#jesus christ why does this keep happening to me

[thedevilmademedo1t]

Heartstopper 2 and Red, White and Royal Blue better fix my entire personality because good omens 2 just tore out my insides and stomped on them. I plan on being unwell for the next month thank you for your time

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I don't think his (or mine) understanding of "playin nice" is rly up to standard though

[tojigasm]

I'm thinking about emotional sex with Logan

I'm talking about those deep rolls of his hips that have you sobbing into his silk pillows because you're stretched so good that you can hardly remember why you were upset in the first place.

It's the type of fucking that has you shivering beneath him and trembling with each of his thrusts, trying to grasp onto some form of reality to ground yourself back to earth again.

It's the type of fucking he gives you when you can't tell him what it is you need. When you're choking on your tears, too tired from crying and exhausted from the mental fog you've been in.

He keeps you there. Keeps you in a headspace that reminds you where you are.

You keep your hands over your face, tits rocking with your body as he rolls his hips into you.

You're still stuck there – replaying the moments you'd almost been struck with a flying piece of steel, nearly the size of a car.

And Jesus christ it'd missed your neck by half an inch though the thought of dying terrified you, it was Logan's reaction to it that made you realize just how fragile you were in comparison to him.

Logan's voice breaks through the fog, "Can you look at me?" He asks from above you, giving you a gentle stroke to your clit.

You're urged to shake your head 'no' for a moment before dropping your hands from your face to your chest.

Logan smiles down at you, "There she is."

You let out a soft and weak moan when he slides your thigh over his shoulder, nearly pressing your knee to your chest.

He's much closer to you at this angle, his breath tickling your lips as you both pant into one another.

His cock grazes the spongey patch of your cunt and your neck cranes as you shiver out a choked gasp.

"Haa... mph." You're cut off by Logan slipping his free hand beneath your neck, supporting your head and tilting you forward.

"Look at me – there we go, hey pretty girl."

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing a tearful smile before you're reduced to a sobbing mess.

Logan understands. He always does.

Understands in the way he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, letting your leg slip from his shoulder and gently placing your head back onto the sheets before guiding your arms around him.

He ruts into you, the veins of his cock push against your walls deliciously, pulling a moan from your lips.

Logan meets you in a slippy kiss, slipping his hand beneath your head again to keep you somewhat upright.

"Whadd'you need, bubba?" His voice is soft against your lips.

You nearly choke on your words, trying to force them up your raw and swollen throat.

"Need you." You finally manage, and the mental wall seems to chip some, "Want you."

Logan's eyes soften at that, thrusts into your heat turning into something far more viscerally raw than the simplicity in an attempt to distract you from what had happened to you out in the field.

"Want you, Lo," you say again, tears bubbling over your cheeks.

He nods, "M'right here, not goin' anywhere." He kisses you again.

His dark bangs stick to his forehead, and his side burns tickle the skin of your cheeks.

You're close and you know Logan can tell by the way he guides your legs to hook over his hips, angling his thrusts to roll his hips at the spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head and your nails dig into his tan skin.

A pinched whine rolls up the back of your throat and Logan presses a kiss to your lips before pressing your foreheads together and whispering "Cum fr'daddy, bubba."

The swell of his cock stretching against your gummy walls is enough to send both of you over the edge – Logan spilling into you as your walls tighten around his girth.

The two of you don't move, only panting into eachothers mouths.

You let out a soft giggle, readjusting your legs around his hips and pulling him deeper into you with a moan.

Logan presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand running down your back in soft circles.

Logan rolls you both further onto the bed, pulling you on top of him as you settle into the bedsheets.

He's hot beneath you, and you can hear the drum of his heart beat in an almost harp-like rhythm of an echo against his adamantium ribcage.

It reminds you where you are. That you're okay.

[babygorewhore]

10 things I hate about you.

Logan Howlett x fem reader series. Part one

Part two

Warnings! No smut yet but Age gap! Enemies to lovers! Logan is extremely Grumpy! Only one bed! Logan is in his late 40s and reader is late 20s!

“Don’t get any ideas. Don’t touch my radio. Don’t put your feet on the dashboard and do not adjust the temperature.” Logan growled and gave you one of his signature scowls as he turned the keys.

This was not ideal.

You were stuck in this situation with the world’s grumpiest man. Logan Howlett aka Wolverine. You did not want to go but Charles Xavier firmly believed you both would be the best chance to investigate what was happening. Rumors of a particularly powerful mutant roaming about.

You rolled your eyes as Logan mumbled around his cigar he chewed on.

“Yeah, I think the radio is the least of your concerns, Logan.”

“Don’t call me that.” He said sharply and you crossed your arms.

“Oh sorry, do you prefer asshole? Maybe dickhead? Fuckwad?” You challenged.

“You can call me Wolverine like everyone else does, girl.” He snapped and you purposely rested your boot covered foot on his dash.

“Some people refer to you as your real name.” He reached over to swipe your leg but you dodged his attempt.

“What did I fucking say? Put your damn leg down.” He barked and you smirked.

“Or what?”

“I will pull this car over and leave you there. I swear to God.” He snarled and you leaned in towards him.

“And then I’ll just find you again, Logan.” Instead of answering, he clenched his jaw and jerked his focus back to the road.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” You asked and he snorted.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” His question was filled with unbridled annoyance and you shrugged.

“Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not.”

You grin and take the opportunity to further push his buttons. “You’re not afraid of me but you’ve surely thought about me naked, huh?”

“Jesus Christ.” Logan slammed his head back against the seat. “If the entire ride is going to be like this, then turn on the fucking radio. No more talking.”

You turned the volume up triumphantly and looked out the window. A metal song played in the background and several minutes went by without either of you speaking.

“You never told me what your power was.” He stated. You turned your head towards him.

“No, I didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder. “Hmmm.”

An hour later, Logan jerked his head and you gestured to a sign on the road. “We need to stop for the night. You’re about to fall asleep.”

To your surprise, he didn’t tell you to fuck yourself and instead he silently drove to the motel that was displayed on the navigation sign.

He parked and exited the car. You silently followed him, jogging to keep up with his long legs and you moved inside the building.

“We need two rooms.” Logan huffed and the worker shook his head.

“Sorry, man. We only have one available.” Logan turned to leave but you quickly set a hand on his arm.

“We’ll take it.”

“The hell we will-“ He argued but you threw a wad of bills on the counter as the worker turned to grab a key.

“Put it under my name,” You told him as Logan furiously sniffed and tightened his lips.

“I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, little girl but I’ll be damned if I’m about to share a room with you.”

You chuckled loudly and firmly smacked his chest. “God, he’s such a jokester! Come on, honey.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Logan hissed as you attempted to drag him off but he jerked out of your grip and stomped to the room you were both given.

Your body temperature increased in annoyance as you stomped after him and slammed the door behind. Logan was already making himself comfortable and stretching out on the small bed in the room. The only one.

“Oh? Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“On the floor like any puppy.” He answered without opening his eyes.

You went over and kicked the mattress but he didn’t budge.

“Throwing a tantrum. Cute.” Logan turned over on his side and you decided to be petty.

You climbed in next to him and he squirmed. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist like a sloth. “Mmm, goodnight, Logan.”

“Get the fuck off me, girl.”

“Nope. You’ve decided to be an asshole. I need my beauty sleep.” He untangled your limbs and growled deeply.

“I’m not sharing a goddamn bed with you.” You simply pulled up the blanket over yourself, still fully clothed.

“Then sleep on the floor like any feral creature.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Me either.”

Logan rolled over to the edge of the bed, slamming a pillow in the middle. “Don’t fucking cross this line. First thing tomorrow we are leaving, we’re gonna find out what we need to know and I’m taking you the fuck back to Charles.”

“Good to know.” You replied and shut your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Logan.”

So far, you were losing the bet you made with Bobby that you could make him like you. But you weren’t one to give up. This was just day one.

Tagging @olivia-moo @marchsfreakshow @xxbimbobunnyxx @usergeta @nemesyaaa @taintandviolent

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Hear Me Out, Keep Me Guessing

Steddie || wc: 2.5k || rating: T || tags: alternate first meeting, pre-S4, Eddie is a rollercoaster of emotions, Steve is over it, fluff and flirting || ao3

Inspired by my own post

☆☆☆

“Okay, Munson. What’s your fucking problem?”

Eddie hops on top of the wooden picnic bench to gain a slight height advantage over whoever’s decided to fuck up his day, when he spots none other than Steve Harrington headed towards him through the trees, fighting his way through brush and bramble.

“Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Crawling through the dirt just to visit his former court jester.” Eddie smirks, hears Harrington mutter something under his breath that sounds a lot like jesus christ before he finally makes his way over.

Harrington’s looking up at him, squinting into the sunlight, and Eddie’s slightly repelled by his sudden desire to run a hand through King Steve’s hair. It shines in the sunlight, matching the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Eddie takes a step to the left, casting him back into shadow again where he’s just his normal, asshole self and not the angelic image Eddie conjured from his horny, queer little brain.

He can’t remember if it’s his turn to talk or Harrington’s, but it seems the King’s lost the plot as well. Completely zoned out, he’s just standing there staring up at Eddie, mouth dropped open and eyes wide in a way Eddie will certainly not be thinking about later tonight. Absolutely not.

Eddie coughs. Loud and obnoxious enough to break whatever trance they’ve found themselves in. Harrington awkwardly chuckles, running a hand through his hair. An image of Steve leaning against lockers, towering over a girl with heat in his eyes and a hand in his hair floods Eddie’s brain before he can shake it out like an Etch A Sketch. What the fuck is even happening to him?

“Yeah, Munson. Like, what the hell is your problem?” It lacks punch and drama the second time around, but it gets them back on track. Harrington props his hands on his hips, his lip juts out into a tiny pout, and Eddie wonders if he thinks standing like a disappointed mom is effective in getting what he wants, or if being adorable just comes naturally to the former King.

“You’ll have to be more specific, my liege.” He watches as Harrington brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and he makes a mental note to develop a better, more refined taste in men.

“The kids, man. Why aren’t you friends with the kids?”

“Kids? What the hell– what kids?” He hops down from the table. If this is going to be a legitimate conversation and not a shake down, he figures it’ll be easier on even footing. Harrington takes the seat opposite him, his shoe accidentally knocking Eddie’s ankle.

Steve doesn’t move his foot. Neither does Eddie.

“My kids, man. They said they tried talking to you all week and you wouldn’t even hear them out!”

Eddie watches his fingers tap absently on the table top. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, and it’s shocking that Eddie is just now realizing that Steve’s actually anxious. Normally Eddie considers himself better at reading people, when he’s not distracted with puffy, pink lips and a confusing line of conversation.

He looks down, rewinding the past week. He’d made it through his first week of his third senior year without anyone getting in his face. Maybe he’s old enough now that even asshole seniors like Jason Carver have decided to leave him alone. Thankfully it seems the offer also extends to Gareth, Kenny, and Jeff, who’ve only reported minor name calling and a light shove.

That’s where he spots them, stops the tape midway through lunch on Wednesday when a group of three freshmen approached the table. He’d spotted the curly-haired kid earlier in the week, bravely decked out in a Weird Al shirt and a hat from some science camp. The kid was enough of a freak to earn free admission to Hellfire, but the other two required a bit more thought.

Eddie clocked Little Wheeler through the station wagon window Monday morning when he’d cut Nancy off in the parking lot. The kid seemed alright, but with a priss like Nancy as a sister, it was a tough call. The other kid seemed a bit too sporty, and a little too interested in basketball tryouts.

When the three amigos started talking DnD, the guys invited them with open arms. It was a relatively peaceful lunch. Exciting even, at the prospect of adding new members to their campaign. They’d mentioned trying to convince a few of their friends to play. A girl named Max Mayfield, who turns out lives a few trailers down from Eddie.

But when the curly-haired kid mentioned Steve Harrington, the Hellfire boys clammed up tighter than nun’s ass. His named dripped from their mouths like it was covered in gold, the hero-worship rotting them from the inside and Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. No true freaks would stand to be friends with an asshole bully like King Steve.

Of course the freshies tried to argue, saying he’d changed. It didn’t matter to the Hellfire boys. Clearly the freshmen were corrupted, and they couldn’t be trusted. So he’d sent them on their way, and the three of them posted up in the corner of the lunchroom every day since. Far away from jocks and freaks alike.

Now, Eddie looks across the table and sees false bravado slathered over the anxiety etched into the former King’s face. He doesn’t know how three freshmen freaks found themselves under the wing of Steve Harrington, but it seems the feeling is mutual. Steve cares about these kids.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I remember them. What’s it to you, Harrington? Aren’t they a little too old for a babysitter.” The joke falls flat when Steve sighs, heavy and exhausted, like somehow a rich boy from the Loch carries the entire world on his shoulders.

But he plays it off, trying to meet Eddie’s quip halfway. “Babysitters get paid, dude. I do it from the goodness of my heart or some shit.” Steve leans back, scrubs his hands over his face like he can erase whatever’s behind his eyes.

Eddie stares at him, hoping to catch a glimpse. The only consolation is Steve puts his other foot on the opposite side of Eddie’s, his ankle now fully cradled between Steve’s.

“They’re nerds, man.” Harrington states it like it’s a fact and not an insult he’s hurled at Eddie a hundred times over the years. “They’re freaks, you know– like you.”

Moment officially broken, Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the table wondering why he ever entertained talking with Harrington in the first place. As he grabs his lunchbox off the forest floor, he hears shuffling behind him.

“Wait,” Harrington shouts. “Just, fuck man, can you just let me finish?”

“Finish what, exactly?” Eddie snaps, whirling around to crowd into his space. He wears big and scary like how the King wears his crown and how assassins wield their blades. With enough power and confidence to scare off any enemy. “Finish listening to you shit on the little guy? Listen to you harp on the freaks of the world, or how you corrupted your little pions?”

“What?” Steve asks, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched. Eddie’s not surprised his jock-rattled brain couldn’t find that word in its very limited dictionary, but what does surprise him is that Steve doesn’t back down. They’re practically nose to nose, so close Eddie can spot a small freckle on his lash-line, and Steve’s standing here like he doesn't have a care in the world while Eddie screams in his face.

It’s quiet again. He can hear the rustle of tall grass and birds overhead. He can feel Steve’s breath on his lips and Eddie can’t remember what they were talking about. Again.

Steve grabs his shoulders, and in his daze, Eddie lets himself be maneuvered back to sitting at the picnic table, while Steve stands in front of him.

“Are you always big and loud and obnoxious? Can you just cut the shit for like, five minutes so we can have a normal fucking conversation. Jesus christ, you’re practically perfect for them.” The last part is quieter, seems more like an unfiltered afterthought.

“Ok,” Eddie says. If Steve’s willing to take the crown off long enough to talk with Eddie, then maybe he can shed his own metaphorical battle vest. “Say what you have to say, then.”

Steve clears his throat, shuffles slightly as he gains his footing. He looks at Eddie with a determined set to his shoulders.

“Henderson, Sinclair, and even Wheeler– they’re my kids. I’ve spent the last nine months watching out for those little shits because all they’re good at is getting into the worst kinds of trouble.” Eddie tracks him as Steve paces the forest floor, rambling and raking a hand through his hair like it helps him think. “But I remembered you didn’t graduate, right? And you run that Dungeons and Dragons club–”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stops, turns to face him, and shoots him the bitchiest glare Eddie’s ever seen, but before he can say anything, Eddie pushes on. “You, Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High, leader of meatheads and bimbos alike, know what Dungeons and Dragons is?”

Steve sighs, hands back on his hips as he rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, Munson. Don’t worry it’s all against my will, okay? I’m not coming to steal your freaks and weirdos so I can lead them too.” He smirks, and it pulls a laugh out of Eddie, shocked that Steve’s willing to joke around with Eddie at all, let alone when it’s at his own expense.

“Now, quit interrupting me, you’re as bad as Henderson.”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips closed, only to open his mouth to swallow the imaginary key. Butterflies explode in his chest at the sound of Steve laughter, and Eddie wonders if bashing his head into a tree would be a decent excuse to explain the red flush erupting on his face.

“Anyways,” Steve chuckles. “They’re smart as shit but don’t know when to give something up just to get out of a fight. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten their asses handed to them already, and everyday I pick them up all I'm thinking about is which one of them I’m gonna have to stitch up. Sure, some of the guys in the grade below were alright, like Andy. But guys like Hargrove, like Carver.” Eddie can practically see the dark cloud form over Steve’s brow.

He remembers as well as anyone the fallout of Harrington v Hargrove, Fall 1985. There’d been endless rumors about what happened, each one more ridiculous than the last. Now he’s left wondering if it’s not really about Nancy, or drugs, or Billy fucking Steve’s mom, but about these kids. The timing checks out, nine months on babysitting duties lines up pretty well with when Steve showed up to school beaten and broken.

Maybe Steve isn’t all he seems to be.

“Guys like Carver won’t mess with you. They’re too scared you’re using DnD to worship the devil and get kids into sodomy and drugs and shit like that. I told them that you’d be cool. That you’re big and loud, that you play DnD like them. You're smart and you read the same nerdy books. I told them they’d be safe with you, man.” Steve rubs his face again, until his hands fall to the sides and he tilts his head up towards the sky. “I just need to know someone’s looking out for them. Please, Eddie, just–”

“Okay.”

Steve’s attention snaps back to him, relief written plain as day in the wide set of his smile. “You’re serious?”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Steve smile so unguarded, and never aimed his way. The sheer brightness of it fills him with warmth he wants to wrap himself up in.

All on top of the fact Eddie's never gotten this many compliments from anyone before, let alone from a guy as gorgeous as Steve Harrington. His ears are practically on fire.

“Yeah, Harrington. I’ll share custody of your little nuggets.” Before he knows what’s coming, Steve sweeps him up into a hug, lifts him fully off the ground and can feel the tinkling of his laughter on the shell of his ear.

“Thanks, Munson. Damn, you have no idea how freaked out I’ve–”

“What about the other stuff?” Eddie can’t stop himself from asking. He has to know, deep in his bones, that Steve is thinking this through. That Steve won’t change his mind in a few days or months and decide it’s time for Eddie Munson to eat dirt.

He lets Eddie go, but holds his shoulders at arms length to look him in the eye. Any lingering mirth has been replaced with intent curiosity. “What stuff, Munson?”

He can tell by Steve’s tone they’re both talking about the same thing. Rumors that’ve haunted Eddie since eighth grade after Davey Richardson beat him up under the bleachers. It didn’t matter that Davey kissed him first, all that mattered was he was popular and Eddie was weird.

He’d grown numb to the slurs over the years, but how could he forget hearing the reason why Byers beat the shit out of King Steve. The only surprise from that fight was it sounded like he never even tried to fight back.

“Harrington, if I don’t get to act loud and obnoxious, then you don’t get to play dumb.” The intensity of Steve’s stare reminds him of the few conversations he’d had with Chief Hopper before he’d died. The man could tear Eddie down to the bones with one glare, and he’s sure it’s the only reason the Chief brought him back to the trailer instead of a jail cell.

“Eddie,” Steve says, tone firm, “I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t care about the shit people say, especially self-righteous assholes like Carver. The only thing I give a shit about is you watching over the little gremlins and not selling them drugs, so I can breathe easier when I don't have eyes on them.”

Steve shakes him lightly, like it’ll sift this world-changing view into his brain, then pats his shoulder as he passes by him.

“Wait,” Eddie shouts, always a glutton for punishment. He spins around to catch Steve walking backwards away from him, hands in his pockets, effortlessly cool. The sun’s catching his hair again and there’s a smirk on his lips. “You really don’t care?”

Steve laughs, taking a step back. He chews on his bottom lip, and he smiles when he catches Eddie looking. Because he knows. Steve knows now, before Jeff or Wayne or anyone else.

“Eddie, whoever you decide to love or fuck– or not– is none of my business.” He turns to leave, and as Eddie relaxes he hears Steve call out, “unless you want it to be.”

Steve’s light laughter follows him out of the woods, and Eddie plops himself down in the same spot on the same wooden bench in the exact same forest as he always does every Friday after school. Except a twenty minute conversation with Steve Harrington leaves Eddie feeling like his world's been turned upside down.

Maybe ‘86 will be his year, after all.

[madelynraemunson]

i need to know if we ever get jealous of eddie’s said short lived relationships. do we ever try to sabotage them? or are we the type to try and get along with them and thats when they’re like “oh no you two need to be together?”

(i know the answer in my heart but i want to hear what you think lol)

ex husband!eddie x reader

whaaat? sabotage eddie's relationships? 😵 that's diabolical. why on earth would we do that?

that one time we showed up to his house wearing a sundress after months of wearing sweats was TOTALLY unplanned! we had a date, after all.

and that one time we were dancing with eddie at the family bbq, rocking out to all our favorite songs like careless teenagers right in front of girlfriend #3 was all a ploy by our kiddos! right, kids? right? we do everything for the kids. they love seeing their parents happy and getting along. right, kids?

and are you really still on about the day of eli's talent show?? 🤦🏻‍♀️ we only asked girlfriend #9 to take a family photo of us because she was the only one that was around. that's all 😇 and she shouldn't be mad at us! eli LOVES taking pics with mommy and daddy. who is she to get in the way of a family, especially when kids are involved 🤨😤 (also, we didn't MAKE eddie place his hand where he did in the pictures. he literally did it by himself, on his own terms.)💋

...okay, bunnie you got me! we know damn well what we're doing 😅 but quite frankly, so does eddie.

you've got a date with david tonight. in fact, eddie knows was nice enough to house sit for you and help the kids with homework. an innocent, sweet little gesture. right?

you and david are watching a movie on his couch and things are getting steamy really fast. david is about to kiss you when...

RING! RING!

you pull away immediately. checking your phone to see who it is, you realize,

"it's my ex husband, that fucker. the house better be burning down." you go to answer it. "yes?"

“hey, sweetheart, this is eddie...the banished." he greets you. “i can't seem to find the measuring tape and was wondering if you knew where it was."

you're unsure as to why he would even need measuring tape. regardless, you reply,

"it's in with drawer of miscellaneous stuff. the one by the kitchen sink.”

"ahh, that's right. found it. thanks, babe."

but that's not the only useless call of the night. as your date with david continues, the calls keep coming through in seemingly calculated intervals. at the worst possible times. with the most irrelevant fucking questions.

“i can't find the baking soda." “where do you keep the batteries? the c batteries not the double As." "hey, just a heads up, you might wanna call somebody for this pipe." "what's the wifi password again?"

"EMUNSON1986!" you hiss. "the year you graduated high school."

"aww, really?" eddie coos. "that's endearing. thanks baby."

eventually after an hour, the calls stop. you and david were able to finish the movie, and get back to that steamy interaction before you were spammed mercilessly. david is now fiddling with your straps as you two are kissing, his available hand grazing your lower back, breath hitching when —

RING! RING!

"jesus h CHRIST!" you howl. "it's midnight for god's sake. this better be important. HELLO?”

"sorry," eddie mumbles on the other line. "remind me, i'm looking at your snake plant and was wondering how often these guys need watering? they look a little parched."

"once a day and i already did it," you say through gritted teeth.

"it's a new day, should they be watered again?"

"don't worry about it, eds."

"i always worry, sweetheart.”

david happens to hear this. giving you a side eye now, your date watches as you stay on the line with eddie for a couple of minutes. finally, you get eddie to agree to stop calling, which fills you with relief when you hang up the phone. your eyes then travel back to david, whom you begin to bat your flirty lashes at.

"now." you say. "where were we?"

"you should probably go home," david huffs. "looks like the fort still needs holding down."

you're seeing absolute red now. you are seething. that motherfucker.

your drive home is an angry, and sexually frustrated one. you can't believe eddie would sabotage your date like this, your only fun night out this week. he's in for it now.

"date ended early sweetheart?" eddie pouts at you the moment you walk into your house.

"bedroom," you order. "now."

tagging peeps who seemed interested in this lil universe! as always thank you for reading 💋

@highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths @let-the-music-take-c0ntrol @meetmeatyourworst @b-irock @spencerssatchel

divider by: @cafekitsune

[muntitled]

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x F!Reader

Summary: "Jesus, dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party?"

Warnings: Hyper Feminine!Reader, Language, Fluff, Jealousy, Humor, Reader has a crush, Confessions, Teasing, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Dom!Hazel, Humping, Grinding, Masturbation, Pillowprincess!Reader tbh, Thigh Riding, Public sex, Risky Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Power Play, Ownership Kink?, Praise Kink, Slight!Hate sex ♡

Part two >

Hazel Callahan was rarely included into anything vaguely external, she would venture to say that she was even rarely included in her own thoughts. Therefore, infuriatingly, painfully aloof Hazel thought nothing of the invite you had presented to the entire group at Fight Club.

Why should she feel special?

Things like this seldom warranted her definite response, so when all the girls had affirmed their attendance, Hazel was... discombobulated to find a silence of anticipation growing pregnant in the gym.

It took a sharp stab in the ribs from PJ for Hazel to swing her head back into this specific reality in the space-time continuum. A reality in which you sat adjacent to her in a circle, legs crossed dainty underneath you to better accommodate the neatly pressed pleads in your pink skirt. There was nothing remarkably profound from you carrying yourself like the pretty princess you thought you were, what strikes Hazel as odd, however, was the look of expectancy in your dark eyes- a look you directed at… her?

"What?"

"You're coming? To my slumber party tonight?" you reiterate stifling the need to pat down at your braids corralled into a pink headband. You are basking under the scrutiny of her gaze but you also happened to suffer under it too. The longer Hazel watched you with furrowed brows, and her knee propped up to her chest, the longer you keened forward as if desperate to hear her say-

"Of course she's coming," PJ once again injects herself in between the two of you. "We'll all be there," You're perhaps nodding at PJ and Josie but your eyes are unable to leave the absolute prison that Hazel has them in. She does nothing except nod as well, before leaving you to your clique who all sit prettily under clouds of Chanel number 5.

The interaction replayed within the confines of Hazel's head throughout the rest of the school day. Right up until she finds herself, nestled in a car with Josie and PJ, taking the short drive in the more affluent neighbourhood from her place to yours.

"So, Hazel," the lascivious tone in PJ's voice already has her rolling her eyes as the car slows before an egregious house. "Are you ready to lose your virginity tonight?"

"Jesus Christ-" Murmurs Josie before PJ assumes what is expected to be your tone of voice- only its a hyperbolic and a higher in pitch reenactment of the real thing.

"Oh Hazel! I'd really like for you to come to my slumber party tonight!" All three girls leave the car as PJ continues her comedic display of seduction as she brushes up against Hazel and says "I really want you at my slumber party."

Hazel laughs as PJ grabs a hold of her upper arm, exposed from her open black button up and tank top. "You're coming right?" PJ sobers up as she says, "That's hot girl speak for "You're going to be cumming inside me-"

Josie does not keep her eyes off the approaching house as she interjects with, "Girls can't cum in other girls"

"Wow!" Hollers PJ, "-And here I was thinking you actually believed that girls can do everything that guys can do-"

"Wait," Hazel's eyes are on her shoes as she readjusts her tote bag and says, "You think she actually wants to like... fuck?" She lowers her voice drastically in the wake of making it up to your front door as she bends and reiterates, "Like actually fuck me?"

There is, frankly no time for Hazel to get a firm response on such a discombobulating thought because you quickly open the front door, and your skin is glowing everywhere from being completely exposed in your pink satin shorts and matching camisole set. Your hair is still loose as it frames your face- your round and constantly smiling face. Why had Hazel never noticed you until now?

Perhaps she did.

Perhaps she negated the possibility of forming a crush on you because you appeared so painfully… straight?

But here you are, smiling at her and only her. Your eyes had been bright at the sight of Hazel and her button up and how outrageously attractive she looked in a tank top but your smile dims significantly when you peer down at PJ'S hand still wrapped around Hazel's forearm.

"H-Hey," Said Hazel, with her voice that reminded you so vividly of a midnight snowstorm,

"Hey," you replied back, quickly turning away. Your mood had already been cemented for the rest of the evening. Despite it being your slumber party, you let your best friend host while you continued to wallow in the regret of your own unshakeable feelings. You hated that PJ and Hazel were very clearly a couple, but what you hated perhaps more, was that you still wanted her. You stole longing glances at her in your space, lazing on your bed while the rest of you sat encircled on the floor in sleeping bags. Hazel completely hijacked your entire brain throughout all the games and activities.

You had lost yourself in her presence and that only kicked up a notch when you felt a pair of forearms lazily splay onto your shoulders from above. With your bum still on the floor and your back against the foot of your bed, Hazel had decided to humour her turn in Truth or Dare. While she answered, she let her legs frame your body. So that it swung over the side of the bed, perfectly framing your sides.

Breathing had been impossible. So impossible in fact, you didn't know it was your turn until it took Hazel bringing her lips down to your ear. Your nerves had been shot to hell as she whispered, "Dove, it's your turn."

You cursed this idea and you cursed this wretched slumber party.

Luckily, It passed by in a significant blur that left you still riding on the high of being in Hazel's personal space until bedtime at 1am. While the girl's drifted into their own sleep, your eyes remained on the pink chandelier hanging from your ceiling while you cradled your stuffed frog to your chest. No matter how hard you try, sleep is a difficult thing to come by. You are left to your thoughts of the girl sleeping on the floor, while gentle snores sounded in the room.

"Fuck," you almost instinctively mutter as you find your hand drifting past your navel. You spread your leg ever so slightly before pushing your hand into your underwear. The quicker you came, the quicker your body could finally be allowed to slip into actual slumber. It sounded like a solid plan, and you had already taken to grinding your wet cunt against your hand- until it all went to hell and your duvet is being pulled slightly off of you.

You're quick to remove your hand and grab a hold of your covers as your eyes snap open to stare at the silhouette above you. Hazel's hair is a spectacular mess on her head and her skin shines orange from the glow of your salt lamp.

"Let me in," she whispers, not really waiting for a response before she's forcing herself into your covers, scooching you on the right side of the bed.

"What are you-"

"Shh," it's embarrassing, how quick you are to snap your mouth shut and heed her commands. Hazel's stomach warms significantly at how docile you are and she smiles as she says, "I cant sleep and I had the vague suspicion that you couldn't either." Hazel says, propping her exposed forearm under her head as she looks up at your ceiling. Her button up is discarded somewhere in the room, leaving her in basketball shorts and a tank but you're not complaining. Not at all.

"I told myself I'd be more intentional with my actions, and my actions are telling me to kiss you right now, but my feelings are telling me you might not want that." You're corraled into stark and naked shock as you watch the girl you've always wanted, confess to you in your bed. It feels unreal. The longing stares, the hours you've spent writing amatuer poetry in your notes app about her, the amount of times you made yourself cum with her heavy on your mind.

This does not feel real.

"Jesus," your voice is uncharacteristically coarse as you rush to say, "Dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party."

Hazel appears stunned as she watches you with wide eyes, "Well yeah," Says Hazel, "but… do you know what it means?"

"I've liked you since junior year," Your confession has her mind going hazy as she tries to recall all the subtle hints which she effortlessly discarded as you just being kind.

"God, you're such an idiot!" You release a chuckle that momentarily stirs a sleeping girl laying closest to the bed in her sleeping bag.

"Shh," Hazel's finger is pressed softly to her lips, you nod slowly only able to process mimicking her own actions.

"What were you doing just a second ago?" She says, swiftly removing the attention from her and her stupidity, replacing the atmosphere instead, with something much more dangerous. There's a difference in her whispers, a tone that has you melting into the covers as you unconsciously squeeze your legs shut. In this moment, she could ask anything of you, and you would simply comply. The silence stretches like honey between the two of you, and Hazel watches with doe eyes as you sink into your shame.

"You don't have to say anything." She finally whispers back, freeing you from your internal damnation but not completely letting you off the hook as she continues: "Just move your hips for me." It was an aggressively passive instruction that exploded a bundle of charged electricity between your legs. You are trapped in a distinctly uncomfortable position between wanting to comply, but wanting to be stubborn. The discomfort of these emotions are not entirely unwanted.

"Do you want me to show you how?" There is a challenging glint in her eyes that simulates the peroration of whatever the hell this is that you are both about to do.

This non-relationship which is so innately a relationship.

"Yeah." Your voice rocks with the signs of an oncoming tempest alerting your body to the possibility of something very, very exciting on the horizon.

Time and space seems so few and far in-between as Hazel keeps you arrested in those blue, endless hues. Examining her features keeps your wanton, unwinding nerves chaotically at bay. There is an intense exchange of control as Hazel shuffles closer, until her head is resting on your pillow and your both breathing into each other's parted lips.

She almost restlessly sets her palm onto your body, her hands on a slow path down your hips. It gives you a sliver of control knowing that bubbling behind her dilated pupils is a need that haunts her just as greatly.

"I'm gonna show you, okay?" She does not need to repeat herself but you recognize her words for what they are: masked behind the excitement and the charged atmosphere, is a real, and genuine need for consent.

The very moment you hopped over this threshold, you would forever be locked in a world anew. There would be no take backs. Your actions would forever be transcribed on the sacred tablet of our shared history.

"Are you going to show me, Hazel?" Desire is seated comfortably on top of your lungs and you speak only in soft pants, "Because it really feels like you're all bark and no bite."

There is a flash of excitement that sweeps momentarily over her lidded lustful gaze.

Her hands are much more sure of themselves as they lock into your sides, her fingers digging rudely into your silk pyjama bottoms.

"Shouldn't you be taking those off?" You ask cheekily.

A scoff slips through her lips as she shifts just a tad closer, her face now centimetres from yours. "You're awfully needy." Hazel whispers, "It's incredibly embarrassing."

What would prove to be even more embarrassing is the jarring way your hips stutter the very moment those words leave Hazel's lips. Your accidentally whorish slip up might have gone unnoticed were it not for the annoying fact that her right leg was seated quite cosily between your legs.

"Shut up," is all you manage to say - a desperate attempt at scrambling for your dignity crumbling in the bed between you.

Hazel laughs airly. Slowly, her hands at your hip begin to move, subsequently allowing your hips to move. A soft and slow moan passes through your lips, drowned out by the sound of sleeping girls as your eyes flutter shut.

"Hey," Hazel's lips are fully touching yours now, "Look at me." She could've never anticipated how the fucked out look in your eyes could ever make her feel. Your eyebrows are curved, as if you're in pain as you hump slowly against her thigh. The coarseness of the silk and her thigh pressing against your aching cunt… it makes everything feel so overwhelmingly real, unmarred by great expectations. The thump of her heart underneath your palm is so incredibly real. The beads of sweat growing pregnant on her forehead are real. Her dry, parted lips pressed against yours is in fact real.

"What are you thinking about?" It strikes you then that you had been a muddled, mindless haze, humping against her thigh with an urgency.

"I'm thinking about you." You reply, truthfully.

"Good things, I hope?" It is so unimaginable, the way her voice is able to remain so incredibly steady while yours is as shaky as a walrus thumping across an icy lake.

"I don't suspect anyone has ever had a single good thought about you." You shoot back and the fingers gripping your hips lock tighter, nearly prompting you to apologise.

The only other option left for you to exhaust is clamping your mouth shut as Hazel's hand assumed a much more aggressive administration. She grips on the plush skin at your sides with an unnecessary hardness, as if she wanted to tear in into you.

"See, I was gonna fuck you," it is absolutely shameful, the whimper that escapes your lips, "But now I'm gonna make you hump my leg like the slutty little girl you are." Before you could scold her, or perhaps violently disagree, rudely, before your cries of indignation could ever be forced out, Hazel is lifting you up from your side of the bed, her head shifting until her brown curls cover your pillow fully.

She turns onto her back, never releasing eye contact as she forces you down so you're straddling her steepled knee. The new position leaves you searching for a new anchor.

"Your hands are pushing down on my hair-" she grumble-whispers.

"If you'd let me finish faster that wouldn't be as much of a problem now, would it?" Hazel's response, in lieu of her thoroughly unimpressed face, had been to grind her thigh further against your core, eliciting a wanton, broken moan into the air.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Dove." Her voice is gravel, "Wouldn't want anyone seeing how much of my whore you are, would you?" The sound of your own moans slam back into you as you press your pussy incredibly closer to her leg.

"Imagine what they might think of you? Our little star pupil getting herself off on my leg? Is that really all it takes to please you?" Staying quiet had become an unimaginable feat, a mountain that becomes even more difficult to surmount when Hazel's eyes search frantically over your crippling form for a trigger that might send you over the edge.

You couldn't begin to imagine how powerful she must feel watching your hips move wantonly on her thigh while your hooded eyes displayed desperation.

You feel so thoroughly hers, a previous existence in which you went without her hard ministrations guiding you to orgasm felt completely in vain. You want nothing more than to be so incredibly good to her, and the thought that she might want the same way sends you to an early grave.

"You're doing so well, Baby. Keeping going." An embarrassing wave of pleasure ripped straight through your spine leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. There is no mistaking that your reaction to her praise and her validation had not gone unnoticed.

Your pussy is completely soaked against her leg, burdened with the knowledge that it wants something but it didn't exactly know what.

"I need you," you whisper. Before your own shame might wave away the pleasure, you are delighted at the moan that slips through Hazel's parted lips.

You had been so thoroughly enamoured by your own pleasure, you had not stopped to consider hers. The pillow princess stereotype brought with it a wave of shame as you looked down and found her hips stuttering slowly against yours.

"I'm right here, Dove."

And you both began to melt for each other. Your legs are tangled in one another while her thigh is pressed against your clit at the same time your thigh is pressed between her legs as well.

You are pleasantly surprised when you begin to feel the fabric of Hazel shorts moving against your own legs slotted in between her. You didn't have to picture how gloriously lecherous it might have looked, using each other so blatantly to fulfil a need that had begun simmering since forever. "Oh fuck, you're so pretty," her hand finds purchase against your breast, tweaking your nipples until they hardened against the camisole while her other hand was comfortably gripping your jaw, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

"You don't even know how perfect you look right now," you did not speak a word of a lie. Watching Hazel's long and domineering form writhing underneath you is a mental image you wish to keep stored in your chest of sacred memories forever. It is discombobulating, watching someone so used to walking so tall and unbothered, being made a complete mess underneath you.

You never wanted this moment to end.

"I want you to kiss me." She croaks, despite already bringing your face close to hers by the strength of a single grip. Her eyes search yours for something. You only hope that grinding yourself even faster against her leg is a testament to whatever it is she might've been looking for. Soon, her lips crash onto yours. When Hazel Callahan kisses, she kisses sloppily and disastrously as if she wanted to swallow you whole before you ever thought of escaping. Her lips are all encompassing, her tongue is restless, pushing itself into your mouth with avid determination.

You moan softly into her mouth. A sound she appreciates greatly given the way her hips began to move against your thigh with a matching ferocity. Her hand slithers along your back, until she cups a handful of your ass, dragging your pussy once again against her, at her desired pace.

Rough. Arresting. Frantic.

"You're being too loud," She sighs, breaking away from your lips to trail them down your neck. "You're being too fucking loud-"

"Fuck, Hazel I'm close-" Your legs are locked against hers but the hand on your ass keeps your hips moving by proxy. "I'm so close."

"You're gonna cum for me, Dove?"

"Oh God, I love it when you call me that-" There is an embarrassing pool of wetness accumulated between your legs, dripping through your shorts and onto her skin. She is equally as wet and that fact only spurs you on.

"I need you to cum for me, baby?" Her stuttering hips told you her own release is dangerously close, sitting on the horizon. Perhaps your orgasm had bled into something prideful, her need to make you cum first caused her to delay her own release.

"You're fucking unbelievable." You sigh with troubled realisation.

She uncovers herself from your chest, panting heavily without her hips ever stopping. "You're gonna cum first, okay?" She nods, persuading you to mimic her movements because despite everything, you are putty in her hands.

"Okay."

As she kisses you once more her hand travels back to your now exposed boob. Between your kiss, Hazel had somehow managed to haphazardly lift your camisole enough to expose your breasts.

A straggled sound leaves the back of your throat as your orgasm crested.

She succeeded in making a mess of you. Your hair had been set free, braids spilling like wild snakes down your torso.

"Oh God, oh fuck-" a hand slaps over your mouth. Hazel's eyes are wide as she continues to guide your hips to release.

"Such a good little Dove, aren't you?" Your eyes are blown with stars and pixie dust as you nod drunkenly. She's humping your thigh and you're humping hers and soon the orgasm sneaks up on you, stealing your breath right from inside your lungs. Your strangled moan is muffled by her palm.

Her eyes take it all in with a very certain hunger, drifting from watching her own hips grinding your thigh, to the choked expression of utter euphoria splashed against your face.

"Fuck, baby." Her Eyebrows knot as her breathing picks up. The pressure visibly building across her face is nearly enough to send you back into your pool of euphoria.

"Oh fuck- oh baby," The wave of pleasure that courses through her is violent and incredibly validating. It is you who had gotten her to this point, humping your leg so desperately as if it might be the only thing she could ever hope to achieve. For someone who had built such a notable reputation for always mainting an I-dont-give-a-fuck mentality, this feels like an immense achievement for you.

Once the smoke clears, and Hazel finds herself back on planet earth, the relics of her euphoria register as intermittent aftershocks. The dawn of what you had just done begins to settle and almost instinctively, you revert to your teasing.

"How nice of you to finally join us," you are still hovering above her, her long neck craning to look at you.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who squeaks when she cums."

The dampness between your legs is a reminder. "You're gonna learn to take just as much as you give sooner or later," You don't miss the hint of a promise thinly veneered along that whisper. Choosing to ignore the fluttering in the pit of my stomach at the sound of it alone, you climb off of her and back to your space on the bed.

"What's its name?" Hazel asks, peering into the darkness to bring your stuffed frog back into your arms. "You strike me as someone who gives their stuffed toys names."

You're still out of breathe as you reply, "Texas,"

She cracks a smile at that. Before you can finally drift off, a hand slips across your hip, trailing over your torso before brushing over your breast and staying there. "I'm gonna buy you one...I wanna watch you hump it like you just did my leg okay?"

All you're able to do is nod.

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

A gnawing sense of foreboding creeps up on Steve as they head to Eddie’s trailer, armed with weapons.

He tries to outrun it through action: ensuring he’s the first one to go through the Gate; jumping back and forth between The Upside Down and their world whenever someone forgets something, “It’s okay, I’ve got it!”; triple checking that the cables for Eddie’s amps are long enough; searching for the slightest thing than seizing upon it with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate, “Hey, we could use this, right? Better take it, just in case.”

But that only works for so long, and then Steve’s just standing in Eddie’s kitchen, the real one, staring blankly at the cupboards, all out of distractions.

Out of time.

He hears a grunt of exertion behind him, then an unsteady landing, a muffled curse. Eddie.

“Jesus Christ, Steve. Wanted to fit your aerobics routine in?”

He’s teasing, so light-hearted despite it all; Steve can’t stand it.

Keeps his back turned, gut twisting, opening the cupboards then slamming them shut, thump, thump. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He never has.

“Uh, so I was thinking,” Eddie continues, like Steve’s not doing anything weird, “that I could stretch out the, um, the song? My playing? Could buy you some more time, anyway.”

“Sure, great,” Steve says shortly.

He thinks—with a numb kind of calm—that he’s going to be sick.

He gets to the bathroom, tries to shut the door, but his grip slips on the handle.

Turns on the faucet, scoops cold water from his hands into his mouth, and it helps until it doesn’t, until he’s almost choking on it, and he’s been here before, the feeling familiar: a shadow looming over him, just waiting, waiting, and he knows it’ll pass, it always does, but he can’t stop thinking of Robin, it might not work out for us this time, and what if, what if—

He can hear Eddie knocking on the doorframe, just out of view—as if he’d seen Steve’s failed attempt at shutting the door and wanted to respect it.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Then Eddie mutters to himself, “Obviously not, get a fucking clue.”

Steve’s laugh is strangled but real. He wipes his mouth dry and shuts off the water.

“You don’t need to talk to a wall, dude,” he says.

And Eddie steps into view, leans against the open door. His eyes flicker across Steve’s face, and Steve doesn’t want to know what he’s noticed, so when Eddie opens his mouth hesitantly, he speaks first.

“We should—they’re gonna wonder where we are.”

Eddie pauses on the verge of speech; Steve watches him reevaluate whatever he was going to say.

“Well,” Eddie says, gesturing to the bathroom, matter-of-fact, “we could be peeing.”

Steve manages a chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”

Eddie grins like he’s saying yup, that’s me, like he’s won a prize.

Steve has seen him wear something close to that expression not even an hour ago: when the kids had started a line to use the bathroom in the RV, and Eddie had snorted, giggled with a childish kind of delight, “You—ha! You all look like you’re on a field trip,” before joining the line himself—calling out that he hoped their plan accounted for bathroom breaks because, “There’s no way I’m pissing in the alternate dimension,” and that had made Nancy break, laughing in a way Steve was certain he hadn’t heard since ‘83.

Eddie steps into the room and shuts the door quietly. Steve gets why: his breathing’s still all wrong, and if Dustin happened to see him, he doesn’t think he’d ever forgive himself.

“Sorry.” Steve sucks in a breath, tries to hold it. Loses it in an exhale that shudders at the edges. He speaks through the tail end of it, hoping that’s enough to conceal the sound, “Gimme, like, two minutes.”

“Make it ten,” Eddie says.

The way he says it makes it seem like it’s already a done deal; he must’ve spoken to Robin and Nancy before he tumbled through the Gate.

Despite himself, Steve feels a wave of relief: just for a little while, he has time; it overpowers the shame, leaves him sinking down to sit on the closed toilet seat.

He closes his eyes, just breathes. In… out… in…

He doesn’t realise that Eddie’s sitting down, too, until he hears the clunk of his boots, the rustle of clothing as he moves.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, and it annoyingly still comes out a little shaky, like he’s in the pool and he’s left it too long to snatch a breath. “You can go back, man, I’ll… I’ll be right there.”

He opens his eyes to see Eddie shaking his head, sat with his back against the bathtub.

“Stop apologising,” Eddie says, and then it’s as if the seriousness of it is too much for him, because he adds, with a self-deprecating smile that Steve hates, “I get it. You’re walking into the dragon’s lair, I’m just putting on a concert.”

“Don’t,” Steve says, and he doesn’t intend for the word to come out as sharp as it does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he means it. He means it.

Eddie’s smile fades.

“Don’t,” Steve repeats, quieter. Not quite an apology.

Slowly, he moves off the toilet seat, until he’s sat next to Eddie. There’s just enough space that they don’t need to touch, but Steve presses his shoulder against Eddie’s anyway, like he can somehow pass on everything he means through that alone.

Eddie sighs, presses back for just a second. “Don’t what?” he asks. He sounds tired all of a sudden.

“Don’t—don’t joke like that,” Steve says. “Like you’re not—” He swallows. “Like it’s not dangerous.”

There’s a pause. Eddie reaches across and puts a hand on Steve’s knee. Squeezes briefly and pulls back; already Steve finds that he misses the warmth of him.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Eddie says. There’s no joke in this, not a trace. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to Dustin.” Another smile. Gentle. “Swear on his mother.”

I’m not worried about that, Steve wants to say, but of course that’s not true; he’s tried hard not to look at Dustin directly ever since they arrived at the trailer, because his throat would start to close up alarmingly whenever his gaze lingered, and he knows the kid’s doing that whole semi-aloof teenager thing lately, but a part of him still wants to hold him tight and never let go.

It’s more that the shape of Steve’s worry is different to what he thinks Eddie’s imagining, covers more than Dustin’s safety alone—that the cold dread in his stomach brings him back to the tunnels in ‘84; to clutching Dustin, who was so small, Steve desperately trying to shield him with his own body, thinking the kid’s thirteen, only thirteen, this isn’t fucking fair; and that if this had to end one way, all he could do was pray that he’d be the only one to…

And Steve hadn’t wanted to die, but he was suddenly facing it anyway, and Christ, looking back at it, that was crazy, the whole damn thing was crazy, but it all made a twisted kind of sense at the time.

Eddie must spot that his train of thought’s gone down a dark alley because he knocks their knees together, but he doesn’t say anything. Just breathes, slumped against the bathtub; it’s probably the first time he’s been still—truly still—in a long while.

He must be exhausted, Steve thinks.

The gnawing feeling digs in, grips his heart.

“I can hear you thinking,” Eddie says quietly. “Listen, Steve, I know I’m new to, uh… all of this shit, but I’m on it, okay? Got it all up in here,” he taps the side of his head, “trust me—”

That’s not what—I trust you, of fucking course I do, but—

“—no deviations, and—”

“Plans change,” Steve says, and he hears himself, the calm decisiveness, just get ready; Dustin’s scream carrying across the junkyard, Steve, abort, abort! “Just… just promise me.”

“Promise you?” Eddie murmurs.

Steve feels the words on his tongue, the weight of them. Don’t do anything stupid. 

He swallows them down—afraid suddenly that if he really puts a name to it, it’s going to happen.

Fuck it, he’s exhausted too, and for a long moment he evades speaking: gingerly rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Feels his body heat, the swell of his breathing.

Eddie doesn’t tense up, just lets him rest there. 

If I kissed you, Steve thinks, drained, would you stay?

He doesn’t say it. Instead he lifts his head and asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Eddie chuckles. They’re still so close, Steve can feel his amused sigh.

“Tomorrow? I’ve not really… like, hopefully I’m not in jail. Anything else is a bonus.”

“We’ll fix it,” Steve says fiercely. “Trust me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Eddie says, grinning fondly, but he sounds genuine. “Shit, man, I think you could do anything.” He gestures outside. “Got the fucking dream team out there.”

“We solved a secret Russian code last summer.”

Eddie laughs. “Did you?” His eyes sparkle with mirth.

You’re beautiful.

“Gospel truth, I swear,” Steve says. He tries to stay light, but he makes the vow anyway. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

I have so much to tell you.

They stand up, and Steve doesn’t know who’s the first one to move—just that they both probably sensed the time dwindling.

And maybe it’s that, the inescapable thought that something’s coming to an end that does it. Steve doesn’t know for sure, just knows that his eyes are burning suddenly—mortifyingly—with tears. He looks up at the ceiling, hurriedly trying to push them back, but Eddie notices anyway.

“Steve, what is it?” he whispers, with a look of utter devastation.

Steve shakes his head. “Just being stupid,” he says, voice brittle, cutting himself off before he can say something ridiculous.

God, Eddie, let’s just stay here and grow old.

“You’re not stupid,” Eddie says, heartfelt—he stops just short of touching Steve; he clearly wants to help so badly, but he doesn’t know how.

Steve wants to tell him it’s fine. He doesn’t know either.

Maybe nothing can help this.

They leave for the Gate in unspoken agreement; at first Steve finds comfort in the sight of Eddie dangling on the rope, not quite in either world. Like every possibility is laid out before him.

I’ll tell you tomorrow.

But there’s a near imperceptible shift as Eddie keeps climbing, and Steve needs to look away, anything to avoid the pit in his stomach: the suspicion that the path’s already been chosen.

[pelova4president]

Secreta

Salma Paralluelo x Barca!Reader

summary~ You’ve been dating your girlfriend Salma for a while now but never really told the team. Will they find out?

Hiding something from your teammates was difficult, especially when you’re part of the Barca squad. One big family. Well, a unique family but one nonetheless.

And it got even more complicated when the secret is between two teammates. Being in a relationship with a teammates was something itself, sharing it with the team meant endless teasing and god knows what else.

Salma was a flirtatious type so it wasn’t uncommon for her to hug you, pick you up and sometimes even slap your ass. Most of the team is Spanish anyway, they’re all more into pda than the English. Whenever someone would comment on it you had a good excuse, she does it to everyone. But it was hard to cover up the red that invaded the apples of your cheeks.

Mapi was the worst of them all, you may or may not have told her about your little crush on the striker before anything actually happened between the two of you, and she wouldn’t let it go. She might have her suspicions but she never really told you them out loud and luckily for you that saved you some embarrassment and unnecessary lying.

“Los tortolitos no pueden quitarse las manos de encima” (Lovebirds can’t keep their hands off eachother) Mapi yelled from across the pitch. Salma had swung you over her shoulder, having spurted water all over her earlier and now she wanted payback. Vicky, her partner in crime helped her with that. The younger girl had stolen a bucket full of ice cold water from the recovery room and was waiting for Salma to run towards her. Once she arrived with you over her wet shoulder Vicky drowned you in the freezing water.

Gasping for air you scolded the Spanish girls. “Joder! I’m gonna get you both for that, little shits!” and when you began kicking yourself free from the strong grip Salma had on you, they sprinted away.

“Jesus Christ..” you sighed, happy to be on your own two feet again. Alexia and Frido laughed at your wet state, “Kind of deserved it, don’t you think.” the Swede said. You rolled your eyes at her, receiving a disapproving look from the other woman.

After training Salma drove you home. You shared the appartement, deciding to move in together rather quickly, u-hauling. It seemed like the obvious choice, you needed to be at the same location at the same time almost every single day and you got to be the passenger princess. You would cook some actual food for the both of you, seems like a win win situation right?

That was until some teammates started to get suspicious of your whole living situation. Alexia thought she knew everything about you and when she discovered you lived with Salma she was a little surprised, you would’ve told her right, why didn’t you tell her. That was the base of her little Sherlock Holmes case.

Vicky was just noisy and like a little sister. Salma adored her and so, you did too. She was around almost every day so you couldn’t hide that you had moved in with your girlfriend. It was around the second week of living together that Vicky came around and walked into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. Obviously there were two bedrooms in the apartment but only one in use. With some garbage on the left side of the room and actual books on the right she knew that Salma had company.

“Salma, ¿tienes compañía?” (Salma, do you have company?) the noisy teenager asked. Salma walked towards the girl and kept herself cool. “La cama de y/n aún no ha llegado así que duerme en la mía.” (Y/n’s bed hasn’t arrived yet so she sleeps in mine) Salma replied. “You’d tell me if you liked someone, sí?” Vicky winked.

Apart from La Reina and the annoying teenager nobody suspected a thing.

salmaparalleulo

liked by lucybronze and 281.828 others

a pleasure to have been there last night and end 3rd. thank you ❤️

comments

vickyylopezz._ mi 🐐

keirawalsh 💫

aitanabonmati mi hermana

y/n_y/l/n 🤤

commenting that might not have been the best thing since it only raised suspicions, especially with Vicky. But honestly, how could she look that good. And Salma is your girlfriend so you had all the right to drool over her.

When she finally came back from her little ballon d’or trip you almost had no time since you were expected for training the next day. Your schedule was full, scarily so. You could be in Italy, playing against Ireland one day and the next you’d be expected at Barca to play a full 90 minutes against Atletico Madrid.

This also meant that you had little time with your girlfriend whenever one of you were off for some event or sponsorship.

But even once in a while you needed to let go and go out with your girls, even if that meant you had to Uber home since your personal driver wasn’t there to drive you.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 186.725 others

🫶🏽🥂

comments

ellatoone take me with you next time xx

alexiaputellas what’s this?

vickyylopezz._ who’s that?

salmaparalluelo 🫶🏾

lucybronze barca’s doing you good

Stealing one last kiss you got out of Salma’s car. Hand in hand you walked towards the changing rooms. You were surprised there wasn’t anyone yet. Alexia would’ve already been here by this time. Tying your shoelaces up, not wanting to wear those football boots without them since they seem to be falling off players foots. Well, clumsy Alessia’s but a player nonetheless.

Salma had been done ages ago but decided to wait for you before heading into the canteen. “Ready, mi amor?” she took your hand, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Not quite yet..” you kissed her on her lips. Without meaning to really deepen the kiss it got heated.

“Hmm, need you Sal..” you hummed against her swollen lips. She kissed you even harder at that statement. “Haven’t had you in so long.” your grip getting tighter around her shoulders, almost like a koala clinging around a branch. Your girlfriends hands traveled lower and squeezed your ass before letting them rest there.

And before you could remove yourself from the striker, the changing room door swung open, revealing a complete Barca team. Vicky’s face was one with disgust, hearing your words from earlier. Alexia’s captaining face had taken over and disapproval was to be seen on some of your older teammate’s faces.

Mapi and Lucy burst out laughing. “Fucking told you so Mapi, give me my money!” ofcourse they had a fucking bet going on. Mapi and Vicky groaned at the same time but for different reasons. “My ears! I have to amputate them now! And my innocent eyes!” she screamed dramatically.

“Oh shut up Vicky, you’ve seen enough with those innocent eyes of yours!” your rolled your eyes at the teenager. “And you two had a fucking bet going on? How many of you had your suspicions?” It was your turn to be annoyed. Everyone seemed to find the walls, floor or even the ceiling more interesting than the questions you’ve just asked. “Joder..” Salma groaned, you really thought they had no clue.

“Well, dog’s out of the bagage. Everyone knows now.” Aitana says in broken English. “It’s cat’s out of the bag but yeah, good job with trying Aita” Keira praises her.

salmaparalluelo, y/n_y/l/n

liked by jillroord and 261.738 others

dog’s out of the bagage

comments

leahwilliamsonn what does that even mean?

alessia cute 💕

ellatoone love youse

janafernandez3 guapaaasss

alexiaputellas still mad.

vickyylopezz._ ew gross 🤢

[rosedpetal]

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Summary: How you and Wade became best friends.

Pairing: Wade Wilson x slightly Depressed!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

It smells like sweat, tobacco and cheap alcohol inside the bar. You immediately regret leaving your cozy apartment, wearing those faux leather pants, a black crop top that makes you feel like you're gonna explode out of it and putting makeup on just to end up in a smelly place that has a bathroom that'll probably give you an UTI if you use it.

But it's your best friend's pleading eyes that soften you up, and you know you have been unavailable lately. Always cancelling on her last minute and isolating in your place after your work hours, wallowing in your misery and wondering if that's all life's gonna be now that you're an adult: paying bills and working in a vicious cycle.

"You're not depressed, you're suffering from late capitalism," Maya begins, as she moves flawlessly on her high heels, her tiny little dress fitting perfectly on her. "You just need a drink or ten to forget for a little while."

"Becoming an alcoholic sounds like a nice solution." You roll your eyes, dodging a broken bottle in your sneakers, kicking another aside as you move between all that trash. Maya was such a princess, why she was in love with someone who worked in such a nasty place was very confusing to you.

"You're so funny." Maya said, kissing your cheek, her manicured thumb grazing on the spot her lipstick left a stain, smudging it a little. "He's very important to me, Y/N. And your approval means a lot."

Your heart made that little flip it always does whenever she says something like this. Maybe it's the guilt gnawing at your mind.

"If he makes you happy, you don't really need my approval, Maya." You mumble, following her inside.

The interior is even worse than outside. The bar is full: of big, chunky men. Some are playing pool, others playing poker, others are drinking alone, sulking.

You keep your face straight, wondering which one of those are Maya's new boyfriend. You sigh in relief when she runs to the one who's sweeping the floor, an Indian skinny guy who - thanks to the gods above - doesn't look old enough to be her father this time.

She lets out a girlish squeal as she hugs him, giving him a tight hug. You approach them, alleviated that he seems normal.

"Y/N, this is Dopinder. Dopinder, this is my bestest of the best friends in the whole world." Maya grins, and you force a smile to Dopinder.

"Hello, Miss Y/N, I'm a mercenary apprentice." The young man shakes your hand and your eyes widen in disbelief.

Of fucking course. Jesus Christ, Maya.

"Now, now, my little brown friend. What did I say about introducing yourself like this? Tsk." A voice coming right behind makes you stiff.

You turn to face whoever is invading your personal space, a mean scowl on your face, when your eyes widen just a little bit. The guy behind you stands at least 6'2". It's not his impressive height that has your attention, though.

It's his skin. Scarred all over, as if he had some rare skin disease. You wondered if it was an accident, and how he was before it happened. His grin spreads a little.

"Disgusted, doll face?" He tilts his head to the side, as if challenging you to admit it.

The bitter undertone in his voice doesn't escape you. You are mortified by your own reaction. Maya senses your unease and jumps in:

"Wade, excuse my friend, she never leaves home."

Your cheeks and neck turn pink. Wade thinks it's the cutest thing in the world.

Before you can bite Maya's head off, she hops away with Dopinder, leaving you alone with this guy you don't know. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating going back home, but it'll be just another thing for Maya to whine about later.

"Seems like you've been ditched." He smirks, sensing the way you're shying away.

"So it seems." You say bitterly.

"Can I entertain you with my company?" He raises his hairless eyebrow.

You're tempted to just dismiss this guy, but you're already out of the safety of your home. Might as well get drunk now.

Wade talks at an impressive speed and you almost can't catch up to him. He cracks so many jokes that by the end of your second beer, your face is flushed with laughter.

"So... You don't look like someone who usually goes out to have fun, doll face." He pries.

"No, I don't." You say quietly, a sigh escaping your lips.

"Why, then? Why put the effort in dolling yourself up when we both know you'd rather be watching Gilmore Girls in the comfort of your home?"

"I haven't been a good friend lately." You admit, almost meekly, biting the inside of your cheek - another nasty habit that came with the anxiety.

"What's eating you up alive, doll face?"

His question almost makes you choke. How could you tell him that what has been eating you alive is yourself? Your own thoughts? Your low self esteem and your self depreciation? How do you tell him you don't know what the fuck happened between your high school years and college, why your mind is playing tricks on you?

"Please." Your eyes are blinking with unshed tears.

His gaze softens, and he leans in closer, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against your forearm.

"Maya is a sweetheart, but we both know she's not that good of a friend. Not if the only way she can gets you to leave your house is by guilt tripping you into it." He speaks in a hushed tone. "Specially if she drops you the moment she sees her boyfriend."

You look up, your gaze finding his.

"You have such gentle eyes." You blurt out.

He wheezes. Wheezes.

"Wow, let's cut your alcohol, okay? Goddamnit, doll face, I'm the ugliest thing to ever exist since Wes Craven created Freddy Krueger." He mumbles the last part, grabbing a water bottle and twisting the cap for you. "Here. Drink it up. Yes, girl!"

"Are you sure this won't upset my stomach?" You raise your eyebrow, eating your second chimichanga.

Wade rolls his eyes, chewing on his.

You two are sitting on the curb, eating deep fried burritos and drinking soda. Not how you pictured how your night would turn out to be, but much better than what you expected.

"Listen, doll face, did I ever let you down?"

"I literally met you two hours ago."

"Exactly."

"So... Why entertain me?" You can't help but ask.

Wade pauses. He thought you were the cutest thing in the world when he saw you, all wide eyed and brooding, a little scowl on your gorgeous face.

"You seemed like you needed saving." He decides on telling a half-truth instead.

"Is this your thing? Saving damsels in distress?"

He contemplates it. There was nothing heroic about how he acted, or his job, or his personality, for all that mattered. Did he have an ulterior motive to invite you to drink with him? Maybe. But who didn't have ulterior motives?

"No, doll face. Being a hero is not how I operate."

"Are you a mercenary, too?"

His grin widens. Of course.

"It's a long story, doll face. Maybe I'll tell you someday."

"Hmm, is there gonna be a next time, then?"

"It depends. Do you wanna hang out with my ugly ass mug in the foreseeable future?"

This time, you roll your eyes.

Wade Wilson got under your skin in a way that no one else did.

It started with the way he cracked jokes at everything.

Then, his unexpected late night visits, where he brought some take out and you'd both eat it together sitting by your balcony.

Then, he came to you wounded, with more tears and bullet holes you were comfortable with – now that you knew about his healing factor and what triggered it, you thought you'd get used to seeing his guts by now.

Spoiler alert: you didn't.

It wasn't until you cried and sobbed on his chest, wondering if you were a failure, externalizing all your insecurities and doubts and fears, that you realized you actually made a friend.

Wade trotting in your place with his ridiculous crocs, a popcorn bowl and a beer on his hand should've give it away.

"I love you." You blurted out, so unexpectedly that he snapped his head to you, a shocked look on his face.

"You... What?"

"You're like my best friend now. And I love you. Deal with it." You repeat, this time more confidently, crossing your arms over your chest, as if daring him to state otherwise.

"Wow, you're in love with me!" Wade squeals like a school girl.

"Wade, that's not-"

"I mean, why wouldn't you? When I'm all that." He points to himself with a chuckle. "So, when did it happen? Did you get lost in my gentle eyes?" He blinks in an affected way.

You sighed. "I take it back. I hate you."

"Suuuure."

"Just press play on the fucking movie." You mumble, plopping next to him on the couch.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Zipper

Day #12 - Prompt: Ow! | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Aftermath of a Sex Injury | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Minor Steddie | Tags: Gareth's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, And Eddie Tries To Make It Better, While Goodie Tries To Make It Worse

"Is it bad? It feels bad," Gareth says, clearly refusing to look down again. And, he's gotta say, Eddie doesn't blame him. He wouldn't want to look down either if it was his dick in this condition.

"Well," Eddie says, as diplomatically as he can, "it's not great."

Gareth whines from his place on the closed toilet seat, as Eddie is squatted down between his thighs. Looking, examining. 

"It's probably gonna fall off," Goodie chimes in, and Eddie reaches over and swats at him. 

"Stop it," Eddie chides, because that's not gonna help anything, then he reassures Gareth, "It's not gonna fall off."

Goodie laughs his ass off, and Eddie's gonna kill him if he keeps this up. Gareth's freaked out enough as it is. These things happen, and yeah, Gareth seems more prone to stupid accidents than the rest of them. But still. This is brand new territory, even for him.

But Eddie's pretty sure it probably feels like it's gonna fall off, even if it isn't, because goddamn, fucking ow. 

The door out in the main room of the hotel opens and closes, and then Jeff is in the doorway of the bathroom, asking, "Why does it look like Eddie's examining Gareth's dick?"

"Because he is. Gareth tried to rub it off," Goodie says, dryly.

"He didn't try to rub it off," Eddie clarifies. 

Jeff leans over Eddie's shoulder, "Looks like he tried to rub it off."

"I didn't try to rub it off!" Gareth shouts. "If you aren't gonna tell me what I need to do to fix it, then let's all stop looking at my junk."

Eddie laughs, because it's ridiculous. It's not like he asked to look. Definitely not. Eddie lifts it up one more time, and man, it looks like he's been stabbed in the dick with an icepick, right under the head.

"What happened?" Jeff asks, and Gareth sighs, because he's already been through this twice before and he's beyond fed up. He told Eddie, and then told it all again to Goodie when he showed up, even if he really didn't want to, Eddie's sure. 

And now Jeff is here and wanting to know, too.

"So, I was fooling around with this girl last night," Gareth says, like he's giving witness testimony in a murder trial and not a sex story.

"And she bit your dick?" Jeff asks. 

"Tried to Lorena Bobbitt it right off," Goodie riffs.

"Yeah, with her teeth," Eddie adds, piling onto the bit. Can't help it. He feels sorry for the kid, but not that sorry.

"Guys!" Gareth shouts, and they all fucking laugh. But let him continue.

"We were fooling around, and she was grinding on my lap, my cock, and it got caught up against my zipper in a weird way," Gareth says, and the rest of them all shift uncomfortably, as if their dicks might be the next in line for such an injury.

"It didn't hurt while it was happening?" Jeff asks, being far more empathetic and reasonable than Eddie thinks Goodie or him have been.

"Of course it fucking hurt, she was rubbing a hole into my goddamn dick through my underwear with little metal teeth."

"Well, why didn't you stop her?" Jeff asks, like a reasonable solution to this would ever be the answer. 

"Because there was a girl grinding on my dick, Jesus H. Christ, why do you think, asshole?" Gareth snaps, and they all laugh. 

"I mean, you could have paused and done some rearranging, right? The options couldn't have only been 'no grinding' or 'hole in the dick', right?"

"I don't know, I didn't want her to stop what she was doing. Okay? It felt good, except for the whole making an extra hole in my dick part."

"Of course," Goodie says dryly, "that makes sense."

"Shut up, Goodie. Like you'd have ever stopped a fucking hot girl from grinding your dick down to a bloody nub," Gareth snips, covering his face with both of his hands. "Just fix it, Eddie."

Eddie isn't sure how he's supposed to fix this. It's just gonna have to heal. He can't make a hole in the dick go away. He's not a magician.

"Did you have sex like this?" Jeff asks.

"Are you crazy? I have a hole in my dick, no, I didn't have sex. I have a hole in my dick and I didn't even come. I have regrets."

And they all laugh.

Gareth's had enough, Eddie can tell.

"Okay, okay, show's over," Eddie says, and shoos the other two out of the room, the door closing behind them as they go, and then it's just him, still perched between Gareth's thighs.

Once it's just them left in the bathroom, Eddie looks up at Gareth, "Do you think you need to go to the ER?"

Gareth shakes his head, "No. It just really fucking hurts. I regret everything."

Eddie smiles, but keeps himself from laughing. It's hilarious, but it probably feels like a razor blade's stuck into his dick. It's the stuff of nightmares.

Eddie nods at him, "Okay. Then take a shower. Wash it really fucking good with soap, even if it burns, and then put some ointment on it. I'll find some gauze, or a band-aid, something. Then just keep an eye on it. Make sure it's getting better, not worse. Unless you really do want it to fall off?"

"Definitely not," Gareth says.

"Okay, that's the plan," Eddie says standing up. It's times like these that he wishes he wasn't the go-to whenever any of them need help, because this? This wasn't on his schedule for the day.

"Hey," Eddie says into the phone, "I touched another man's dick this morning. Thought you should know."

Steve laughs into the receiver, thousands of miles away, "What'd Gareth do now?"

Eddie smiles, big and bright. At the knowledge that Steve knows him, trusts him, loves him. 

And then he starts into the whole grizzly debacle, from top to tip. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: This is inspired by based off of Kevin Smith's comedic retelling of his first night with his wife. (Explicit story, but linked if you want to hear the original.)

[rosesanddecay]

Pt. 2

TW: angst/comfort, reader cries a little and is mentioned to have been in therapy

<< Previous | Next>>

The silence was agonizing. The air felt drowning and heavy. It didn’t help that no one could look at each other.

Soap and you have migrated to the couch after realizing that the conversation probably should be had while sitting.

How are any of you meant to address any of this?

Each of you knew just enough to fill in the blanks, but how is-

“So…” Johnny broke the silence and your train of thought. “How do you all know each other?”

“Really, Soap? That’s how you want to start this?” Gaz remarked, letting his grievance show.

“Aye! How else ye expect this to go?! How ye think I feel knowin’ ye’ve shagged my lass?”

“Jesus Christ…” you groan as you hide behind your hands.

“Not everyone-“ Simon murmured leaning back in with his arms crossed.

“Simon!” You exclaim, revealing your warmed cheeks to everyone.

“Well with the way ye look at ‘er I would’ve guessed otherwise-“

“Okay- no, that’s it-“ you stand in front of them all, pointing as you addressed each. “You- Simon, are meant to be dead, I went to your funeral. Fucks sake, I visit those graves everytime I drive past them!”

Simon couldn’t stand to defend himself, because he knew that already. He’d seen you talking to his and his family’s graves every now and then when he went to see them himself. It had torn him apart to not reveal he was alive, but he’d convinced himself it was for your sake. Even if that meant you’d shed more tears.

“You pushed me away for months before ultimately saying that you needed to move for work, that you couldn’t be with me anymore-“ your eyes still held the hurt from long ago as you gazed at Kyle.

“It wasn’t a complete lie…” Kyle scratched at his head, his poor attempt to redeem himself falling flat.

“Shut it, Garrick. You-“ your finger landed on Price, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? I assume you’ve been back for a while, so why didn’t you say anything?”

John knew he had no excuse, so he didn’t attempt to deny his reasoning. “Though’ ye might’ve been with yer other man…”

A hefty exhale escapes you as you hold back from saying more. You could slap him, because how, after all this time, does he not see himself as enough? Instead, your gaze landed on Johnny.

“And you, Johnny, you didn’t really do anything, but still, this could’ve never happened if you or John just told me who else was on the team.”

“Or told us who ye were dating.” Kyle muttering was directed to Johnny, but it earned side eye from you.

“Moral of the story,” you continued, “all of you have been keeping things from me. And now we’re here… and I don’t know what to do or say…” your voice broke a little from the festering emotions. Everyone was quick to their feet to comfort you, John worming his way to the front.

“Aye, lass, there’s no need to cry. We just need to talk this out.” John’s hands cupped your cheeks as the tears threatened to spill. “Maybe we should take a break, take a breather. Later, we can talk one on one with you and each other.”

You nod as you try to calm yourself, doing the short breathing exercises you learned from therapy.

John placed a soft kiss to your forehead before being pushed aside by Johnny. His arms quickly envelop you and he kisses your temple.

“Common lass, let’s get ye out of here for a bit…” Johnny whispered and pulled you into the bedroom, leaving the other men standing in a circle, stuck their own thoughts…

————

Idk what to call this series so feel free to leave some suggestions!

Also didn’t want to make this series too angsty, but reader is definitely gonna need some one-on-one time with each of the boys…

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued: 

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate. 

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run. 

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.” 

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it. 

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?” 

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.” 

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.” 

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?” 

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.” 

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go. 

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it. 

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered. 

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?” 

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.” 

~

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks. 

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away? 

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts. 

He sits forward. “Yeah?” 

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again. 

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts. 

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day. 

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed. 

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail. 

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared. 

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-” 

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.” 

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe. 

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.” 

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him. 

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms. 

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then. 

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep. 

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.” 

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.” 

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to.” 

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.” 

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.” 

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.” 

~

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

hey so i saw the despicable me 4 trailer and i have a very specific beef with it that's making me insane

so, like, disclaimer, i havent watched any of the minion cinematic universe movies since despicable me 2 came out... holy fuck eleven years ago, jesus christ. but anyway i'm probably gonna get minute details wrong but like hold with me a second

so idr when despicable me 2 takes place in regards to the first film. from what i remember, agnes was having issues with not having a conventional nuclear family for mother's day so this implies it's the first mother's day that the girls have had in gru's household. i'm pretty sure that the first movie took place during the summer-ish, and iirc the second movie is also summer (fitting with my "roughly may" estimate) so we'll say like eight-ish months have passed since the first film. no big deal, right?

so then at the end of the film gru and kristen wiig get married but the timecard states that it's "147 dates later." i doubt they went on a date every single day leading up to the wedding but if we're assuming the date list also covers the engagement and wedding prep period, that's at the VERY VERY least one-hundred and forty-seven days after the events of the film. so with the timeskip at the beginning, that puts us at well over a year since the first film, thirteen months minimum

okay so the third film from my research doesn't state how long it takes after the wedding. so again, let's be generous and say that it's not too long after. i'm pretty sure the film itself takes place over a couple of days so we'll ignore its place in the continuity for now. that brings us to movie number four, which just got a trailer and just revealed a new player in the game

so gru and kristen wiig have a new biological child. this kid is old enough to move and emote, which puts him at 7-12 months old if he's able to crawl. let's again be generous and say it's seven months. assuming that human reproduction works the same as it does in our universe, and again being generous as hell and assuming that lucy may have been pregnant through the third film or right after the wedding, we have to add nine months to all this. so from the first film, we have ~8 month timeskip, then a 147-day minimum timeskip, then let's say 16 months to get to the baby being able to crawl. again, this is absolute bare minimum, and we still get to a conclusion of it's been roughly 29 months since the first film, or 2.5 years.

so okay. two-and-a-half years since the first film.

so then why the everloving fuck are the girls the same. fucking. AGE??

how have these motherfuckers not aged a fucking day??? they haven't grown a goddamn inch. it should have been, again, 2.5 years minimum, more likely 3-4 years if we're being realistic.

and to double check my work, i went on the despicable me wiki and found that they also put movie 4 at a three-year timeskip from the first movie, specifically putting margo at 10 in the first movie and 13 in the fourth, edith at 8-11, and agnes at 5-8; their main source is margo being stated to be 12 in the third movie, and her sisters' relative ages being provided by tweet, so even then this is, again, bare minimum on timeskip. and not only have these motherfuckers not changed style one fucking time, but they haven't changed height, weight, anything. agnes has hit eight years old and is the same height as the tiny-ass fucking minions. edith's hat still fits. margo should be in high school and she looks the same as she did three goddamn years ago

what kind of motherfucking witchcraft is the gru family using to keep themselves young??? they said gru stopped being evil but are we sure there isn't some vampire blood rituals happening in the minion basement

make them a new character model. please god

[nburkhardt]

Mainly for my love, @strangersteddierthings ily

An overly sappy and fluffy follow up to this angst piece

“-Christ, I’m coming!”

It’s- Jesus Christ, only eight in the morning on a goddamn Saturday and someone decided to call him now? He roughly picks the phone up, “whoever the fuck this is, you better have a goddamn good reason to be calling!”

“Well, I’m sorry. It’s even earlier for me, nerd” Robin’s voice comes through, and now he’s confused.

If anyone should still be asleep, it should be her. Since she’s ya know, in California, in a different timezone. It’s- “why the fuck are you awake at five? Aren’t you on vacation?”

He can hear the eye roll Robin does, but it’s only fair. She woke him up, she gets to deal with a little bit of bitchy Eddie.

“I am, doesn’t matter. What are your plans again for Christmas?”

Tilting his head, squinting his eyes, he blinks hard before rubbing a hand down his face. “Buckley. You did not fucking just ask me what my plans are. The hell? You’re not even here! Why?”

Robin groans, obnoxious and long. Then a huff, and after that he hears tapping and he can imagine she’s bumping the phone against her head and straighten up with a glare on her face. He gets the look a lot from her to see it clearly.

“Edward Munson. I need to know what your Christmas plans are for very good reasons. Actually, what are you doing for that whole weekend? I need a favor and you’re going to do it, because it’s very very important. So important that if you do not do this and I find out, you will be a dead man and wish the demobats were after you.” She takes a deep breath, “do you understand?”

It must be, if she’s bringing up violence this early.

“Okay, geez I’ll bite. My plans for Christmas is just hanging around with Wayne, we usually just hang around watching Christmas movies and eat together. I got nothing planned the weekend, all of ya and my band are busy with family and shit.” He leaned against the fridge, closing his eyes and hoping whatever Robin is thinking doesn’t involve much.

“You need to kidnap Steve.”

He opened his eyes quick to widen them, straightening up and looking around for his keys. “Can I keep him then?”

Robin groans and he smiles, “if I’m kidnapping Stevie, I get to keep him. Finders keepers, Buck!”

“If you can only promise to love him and care for him.”

“Always, Robin. My Honeylove deserves it and so much more, he doesn’t even know how much,” he sighs, “I’ve agreed, now can you explain why?”

He’s met with silence and he looks at the phone wondering weather it’s not working or Robin hung up; already satisfied with him agreeing. Which would be fucking rude of her.

As he brings the phone back, he hears her sigh and- “i know my platonic soulmate and he doesn’t think I’ve noticed him being withdrawn or sad. He’s determined to make me go grey by suffering in silence, and he doesn’t believe how much I care or how much you care. So, he’s alone, like right now.” She sniffles and he can imagine she’s gripping her hair while also leaning up against whatever wall or surface, “SO, I would appreciate you for the rest of my life, if you help me and make him very, so very happy. Please.”

Taking a step out of his van, Eddie shifts his weight as he looks at the single flower he managed to pluck from his neighbors bush, it’s probably cheesy and maybe a little much but he couldn’t help himself.

Picking it up, he quickly slams his door before marching his way to Steve’s front door and stands straight. Taking a breath before moving his arm behind his back, knocking on the door with the other.

It’s been a few days since Robin’s call and his plan couldn’t take any shape until this morning. Wayne had noticed he was off the rest of that day and a complete word-for-word retelling happened and he ended with Wayne telling him, “Jesus kid, ya didn’t need to ask. That boy of yours is welcomed here”

And that was that.

He holds his fist up again as the door swings open and he’s met with an adorable sight, Steve wearing his glasses a little askew and his favorite yellow sweater along with some plaid sweats.

“Eddie?”

Smiling, Eddie pulls the flower out and brings it in front of their faces. Twirling the flower around before lightly bumping it on Steve’s nose, “My dear, Stevie Honeylove Harrington, I am here on this lovely December twenty third to officially kidnap you.” He watched as Steve pulls the door open more looking even more confused, it makes him smile at him.

“Eds, what the hell? Please don’t tell me you’re high right now?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie shakes his head. “I am very sober, and come on, get things together. You’re coming home with me”

They move into the kitchen and Steve looked at him before shaking his head.

“Can my kidnapper explain one more time, because he deserves to know why he’s being kidnapped- two days before Christmas” Steve asks and grabs the flower from him, putting it in a cup before leaning up against the counter to look at him.

He doesn’t bother sitting anywhere, instead comes right up to Steve and tapping his temple. “Because, my heart, you selfless dummy. You will be spending the rest of this holiday, with me and Wayne.”

Steve’s eyes widen, before darting around to avoid looking at him. It pulls a frown on Eddie’s face and he steps back just a bit, just to let Steve avoid his gaze more. He knows when it’s necessary to give more space, especially this lovely boy.

“I don’t want to impose on you both, I’m fine here. My parents called and said they’ll be her-”

“Nuh uh. Nope, I will not accept that. Even if they were coming, I’d still be kidnapping you, sweet boy.” He interrupts, crossing his arms and glances around the room before settling his eyes back on the important thing, Steve.

Steve who is still looking anywhere but at him, his own arms crossed but looking much more like he’s hugging himself, his fingers drumming along his arm.

“Sweetheart, Steve, I would truly and utterly love if you come along with me to your first official Munson Christmas.”

A smile pulling at his lips, as the words process in Steve’s head. A light blush is slowly creeping up. It makes his own cheeks start to burn, his own blush coming up from seeing Steve looking soft and confused.

Eddie moves closer to him again, arms no longer crossed and instead coming up around Steve. Enjoying how he instantly shifts to wrap his arms around Eddie, it makes his heart happy.

“Yeah okay, Teddy. I’ll go”

It’s the smell of bacon that makes him stir and the light sound of Christmas music playing.

Steve blinks a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes, his vision getting as clear as they can without his glasses. Along with that his other senses also kicks up and he can feel the weight of an arm around his waist and legs tangled with his.

He shifts just enough to see Eddie behind him, face still relaxed as he lightly snores. Clearly still asleep. It’s only then that he relaxes back down and looking away with a blush and tiny smile.

For once happy to wake up on Christmas morning in years.

“Merry Christmas, Love” Eddie’s arm tightens around his waist as he spoke, pulling him closer.

His face completely breaking out into a smile now. “Yeah?”

Eddie hums and squeezes his waist again, “yeah course, it’s Christmas”

Steve shakes his head, “no, well, yeah it’s Christmas but um, the love thing.” He squeezes his eyes shut and mentally counts to five before turning around to face Eddie, “are you serious? Because I’m, um, starting to think that you’re-”

There’s a smile tugging on Eddie’s lips and he moves his arms to settle back snug around Steve, “In love with you? Yeah, Honeylove. I am, I love you Steve and I would be the happiest man alive if you let me keep you”

Steve’s eyes are watering as he nods and breaks into a breathless laugh, the words bouncing around in his head over and over.

“Yeah, yeah. Please. I love you too”

It brings a bright smile to Eddie’s face that Steve matches, Eddie presses a kiss to his forehead and promises that they’ll share their first kiss once they lose the morning breath and Steve holds him to it.

They’ll get up, brush their teeth and share a soft kiss before walking out to see Wayne busy finishing off some pancakes. They’ll wish him a merry Christmas, enjoy their breakfast together before settling in the living room to watch Christmas movies and unwrap the presents under the tree.

There’s not much; only a few gifts for each of them.

Steve doesn’t even pay much attention to his, he’s really truly happy because his favorite present is currently sitting on the floor in a Santa hat obnoxiously shaking a gift next to his head with a big smile on his face.

It’s the best Christmas he’s had in a long time.

One of my all time favorite tropes is “they’re not dating” and guess what, they weren’t dating at all in this until Christmas 🥰 Eddie was very obviously in love with Steve from the start though, Steve was just a little slow on catching the very point-blank flirting :D

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this sappy piece and it made up for the angst I put you through in the first part. ☺️

Those who also asked/commented: @goodolefashionedloverboi @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @vampirestevie @steviesummer

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[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Autistic Asexual Charles and how many times Hank, his unofficial caregiver just stands here like "Jesus christ Charles you're going to 'play chess' with Erik AGAIN? This is like.. the 5th time this week." And Charles, with the most smug expression just says "What can I say, Hank? I like chess. And I always win."

Only to see the look of concern on Hanks face as he's like "Well.. alright.. it's your life I guess."

And while yes, he could very easily just read his mind, he's learning that, that's quite rude to do so without invitation.

The thing is, though, Charles is a massive flirt, and honestly, I think it should be taken with a grain of salt. My man is a master of persuasion and has actively learned how to tell people what they want to hear to get his way when growing up, so now, as an adult, it seems charming and flirtatious. And yes, some of it IS flirtatious, but it's not the "What a lovely dress that is." Rather him just looking at Erik and saying "Precisely." With a smug smirk and heart eyes.

Certian words are for certain people. Hank gets certainly and exactly. Erik gets precisely and "Why, of course, my old friend."

This being said I love the idea of Hank coming to tell him that a student tattled on oppisite gendered students together in their room at night and Charles is like "okkaayy...?? And?"

Hank just rolls his eyes and is like "Charles-" and Charles is like, "OH- oh right. Gosh, I keep forgetting.." then rolls his own eyes. "Teenagers.."

Also, I love thinking about how Erik is so confused and so flustard by how WEIRD Charles flirts. He can be over here complimenting a ladies hair and buying drinks for her only to turn to Erik the moment they ask if he has anyone at home with a smooth "Not yet."

And Erik stands there like "???!!?? Does he mean me or her?" Only for Charles to lowkey abandon the woman and come to Erik like "I wanna go home now. Its boring here."

"Won't you be more bored in your massive mansion?"

"Not with you Magnus. I can't afford to be bored of you."

*Magnus brain malfuction Error code g a y ??!!?*

Charles just smirks that small shit eating grin he does and goes "Come now, Someone's gotta keep an eye on you and unfortunately Satan himself favors me."

Like WHAT is this poetry?? SIR!!!?? Romantic mother fucker.

"And I want a grilled cheese."

Magneto??? More like malewife.

Funny enough, they get there, and nothing happens. Charles gets his grilled cheese. They theoretically argue over how the perfect grilled cheese would be made, and Charles goes to bed. Erik leaves, afraid of what Charles might see in his head if he stays.

He's so afraid of ruining their friendship with these "sinful" thoughts but Charles waves him goodbye through the window just before he drives away- And Erik cant sleep that night.

Dozens of spare rooms. And none are big enough to keep his feelings behind locked doors, so he drives home. Stares at his ceiling. Wishing he'd only gather the courage to ask to stay..