wardrobe Status: Wearing Wade’s Clothes (Again) ]

The TVA brings them in because they need help with some lady going after Deadpool variants. It would be a fruitless endeavour since Deadpools can’t die (well, except Nicepool) if it weren’t for the fact that the fucker apparently stole a weapon that disintegrates things to oblivion.

“Shouldn’t the law of physics stop that from happening?” Wade asks, gesturing at the screen when B-15 presents the mission to them. “‘Matter can’t be created or destroyed’ or something like that?”

“That’s energy, idiot,” Logan corrects him.

Wade just shrugs. “Hey, don’t blame me for failing physics twice!”

He turns to Wade with a confused grimace. “Who else would I blame then?”

“The teachers, duh!”

“Anyway,” B-15 interrupts, hitting a button to show another slide, “this variant’s got a fascination for destroying the indestructible, but she’s going after Deadpools because she has tritanopia, or blue-yellow colour blindness. She can see shades of red the easiest, hence, sticking with Deadpools as her target.”

“That’s so stupid,” Wade says and Logan can only agree. “There are, like, dozens immortal superheroes in red and she chooses li’l ole me? Seems like the writer copping out of coming up with a better plot, I-M-O.”

“We also believe Mary was double-crossed by the Deadpool in her timeline, giving further motive to go after his variants.”

“Hmph! Now isn’t that just convenient?” He crosses his arms. “Wait, ‘Mary’?”

“Yes.” B-15 shows another slide, this one a close-up of the woman—Mary’s—face. “She’s a Typhoid Mary variant. Have either of you encountered her before?”

“Not in my world,” Logan answers.

“I admittedly did not keep up with Netflix’s Daredevil long enough to meet Bloody Mary, no,” Wade says.

B-15 presents them with further details: Typhoid Mary’s known abilities and weaknesses; how she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her colour blindness; how she managed to acquire the worst weapon available from the arms dealers she was supposed to take down; how her alter apparently took over and decided to go after invincible mutants until she finally got even with her world’s Deadpool. The TVA did try to intervene, but she ended up killing every agent that went after her before stealing one of their TemPads and consequently going on her multiversal manhunt. B-15 makes it absolutely clear how imperative it is that they do not kill Mary or destroy the weapon so the TVA can keep them both under tabs.

Then, she reveals the TVA’s plan to capture her: They want Logan to pose as a Deadpool variant in the timeline they believe she’s going to strike next. Typhoid Mary’s current M.O. doesn’t account for superstrength so he should be able to break out of anything she traps him in. Meanwhile, Wade will be in the shadows, using a tranquillizer gun to incapacitate her once she’s busy with Logan.

Logan groans internally while Wade claps his hands in delight.

“Ooh!” he practically squeals, patting Logan on the shoulder with unrestrained excitement. “Finally, it’s my turn on the other side of this trope!”

B-15 shakes her head and sends them on their way.

The suit the TVA provides him fits perfectly, and he notes Wade’s heated, lingering gaze on him once he steps out of the dressing room. Luckily, another agent gets them through a portal before Wade starts on a tirade that would no doubt be filled with inappropriate innuendoes about Logan.

The mission is executed almost laughably easy. Typhoid Mary’s telekinetic and telepathic abilities are so low-level Logan’s shocked that the others she went after were able to be taken down so quickly.

(“Plot armour, peanut,” Wade said when Logan had asked B-15 about this. “She needed to last long enough to meet us!” As usual, Logan had chosen to ignore him.)

Like the TVA discovered, she lures Deadpools by spreading rumours he can’t ignore, adding a honeypot stash filled with weapons he loves. Geared up in Wade’s suit, Logan “falls” for her trap: entering an abandoned warehouse meant to shelter an upcoming gang targeting Deadpool, but secretly only houses her. Once Logan finds the crate of weapons meant to entice Wade, Typhoid Mary wastes no time in capturing him. She points a giant ray-gun of sorts at his face after wrapping him in the warehouse’s chains with her telekinesis.

He feels the faintest compulsion to stay still, which is probably her telepathy trying to subdue him. But she’s nowhere near the level of other telepaths Logan’s encountered, like Jean or Cassandra Nova, and the compulsion is easy to ignore. The chains are slightly harder to deal with in comparison, but he’s certain he can get out of them without too much trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Wade moving into place.

During Logan’s silent assessment of the situation, Typhoid Mary apparently began monologuing. He doesn’t let her get a chance to finish though, breaking out of the bonds around his torso with sheer force and grunting at the exertion. He slices the chains around his ankles with his claws, the metal cutting like butter against the adamantium.

“What?!” she screams. “A Wolverine-Deadpool variant? How?!”

Logan doesn’t even open his mouth for a reply because Wade shoots a tranq dart in her neck. She falls to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Wooh! No scope oneshot K/O, baby!” he hollers, skipping over to pick up the weapon Typhoid Mary dropped. “God, I’d love to take this home with us,” he bemoans as he assesses it, “I can finally stick it to Cable and show off my own badass, futuristic gun!”

“That won’t be necessary,” B-15 announces, suddenly next to them. A group of armed TVA agents begin to file in from the portal behind her, a few of them attempting to grab the weapon from Wade while others lift Typhoid Mary away for custody.

The aftermath of the mission would be just as easy if isn’t for Wade bitching about giving up the gun. After B-15 debriefs them, she and Logan spend entirely too long demanding that Wade hand it to her.

“I’ll give it back if we can keep this suit for pookie here,” Wade eventually offers, pointing at Logan.

“What?” Logan asks. The suit’s not bad but he has no reason to wear it again once he takes it off. “Why—?”

“Deal,” B-15 immediately agrees.

Wade begrudgingly relinquishes the gun, giving it a flying kiss goodbye before taking Logan’s hand. B-15 opens a portal to their apartment and guides them through. “Thanks for the help, gentlemen!” she says, waving a hand at them. They both wave back, and the portal closes.

Logan looks down at the Deadpool suit he’s still wearing. “Why the hell did you want—mmph!”

His lips are suddenly bombarded with hot kisses, and he growls when Wade opens his mouth his tongue. He didn’t even notice that Wade took off his mask.

“God, you look so fucking good in my colours,” Wade moans, hands roaming all over Logan’s body. “Is this how you feel whenever I wear your things?” Logan makes a noise of assent, too busy mouthing at Wade’s jaw to give a proper answer. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Logan starts moving them towards the bed—Christ, he hopes Althea is gone because there’s no way he’s stopping what Wade’s started. His cock is already taking interest, and only gets harder when Logan bumps his hips into Wade’s. They tumble onto the pull-out in a feverish heat with Logan straddling Wade’s thighs.

He’s licking at Wade’s pulse when the dumbass gasps, “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck a variant of myself.”

Used to Wade’s non-stop yammering even during sex, Logan mindlessly replies, “‘S still me, bub, I ain’t a variant of you.” Foolishly, he adds, “Besides, that’d be weird.”

“What? Why?”

With Wade groping his ass, Logan actually has to pause getting his hands under Wade’s suit to think about an answer.

He finally lands on: “It’d be like fucking your own clone.”

Wade actually stops everything he’s doing—hands no longer kneading his cheeks, mouth pulling away from him. Logan groans, knowing his brought this on himself, and dips his forehead to rest on Wade’s shoulder.

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“No, because that’s weird.”

“I’d fuck my clone.”

“Course you would.”

“T-B-H, I’m so pro-clone fucking I’d just have an orgy with all of them. Who’d be better to fuck me than me, right?”

This, by far, is one of—if not the—stupidest conversation Logan’s ever had with a person. Somehow, his dick doesn’t flag, and he’s still irrevocably fond of Wade’s random chatter. He kisses Wade before he can start on another tangent, cupping his perfect idiot’s face softly.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, but knowing the smile he’s got on, Wade isn’t going to listen to him.

Wade’s answering smirk is a challenge. “Make me, peanut.”

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

#poolverine week 2024 #poolverine week #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #dp&w #deadpool #wolverine #poolverine #peanutbub #deadclaws #wolverpool #wade wilson #logan howlett #hunter b-15 #judge b-15 #jercy attempts words #fanfic #.i swear i wanted to post this on time for day 6 but time is a construct that i do not follow (ie: i messed up my dates lsdfjjlfsdjlkdfs)#.oh well better late than pregn—i mean never LMFAO

80 notes · View notes

apomaro-mellow · 1 year ago

Text

Matchmaking Harringtons 3

Steve was having a great time with Eddie. It was mostly because he was just that amazing. He was funny, hot, cute, and totally into him. A winning combo in Steve's opinion. But it was all due in no small part to the fact that his parents were so supportive. Steve didn't talk about the girls he dated that much (because why would he?) but his folks seemed actively interested in his going with Eddie.

Maybe it was the whole 'serious relationship' thing they were trying to commit him to. Maybe they were overcompensating for not being around much and wanting to also prove they were okay with his preferences. Either way, they always wanted to know how things were going with Eddie.

They'd been going out for a couple of dates at this point and honestly each one was better than the last. They were all typically low-key, with moments that they were able to get alone for a bit of privacy.

"Let's just say the back of his van is very spacey", Steve said into the phone as he paced about his room.

"So...you're still a total slut then?", Robin said from the other end of the line.

"Guys can't be slutty. And it's not being a slut if it's with the same guy."

"So you've?"

Diane was in the middle of bringing up a basket of laundry when she heard her son's conversation in his room. She swore she'd never be the kind of mother that constantly eavesdropped but well, the door was open just a smidge...

"Not, not the full thing, all the way yet. I think he's nervous. Or he can tell I'm nervous? I don't know. I told him I'd never been with a guy before and I thought that might make him, you know, take initiative?"

"Or maybe he's taking things slow because he doesn't wanna scare you off?", Robin suggested.

"That...could be it. But that's kinda why I called. I thought he was moving kinda slow, but guess where he's taking me tomorrow?"

"Steve, is Munson taking you to a hotel?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "No. He's taking me to Le Petit Nuange. That French place a town over?"

Robin gasped. "Sacre bleu! Va-t-il faire une proposition?"

"Robs, please. My extent of French is 'filet mignon'."

"Do you think he's serious? Like trying to meet your parents serious?"

"I don't know? Maybe? It's just weird. Le Petit is just...so not Eddie."

Diane was inclined to agree. A fancy place like that seemed out of character for someone as boisterous and non-conforming as Eddie. He has once brought a bouquet of lilies, despite their dire meaning. 'Screw flower language, these are some damn fine flowers', he had said.

And even if he thought of taking Steve somewhere special, Enzo's was the nicest place in town. Where would he get the idea to go to the next town?

Jonas.

Diane had thought he was being suspicious when he hid Steve's shoes before a date and met Eddie outside to talk. Diane had thought he'd been giving the boy some kind of shovel talk. He must've been giving Eddie advice on where to take Steve instead.

And she could just imagine what he was trying to do - clean Eddie up. Well, if he wanted to go behind her back, then two could play at that game.

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

The doorbell rung and Steve answered it. Eddie was there, in a button up shirt with long sleeves that hide his tattoos. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail. And he had a bouquet of nice, traditional, red roses.

"They're beautiful", Steve beamed. He took a moment to put the roses in a vase, missing the thumbs up his dad gave Eddie. Diane however, did not miss it.

"Your chariot awaits", Eddie said, giving a sweeping bow and then locking his arm with Steve's. "Have a good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington!", he called back.

As the van roared down the street, Diane enacted her own plan. She had her husband would also be having a date night.

At Le Petit Nuange, Eddie and Steve were being seated and Eddie had never felt more out of place. It was like everyone could tell he didn't belong here. But when he saw Steve smiling from across him, he knew there was no place he'd rather be.

"What made you want to bring me here?", Steve asked.

Jonas had practically cornered Eddie when he had come to pick up Steve, saying he just wanted to talk a little. Eddie was prepared for the whole 'I have a shotgun/shovel and I'm not afraid to use it.'

"Let's talk", he had opened with. "Steve and you have been having fun, right?"

"Uh, yes? I guess?", Eddie said, unsure now.

"Fun's all well and good Eddie. But now's the time to show Steve you're serious. And you are serious? Aren't you, son?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I am, serious like a heart attack."

"Then you've gotta take him some place special. A place like, uh, say Le Petit Nuange", Jonas rubbed at his chin.

Eddie's brows rose up under his fringe. "Le Petit Nuange? That place is-"

"Is upscale. Which is what Steve deserves, isn't it?"

Eddie swallowed. "Yeah, yeah it is."

He looked at Steve's hand, sitting on the table, just asking to be held. Steve deserved all this and more. And Eddie wanted to be the one to give it to him. It was why he took extra shifts and more of his side business to have the dough to take Steve here.

"I just looked up places in the yellow pages and thought you might like it."

"You know, my parents actually come here a lot", Steve pointed out.

"You don't say", Eddie tried to hide his expression by covering his face with the menu. When he got a look at the prices, it did a good job hiding the way his eyes bugged out. Looks like his purse strings would be a little tight after this. But he had prepared for that. Steve was worth it.

He was worth the stiff shirt, the swanky eatery, and even spending more time selling music that was beneath him to the general populace.

"So tell me more about this gig you've got coming up", Steve said.

Eddie's face broke out into a wild smile and he nearly slammed the menu down. "It's gonna be a ride, Stevie." He wasn't shouting, but his volume was a little louder than polite, and he felt eyes on him. He cleared his throat and quieted himself. "I mean I'm excited to rub elbows with other bands. The experience is sure to be enlightening."

Steve gave him an odd look. "Yeah, I hope my parents let me go. Indy isn't far, but I feel like they've been keeping a closer eye on me lately."

The thought of Steve being in a crowd while he played made Eddie wanted to jump for joy. He wanted to tell him come, even if his parents said no. Sneak out for the weekend, what could they do? He was a man now. But he couldn't do that. Not just because he was trying to clean up and having his new boyfriend at a metal venue might ruin that image. It was also because Steve's had nice parents.

There weren't many that could both accept and encourage their queer child.

"You know Steve, your parents-hcck!" Eddie choked on his words as he saw the Harringtons walk right in and get led to a table.

"What about my parents?", Steve asked.

"They're uh, they're um great!", Eddie squeaked, then cleared his throat to get it back to its normal register. "I mean they're great. I can tell they love you very much."

Steve smiled, none the wiser to his folks being seated not too far away. Eddie tried not to look at them, tried to ignore them. But this couldn't be a coincidence.

Jonas was looking around while trying not to look around. "When you said you wanted to go out tonight....I didn't think you meant this place."

"Why not?", Diane questioned. "We're regular patrons. And it's been a while since we went out." They'd been getting plenty of alone time what with Steve dating now, but they usually spent their evenings at home.

Jonas pulled out her chair for her and when he sat down, he used the menu to continue looking around. Diane watched him like a hawk.

Steve didn't know what was going on with Eddie. He looked nice dressed this way, sure. But it didn't feel like him. He felt...smaller somehow. Like he was trying to shrink himself down. Even as they talked, his smiles were restrained, he didn't move his hands as much, and even his voice seemed like it was being held back.

Steve watched as he cut his food, using minimal motions like he was working with glass.

"Eddie, are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, course, I'm fine. I uh, I just need to hit the can-uh use the facilities. Please excuse me."

Eddie got up in a haste. He thought he'd be ready for tonight. It was just playing pretend. Potentially for the rest of his life. Maybe having an audience of the parents was what was tripping him up. He got close to the bathroom when a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned to see none of than Mrs. Harrington.

"Don't worry, I know this wasn't your idea", she started right off. "My husband put it in your head. I'll admit, I like the idea of Steve being treated like a prince, but if you clean up too much he'll get confused."

"Right, yeah, gotta strike a balance. Mhm."

"Glad we could talk", she patted his arm. "Go get him, tiger."

Eddie returned to Steve and saw Diane come back to her table not long after. He could see them exchange words, although he couldn't hear what. Then Jonas got up from his seat. He gave Eddie a strange look while making his way to the bathroom. Eddie sighed and excused himself again.

"Now I don't know what my wife might've said to you, but you've got to stay on this path. I can see a real future with you and Steve if you do."

"A real future?"

"I could only give my son to someone who could take care of him. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

Eddie nodded. The kind of man who could take Steve to these places and not have his soul leave his body when he looked at the menu. When Eddie sat back down, he looked at Steve, sitting across from him. It was the kind of view he could get used to.

Somehow, the meddling didn't end there. The Harringtons took turns, getting up to meet with Eddie and each time he had to come up with an excuse.

"I'm gonna check their wine selection."

"I want to make sure the kitchen knows my allergies."

"I'm gonna see if the violinist takes requests."

Finally, Steve stood up with him and grabbed Eddie by the elbow. "Come with me."

Steve took him to the bathroom and locked the door behind them.

"Steve", Eddie gasped, scandalized when his neck started to get kissed.

"You've been antsy all night." Steve's hands went to his hips and began to untuck his shirt.

Instantly, Eddie felt like being released from shackles. Steve's hand roaming under his shirt left him so distracted, he almost didn't hear what he said next.

"Hm?"

"I said, do you wanna get out of here?"

"The bill-", Eddie was cut off when Steve reached behind him and took down his hair, running his fingers through it to free the tresses.

"A little dine and ditch never hurt anyone."

Eddie looked to the window in the bathroom. Just barely big enough to make a getaway. He was halfway out when they heard someone knocking on the door. Eddie was helping Steve out as the handle was shaking. Steve was giggling and it was like a sweet bell to his ears.

They were making their way around the back of the restaurant and towards the van as the manager finally came around with a key.

Diane and Jonas could make out the commotion going on near the bathroom and saw the empty table where two lovebirds should be.

"You knew I made Eddie take Steve here", Jonas confirmed.

"Yes."

"And every time you got up-"

"Was to speak with Eddie. And now they've-"

"-Snuck out the bathroom."

Together they sighed, remembering when they snuck out of stuffy formals to be alone together. And because they wondered if they were doing right by their son.

"We're going to have a long talk when we get home, huh?", Jonas asked his wife.

"Oh yeah."

"Any hope for me?"

"Ask me after dessert."

Part 5

Tag Team

@tartarusknight @swimmingbirdrunningrock @estrellami-1 @potato-of-the-lord @dragonmama76 @m-owo-n @sticknpokelightningbolt @somegirlsomewhere @tinyplanet95 @samsoble @runniem @hallucinatedjosten @nburkhardt @littlewildflowerkitten @noctxrn-e @subversivecynic @larawrmonster @suikatto @platinum-sunset @imacowboy3 @tiny-enthusiast @netflixisacopingstrategymom @honorarybrit81 @manda-panda-monium @krazyperson @ninjapirateunicorns

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #poor eddie #dont worry he and steve will find their way #and di and jo will get the picture too

291 notes · View notes

foxes-that-run · 27 days ago

Text

Don’t mess with Taylor Swift

The Sunday Times Magazine (x) 16 March 2013

This is long and worth the read, I only have parts below on the link above, it is harsh on Harry and the source of:

“Well,” she says, “it’s not hard to access that emotion when the person the song is directed at is standing by the side of the stage watching.” In retrospect, it is definitely one of her favourite performances, and she is particularly happy to have pulled it off at the Brits (her first time). She was “stoked”.

—

She doesn’t take drugs and she doesn’t have meltdowns. But cross the pop star at your peril – especially if you’re an ex-boyfriend

Until I was assigned the Swift job, I had never heard of Harry Styles. Whenever I had inadvertently glimpsed his face on the internet or the tabloids or on television, I’d filed it away in the anonymous pubescent boy-band person compartment of my brain, along with some vague thoughts that he had way too much hair. (Note to over-30-year-olds: shaggy-hair phobia is an incontestable sign that you are headed for Victor Meldrew territory.) But before interviewing Swift, word spread among the under-thirtysomethings in my life: “You are going to ask her about Harry, aren’t you?” they said scornfully, and when I replied, nonchalantly, that I had no idea who he was, they stood over me until I’d typed his name into Google and acknowledged that the mop-headed 15-year-old nonentity is in fact 19, the lead singer of the Simon Cowell vehicle One Direction, a fully formed international heart-throb with enviable “bastard” pop-star status whose band is always in the process of trying to elbow Swift off her No 1 spot in the charts. Mop-head, it turns out, is also the only recently extinguished former flame of Taylor Swift.

I slowly began to grasp that “Taylor” and “Harry” (the young no longer bother with surnames) form something of an elite in the new world order, along with the cast of Made in Chelsea and Justin Bieber’s worrying new hairstyle. There are blogs so full of Taylor/Harry gossip at the time of the break-up – the once happy couple seemed to have split up in the Caribbean over Christmas, with Styles finding solace in a hot tub on Sir Richard Branson’s private island while Swift was (supposedly) covertly photographed looking lonely and abandoned on a luxury yacht – it is a wonder they had anything to blog about before this ill-fated union. The entire universe seemed to want to get the lowdown on the split, as well as “deets” (details) on any movement in Swift’s dating activity.

The day before I met her, she had performed at the Brits, ripping off a wedding dress mid-song to reveal an untried and untested combo of – tutted and slavered the press – “revealing” long-sleeved T-shirt, knee-high boots and shorts. (Swift has been very famous since she was 16, when she used to wear cowboy boots and gingham.) Anyway. The song she performed, an autobiographical smash hit about a relationship fall-out between our first-person narrator and a “mystery” ex, is called I Knew You Were Trouble. It is extremely catchy in the same way as her previous hit We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together (also about a mystery ex). The lyrics to Trouble include the killer line: “You never loved me or her, or anyone, or anything,” which rather juicily implies a cold-hearted soul of the sort Swift’s teenage female fans will identify with as they mournfully listen to it over and over again in their bedrooms. (P.S. I love it, too.) “Who is Trouble about?” I asked the under-30-year-olds. Collectively, they rolled their eyes (#howcanshebeajournalistandnotknowthis). “It’s so like obviously about Harry Styles.” That afternoon, Swift’s PR rang me to say that Swift loves antiques and cooking, but was not going to talk about her ex-boyfriends.

Much as we would like to move directly on to thoughts about her best-selling album Red (five million copies sold so far, and rising), we must return to the Brits for one moment, while it is still fresh in our minds. I have a weakness for catchy pop songs. I love I Knew You Were Trouble. Taylor:

“Thank you! Oh, my God, thank you so much.” She explains what was running through her head during her performance: “ ‘OK, made it down the stairs, didn’t trip. OK. Next move. Walk back upstage, keep your shoulders back. All right. And then… you turn.’ And at the same time, you’re balancing the analytical side of your brain, which is telling you where to go and how to go there, with the other side of your brain, which is saying, ‘Feel everything you’re singing and show it on your face. Feel everything exactly as you felt it when you wrote the song.’ ”

That sounds complicated, I say, especially if your ex-boyfriend is sitting there watching you.

To recap: while Swift sang, a million cameras homed in on Styles’s face. “A new notch in your belt is all I’ll ever be,” Swift belted out; Styles’s face remained studiously care-free. I tell her I think I would die if I had to perform in front of my ex-boyfriend.

[…]

Items three and four on the did-she-or-didn’t-she gossip list: what about the rumour that she’s shooting her new video wearing exactly the same beanie as Harry Styles likes to wear? “I just like to wear a hat sometimes,” she smiles rather conspiratorially. “I mean, sometimes I do things symbolically, as a dig. Other times, I’m just wearing a hat.” Last year, she sang Never, Ever… (“So he calls me up and he’s like, ‘I still love you’ and I’m like, ‘This is exhausting’ ”) at the Grammys and burst into a British accent – mimicking Harry Styles, it was rumoured. I thought it was wonderful. Swift allows herself an infectious guffaw, finally to be asked about this much blogged-about prank:

“I mean, here’s the thing: not everything has to be explained to death, you know?” I think we can safely interpret this as a “yes”.

#haylor media #Taylor Swift #i knew you were trouble #ikywt #print interview

11 notes · View notes

luckyroll3 · 7 months ago

Text

Crimson Lights: Chapter 11

Back in my apartment, I wake from a too short nap. After sitting on the bed for a few minutes to catch myself, I head to my closet to find an outfit. I’m now regretting agreeing to go out, as I literally have nothing to wear. I haven’t been shopping in ages and most of my clothes are either too casual or too corporate. I decide on a black t-shirt dress I think I can make club appropriate with a thick belt and boots. If I actually had female friends here, I could borrow something, I say to myself. I hadn’t put any effort into making friends once I met Chris, which is not great.

As I scrutinize my outfit choice, my phone rings unexpectedly. I pick it up and see that it’s from the call box at the entrance to the building.

I answer the call and put it on speaker phone. “Hello?”

“Delivery for Dr. Kay Miller?” the voice asked.

Delivery? “Are you sure?” I ask, perplexed.

“Apartment 1007?”

“Yeah...”

“It’s for you then,” he confirms.

“Okay. I’ll buzz you in.” I hit 6# on my phone. A minute later there’s a knock at my door. I pad barefoot to the door, flipping the lock and swinging it open to reveal a delivery man holding a garment bag—the kind that promised something far more exquisite than my usual casual wear. "Dr. Kay Miller?" he asks again, his eyes flicking down to his clipboard.

"Um, yes, that's me," I reply, taking the bag with a curious tilt of my head and signing the clipboard next to my name. The delivery man nods, offers a practiced smile, and turns on his heel, leaving me alone with the mystery in my hands.

Once he’s gone, I close the door and unzip the bag slowly, revealing several items of clothes. The first is a dress that makes my breath hitch—a sequined minidress with long sleeves and plunging neckline. The sequins were swirls of colors, yellow, emerald green, maroon, purple, black. I peek at the tag, gasping when I see Balmain. The next item is a backless halter top, made of a black mesh fabric draped from the neckline to the hem in black and silver rhinestoned chains. There’s also a black micro skirt with a small slit over the left thigh area. Both are from a designer I had never heard of. I open the card pinned to the front of the garment bag.

Just in case you didn’t have anything to wear.

-Felix

Felix's taste is impeccable; these are no ordinary outfits. And clearly expensive. I try on both. Slipping into the dress feels like stepping into another skin, one that is daring and bold. It clings to every curve I didn’t know I had and the deep v neckline makes my small but perky boobs look amazing. The halter and skirt combo also look fantastic on me. My bare back is on full display, save for the delicate clasp around my neck and the 2 subtle chains that secure the top in place just below my shoulder blades. I can't believe how perfectly both outfits fit me, as if they were tailor-made for me. I decide to save the Balmain dress for a special occasion and wear the two-piece outfit tonight.

As I finish my makeup, Chris’ name flashes across my phone screen. “Hey you,” I answer.

“Hey. The car is here,” he responds. “I’m about to get into the elevator and can swing by your apartment.”

I pause for a moment, knowing that if he comes to my place, we'll never make it out the door. “We both know what will happen if you come here. We’ll get distracted,” I tease.

He chuckles on the other end of the line. "You're right. I'll meet you at the elevator then." After a short pause, he continues, “You know, that’s twice you’ve turned me down today. You’re no fun.” I can hear him pout through the phone.

"Oh, I'll make it up to you later," I promise before ending the call and grabbing my small wristlet. I quickly make my way to the elevator.

As the elevator doors open, Chris' eyes widen in awe. He takes my hand and pulls me close, his breath warm against my bare shoulder. "I thought you weren't trying to distract me," he murmurs before pressing a kiss to my skin. “I’m gonna need to have a talk with Felix.”

“I think he’s in the wrong business,” I joke.

“Clearly.” He pulls me in for a deep kiss. The elevator dings and we reluctantly break apart as the doors open on the ground floor. Hand in hand, we make our way outside. As we walk, I can't help but smile as I wipe away a smudge of lipliner from Chris' lips.

Chris walks in front of me to open the lobby door. “Look at that cake,” I say, eyeing his ass. “I’m gonna need you to wear leather pants more often.” He grins as he tries to cover his butt with his free hand. “Too late! Yum,” I tease. As I walk out the door, I give his ass a squeeze.

A few feet away, I see one of his drivers holding open the door to a large SUV. I climb in and take a seat across from Han. “Damn,” he exclaims loudly.

“Very nice,” Minho says calmly, in stark contrast to Han’s theatrics.

“Thanks.” I reply as Chris settles into the seat next to me and grabs my hand.

“Felix?” Han asks curiously.

“Yeah, fucking Felix,” Chris laughs.

---

The booming bass of the music greets us as we enter Eclipse, one of the night clubs owned by the Crimson Syndicate. Lights pulse in sync with the beat, casting colorful shadows over the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. The chunky heels of my boots click on the glossy floor.

Han leads us to one of the VIP areas on the second floor. The space is opulently decorated, with plush seating areas arranged around elegant round tables. Each table has a display of premium alcohol bottles, different mixers, an ice bucket, and glasses. I spot Felix and Hyunjin chatting and sipping on cocktails in the largest area near the back.

Felix's face lights up when he sees me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He beckons me over with a twirling motion of his finger and I follow, my body spinning in one slow revolution."Yes!" he shouts, clapping his hands together in approval. Hyunjin's gaze travels from my legs up to my face and back down again, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a sip from his glass. I choose to ignore him.

I wrap my arms around Felix in a hug, laughter bubbling out of me. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "That was so sweet." Taking a seat next to him in the booth, I ask, "How did you know my size?"

"I didn't," Felix responds with a charming smile. "But I have a keen eye for fashion and I knew you would rock either outfit. You shouldn't be hiding all of that.” As if on cue, Hyunjin slides over the vodka tonic he just poured, setting it in front of me.

I mutter a curt "thanks" in his direction. He simply nods in response, his silence piquing my curiosity. But I decide not to engage and turn back to Felix who starts sharing about the other outfits he considered sending instead. He’s so excited to have someone to dress other than his brothers and I get the feeling that I’ll be seeing a lot more looks over the next few weeks.

As we chat, I glance over and see Chris engaged in a conversation with a man just outside the VIP area. They share a laugh and Chris pats him on his back. Their exchange is cut short as they are approached by a stunning woman. She glides towards them with a confident grace, her turquoise bodycon tank dress accentuating every curve. Her long dark hair cascades behind her like a waterfall, reminding me of Cher’s iconic look. She says something to the man, then turns to Chris. She flashes him a seductive smile as she greets him and they exchange words. I can see from the way she touches his arm and then moves her hand to his neck that there is an intimate familiarity between them. My suspicions are confirmed when she whispers something into his ear and places a gentle kiss on his jaw, just below his earlobe.

Chris seems unfazed, the corners of his lips turning up into an amused smile as he chuckles at her words. As he responds to her, he smoothly grabs her hand, moving it away from his neck before giving it a gentle squeeze and releasing it. She seems a bit taken aback by whatever he’s telling her. He nods in my direction. Chris catches my gaze and winks. The woman turns towards the booth, giving me a quick once over, before returning her attention to Chris. With a few more words exchanged between them, she leans in again, this time for a less intimate air kiss against his cheek before walking away.

A few moments later, Chris joins us at the booth sitting next to me. He leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, “That’s Jenna. A past fuck buddy. Nothing to worry about. I made it clear that I’m taken.” He lightly kisses my temple.

I give him a small nod, acknowledging the reassurance he gives me. In return, I press a quick kiss to his lips. “Okay,” I say, hoping that my voice conveys that I trust him completely.

“That’s it?" he asks cautiously, his eyes searching my face for any lingering doubts.

“Yeah,” I reply loud enough for only him to hear. “If you tell me it’s nothing to worry about, then I believe you.” I give him another affectionate kiss, this time to reassure him that I’m not one of those jealous girls who worries about past relationships. “Plus, I don’t know that I’d have the patience to deal with all the girls you’ve fucked,” I laugh, causing Chris to smirk. He grabs my hand and kisses it before he makes himself a drink.

I turn back to Felix, who was now asking me about my favorite designers. I note that Hyunjin has disappeared.

Han and Minho eventually join the booth, and the 5 of us have random conversations about everything. After finishing my second vodka tonic, I walk to the railing to look at the dance floor below. My eyes drift across the space, drawn to the fluidity of a familiar form.

Hyunjin is a vision, his body moving with an almost feline grace among the crowd. There is something unapologetically raw and mesmerizing about the way he dances—every dip and twist and hip motion a silent testament to the beat that commanded him. I can’t take my eyes off of him, the spark of attraction I had felt earlier flickering within me.

"Enjoying the view?" Chris' voice, low and teasing, brushes against my ear. His chest presses against my back and I feel his arms slide forward around my waist.

I turn slightly, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes even in the semi-darkness. "It's... interesting," I admit, feeling a blush warm my cheeks.

"Interested in Hyunjin?" Chris murmurs, kissing the back of my neck as he waits for my response.

"I’m not sure," I find myself whispering back, uncertainty lacing my tone despite the boldness of my gaze remaining fixed on Hyunjin below us.

"It’s okay if you are," he says as he squeezes me a little tighter.

There was an ease to his acceptance, a freedom I hadn't known I craved until this moment. It unsettles me as much as it excites me, this open door to possibilities I hadn't let myself consider before.

The thumping bass of the club seems to sync with the rapid beating of my heart as Chris' words linger in the air between us. I turn to face him, my pulse quickening at the prospect of what he was suggesting.

“What's the deal with you and Hyunjin?” I ask, I drape my hands behind his neck.

“Hmmm…we had a short-lived, tumultuous teenage romance, fueled by overwhelming hormones, intense emotions, and illegal substances. You know, when you’re 15, and everything feels like a life-or-death situation?” He shakes his head and chuckles as he continues, “Every argument is over the top, every breakup is dramatic; each one more devastating than the last and always the end of the world.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “I wish,” I say. “I certainly felt that way about my celebrity crushes. But I didn’t really date until college, so I missed out on all the teen dating angst.”

“Well, that was me and him. We thought we were madly in love at the time, but it was just infatuation. We were young, impulsive, reckless, and horny. And we had nothing and no one else in our lives, so we clung to each other. The relationship was all-consuming, overshadowing everything else. I don’t even think it lasted more than 7 or 8 months, but it felt like a lifetime because of how intense it was. And then it was over. We got distracted by other people and other things, as you do when you’re a teen, and moved on.”

“Interesting,” I say. “And since then?”

“And since then, we’ve just lived our lives. Every once in a while, we’ll have a moment…”

“And share?” I interrupt, recalling the information I learned earlier.

He laughs. “Yes, and share. But we haven’t had a threesome in a couple years, I think.” He eyes search mine for a reaction. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to be with someone else, even Hyunjin...as long as I can watch. And as long as you come back to me. If it’s something you want to try, we should explore that."

The idea flutters in my chest. As I contemplate his proposition, I find myself envisioning Hyunjin's fluid movements, the suggestion of power in his lean form. There is an undeniable allure in the thought, a curiosity that tugs at me with the promise of forbidden pleasures.

"Chris, I—" My voice falters, uncertainty knotting my words.

"Take your time," he assures me, his lips brushing against my temple in a kiss. "There's no rush. We do this together, or not at all." He is offering me a world where the rules were ours to make, where the boundaries of passion could be expanded and explored.

"Let's just enjoy the night," I decide, not ready to leap into the abyss just yet. "We can talk about this later."

"Whatever you want, beautiful." Chris murmurs, accepting my indecision with a gentle nod. I feel his hands slide down my lower back to cup my ass. He leans down to kiss me. It starts off tender but quickly intensifies.

“Oh my gawd! Get a fucking room!” Han screams again.

Chris and I laugh as we break apart. “Let’s go dance,” I say, pulling him towards the stairs leading to the dance floor.

****************************************************

Outfit Inspirations

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #skz fanfic #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #bang chan imagines #skz smut #bang chan smut #bangchan smut #hyunjin #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #bangchan #changbin #changbin smut #changbin imagines

15 notes · View notes

dreamwatch · 1 year ago

Note

For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️

I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!

Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)

Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read

Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.

Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for.

Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.

“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.

Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame.

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.

They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail.

Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute.

Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).

“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”

“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in.

“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”

“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.

“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al.

Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.

They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it.

“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes.

There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.

Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.

“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).

“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”

She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.

Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.

Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop.

Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”

He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.

“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.

Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him.

“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”

He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.

“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach.

“Mrs Harrington—”

“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.

“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”

“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.

“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”

He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.

She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.

“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.

“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”

She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”

“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.

Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.

“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”

“That’s not—”

“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”

“ — sexual.”

“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”

Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”

“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.

“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.

She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”

And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.

“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”

Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”

“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?”

Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.

She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”

Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”

Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.

They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve��s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.

When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.

Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”

“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.

Steve nods. “Scared.”

“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”

Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."

They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”

He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.

“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”

#steddie fanfic #Spotify unwrapped writing prompt #eddie munson #steve harrington #disabled eddie munson #cw period typical homophobia #cw chronic pain #cw internalised ableism #cw homophobic language #cw mention of AIDS crisis

24 notes · View notes