#like just a little bit... it could be him acting weird or it could be something else entirely yknow? something more aware of certain things

[ara-the-great]

Sylus when you come back from vacation (without him) is always a bit more touchy. His hugs last a bit longer and his kisses are a bit deeper. His hands are always lingering. Why? Because he missed your presence even though you were only gone for a week. He was like a clingy cat who hadn't seen his owner for a while.

Here you guys were cuddling in bed watching some weird true crime documentary and he was wrapped you like a blanket. He was basically rubbing his face against your face when cuddling and you swore you could hear him purr.

"Sylus?"

"yes sweetheart?" He paused to place a kiss on your cheeks. His arms still wrapped around you from behind. His had drawing little soothing circles on your arms.

"is it just me or are you acting like a cat" you said as you ruffled his hair

"the real cat is curled up in my lap" he kissed your neck while slowly creeping up to go tickle your sides.

"Don't you dare- DONT DO IT SYLUS EEK AAHHHAHAHAHA" you squealed as he began tickling you. You were starting to fear that it was going to become his go to attack to avoid a question.

"isn't a man allowed to enjoy his time with his woman when she was away for so long?" He chuckled

"It was merely a week!" You said calming down

"Torturous none the less" he ruffled your hair as he helped you back into his lap.

"Am I to assume you didn't like your gift then?" You had bought him a classical vinyl record, along with a few brooches and chains

One of his beautifully sculpted eyebrows quirked up. "Hmm on the contrary I liked it quite a lot " he whispered as he nipped your ears. "You would sing that for me wouldn't you? I'll consider it as a make up for all the time I missed your voice while you were gone."

[hhughes]

does luke get touchy with best friend if someone is looking at her weird and like he gets possessive

he does and he always feels so conflicted about it because he knows that they're not together and he has no right to feel possessive of her but he can't help the way his jaw clenches a little and his throat tightens a bit whenever a guy tries to hit on her.

luke's not blind, he knows violet is attractive, she's gorgeous, she's smart, she never fails to make him laugh. of course guys are going to hit on her. those brave enough to actually ask if her and luke are dating or not instead of assuming they were, at least.

and while those guys try and convince her to give them a shot, luke can't do anything but watch, and shoot daggers at the guy and hope he gets the hint, all while his other best friend silently judges him for it.

"what?" luke finally snaps, not being able to take dylan's little judgmental stare at the side of his head anymore

"nothing," dylan replies nonchalantly

"just say it," luke pleads

"you're acting like a jealous caveman right now," dylan says and luke shoots a glare his way

"no, I am not," he argues and dylan gives him a glare right back

"no? what do you call pulling her into your lap like that? while keeping eye contact with the guy who has been checking her out all night? that has marking your territory all over it. doesn't look like it worked though, the guy obviously wasn't scared off," dylan says and both of them look at where violet was laughing with some guy

"I'm just looking out for my friend," luke defends

"sure. you have nothing to worry about then. I have class with that guy. he has three sisters, the definition of a golden retriever. he's a great guy," dylan says, and the knots in luke's stomach only tighten up further

"great," luke replies dryly, knowing he means anything but. no guy would ever be good enough for violet, in luke's eyes. not even him. but even if there was a possibility that she could meet a great guy, that could treat her better than luke could ever hope for, and give her everything that luke couldn't, he still wouldn't feel right about it.

because there was this little voice in his head that said that she belonged with him and only him. that no one could understand, love or make her happier than luke could. and while that may be a little selfish, and make him somewhat of a bad friend, luke found some comfort and validation in the fact that the little voice sounded just like her.

[carefreecoffee]

⋇⊶⊰Fluffbruary Day 22: Proposal w/Hitoshi Shinsou⊱⊷⋇

Word count: 1096,gender-neutral reader

It was a slow, lazy day. The sound of rain pattering against the window and filling the comfortable silence in the room. His eyes were fixed on the screen of the TV, not paying attention to anything but the movie. The hand wrapped around you, however, wasn’t so focused. He was running his fingers along your skin, tracing patterns and playing with your hand. 

He felt your body cuddle into him deeper, chuckling lowly. He didn’t say anything, but his expression softened a bit. There was something… Different about today. He was acting gentler. More affectionate. He was almost too calm. 

He shifted his body so that you were in his lap, both of his arms wrapped around your waist. His breathing was steady and quiet, and his expression was almost… Melancholy. 

Hitoshi looked down at you in his lap, gently rubbing his finger against your waist. The ring box was burning like a heavy weight in his pocket. He’d been planning it for weeks, but was this really the moment? Would it be right now? How would you even react? 

Hitoshi’s eyes slowly roamed over you, taking in your form. You were so... perfect. Your eyes, your hair, your body, your hands, your everything. His eyes were clouded by an emotion he couldn’t completely understand as he pulled you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breathing had picked up just slightly, his body tensing. It was the right time. He knew it was the right time. 

He inhaled slowly, trying to calm his quickly beating heart before he spoke up. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper “y/n?”  

As you turned to face him, he could feel his heart skip a beat, not knowing if it's from the look you’re giving him or the nervousness bubbling up in his stomach. “Hm?” 

For a moment, his gaze locked onto your eyes. Soft, loving, slightly nervous. Then his eyes drifted down to your lips before returning to your eyes. He held back the words he was wanting to say back behind his teeth as he looked at you for another minute before speaking. 

“Just… Thinking...” 

"Haha well that's never good” you playfully chide 

He tried to make a joke to hide his growing anxiety, but he couldn’t find it in him. He almost just blurted it out then and there, but he held back. He was too damn nervous. Why was he nervous? It’s not like you’d say no — Right? He was trying to ignore the voice in his head. 

“Hey love” He moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, his thumb running gently over your skin.  “There’s something I need to ask of you.” 

“Yeah sure, what's up?”  

He needed to say it. Get it out. No backing out now. He took another deep breath, his voice still quiet and soft. “Just…” He began, but the words got stuck in his throat. How the hell was he going to say it…? “…I love you. You know that, right?” 

Your expression softens softly at the admission, “Aw yeah 'toshi of course I do. I love you too” 

He smiled softly, his expression softening more. He exhaled softly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against your palm. 

“I meant that I love you with every single fiber of my being. Every little piece of me. And I can’t imagine me without you in my life. I can’t…” 

“Shin, where is this coming from...?” you chuckle nervously at his weird confession in the evening of your shared apartment. 

His expression wavers between nervous and soft, but he still has a firm grip on your hand. He gently squeezes it, his eyes not leaving yours. “I just… I had a realization, that’s all…” He says, his voice still shaky. He knew he needed to just spit it out. Just get it out there. A small, nervous smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he softly repeated your name. 

“Will you,” He began, his voice just loud enough to fill in the silence of the apartment. “-Will you marry me..?” 

You watch as he pulls out the small round box, his pale hands obviously shaking. You look between him and it, eyes widening to saucers, "A-are you fuckin' with me Hitoshi...?” 

His heart was pounding behind his ribcage, desperate to escape. He took another breath before he spoke, his voice now less shaky but still quiet. “I... I would never joke about this, sweetheart. I’m being completely serious.” 

He opened the box carefully, revealing the ring within. It was a simple silver band, a small white glimmering stone at the center. Not too extravagant or expensive, but not cheap either. It was the perfect balance. He looked up at you again as his hand fidgeted with the box, waiting for your response. 

Slack jawed, you look down at it before meeting his lilac eyes, nodding after finally reeling your conscious back in. “Yes 'Toshi!” 

He wrapped his arms around you in an almost desperate manner, like he was afraid you were going to disappear if he let go. He buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a shaky exhale as a wave of emotion hit him. Relief, happiness, love, affection… so much of it all in one. 

After pulling away, he shakily took the ring out of the box, nervously chuckled between the two of you before you cupped his face, bringing him into a feverish kiss. He smiled against your lips, his hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. 

After a few moments, he finally pulled away, his forehead resting gently against yours. He inhaled slowly, feeling as if he was on top of the world. He looked down at the ring on your finger before looking back up at you. “I’m so glad you said yes…” 

You chuckle, wiping your stray tears away with your sweater sleeve “Whaddya think I was gonna say?” 

“I had no doubt you’d say yes. Though I’m not gonna lie… I was kinda worried for a minute there.” 

You grin stupidly, pulling him in for another kiss before pulling back, your foreheads still together. 

His arms kept wrapped around you, one hand on the small of your back, the other gently holding the side of your face. His thumb rubbed gently across your cheek as he looked into your eyes. He’d never felt more in love than he did at this moment, with you in his arms. 

[georgiapeach30513]

With Your Touch, Part 9

Summary: Lloyd has a decision

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, D/s dynamics, restraints, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

“Lyla Bee,” you smile at the sweetest little baby you’ve ever seen. Her head turns to look at you. Her mostly gummy smile with two bottom teeth cheeses up at you. Lyla’s cheeks squish up so high that her eyes are squished as she giggles.

You give her smooshing kisses onto her cheeks over and over again, “Tell daddy good morning.”

“Lalalalalalala,” she repeats over and over again before cracking herself up in laughter. Looking back up before turning back towards you.

“No, tell daddy good morning.”

“Mamamamamamamamama,” more repetitive syllables, but not what you want her to say.

“You gotta tell daddy good morning.”

“Da!” She squeaks, smiling at you before looking back up. “Da! Da! Da! Da!”

“That’s my girl! You said it!” You can’t stop kissing over her squishy little cheeks, ready to cry at her being able to screech Da! Turning back towards the front you smile at your phone, “Good morning, daddy. Me and this sweet Lyla Bee had a late morning, huh?” Lyla jabbers along with you, telling her side of the story. Smart angel baby.

“But today we’re going to plan her first birthday, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I don’t care if it’s just us two and the baby girl, we’re having her a beautiful birthday. You could always invite Ari,” you know when he gets a chance to watch this video he’s going to be cocking up an eyebrow. He both loved and hated when you brought up his partner in crime.

“Tell daddy bye. We’ve got to make some breakfast for this bumble bee. Ooh! Note, maybe we should do a bumble bee theme for her birthday. Ooh, since daddy thinks you’re the queen bee, maybe that should be your theme,” Lloyd chuckles as he watches the video. You had said bye, and now are off on a tangent talking about her birthday that she wasn’t allowed to have because he didn’t want her to get older.

It had nothing to do with not allowing people to celebrate his daughter, and everything to do with keeping her this little and cute. And you look positively delectable being a mom. The things he wants to do with you once Lyla goes to bed is animalistic. He has claimed you in every way that he can think of. And your obedient self trusts him to not hurt you. Both physically and mentally. That thought fills him with so much pride and need for you.

He’s unaware if you know exactly how much power you hold over him, nor does he care. He doesn’t think you have it in you to be a manipulator. You hold the power, but you also guard it. Are protective in your way for Lyla and him. He’s never had someone be protective of him, and it makes him feel — things. Things he can’t fully comprehend.

“Are you watching that again?” Lloyd locks his phone, and glares up at Ari. His giant friend just smirks as he looks at him. “Oh, you’re acting like seeing that fine piece of ass with your daughter doesn’t turn you on?”

“She is a fine piece of ass, but she’s more. That’s not why I’m…”

“Yeah, you’re in love with her. You don’t have to tell me. It’s quite obvious, and I won’t say anything to anyone else. Your secret of being in love is safe with me,” Ari is aware that it’s not a prideful thing, it’s a protection thing for you and Lyla. The less people knew, the less you became a target, “What’s this I hear about sharing her with me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Lloyd glares at him. “It was a heat of the moment pillow talk.”

“Talking about my dick to your girl seems a bit weird, no? How is my dick making it into your pillow talk?”

“We are talking about our daughter’s first birthday. Not what I say to make her squirm,” Ari starts to open his mouth, and Lloyd makes a buzzing sound, holding up one finger. “Eh! If you can’t contribute to the plans of Lyla’s party, I want you to keep your flopping jaw closed.”

Ari chuckles, shaking his head. The teasing is definitely over. Lloyd can be funny when he gets flustered and pissy, but when it comes to you and Lyla, he’s insufferable. “So what are you going to do with Roman?”

“I want him to see just how in love, respected, and safe his daughter is,” Ari’s interest piques as he lifts his brows, and leans closer. “He thinks I am only using his daughter for sex, and while the sex is impeccable, there is more to us than that. And one day that beautiful woman is going to walk around with me, and I’m holding Lyla, and the other hand is on her swollen stomach. Roman will see the two of us in love, and realize that his daughter is worth more than he ever could have imagined, and that’s when I will destroy him. I will make him regret the day that he ever thought he or any man could make her feel inferior.”

Your submission should always be a choice, and not a demand of fear of retaliation. Roman was a bastard that treated you as a commodity. The Verb was a prick for thinking he could lay his hands on you. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that you hadn’t thought of a viable way to dispose of him. Maybe it’d do The Verb some good to see you growing with Lloyd’s seed. Give you something that he never would have been man enough to do.

Maybe seeing you happy could do him some good. Lloyd takes a deep breath as he leans back, “I’ve got the perfect idea.”

“Are you going to show The Verb a sex tape of you and your gorgeous Dolly?”

“Why are you calling her gorgeous?” Lloyd’s eyes narrow as he leans in closer to his friend. “She is.”

“I noticed,” Ari’s grin turns devilish as he leans back in his chair. “Just ravishing.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, no. I saw you, heard you. Those teasing words. Are you looking for a third so early in your relationship?” Ari’s chuckle rumbles out of his chest as Lloyd rolls his eyes, and turns in his chair. “I mean, if you need help showing her how to get stuffed.”

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t offer what you won’t deliver,” the two men sit in silence for too long as Lloyd stares at nothing at all, and Ari just smiles at his friend. His irritation quickly turns into visions of Ari just watching your wrecked face. You are too much of a good girl to ever let him touch you, weren’t you? But making him watch you, Lloyd might be able to get on board with that.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Ari asks, interrupting Lloyd’s thoughts.

“What?”

Ari nonchalantly shrugs. It is long past having this conversation with Lloyd. He couldn’t keep you and his daughter, and live this life. Lloyd has more money than he could ever want. Investing smart. Everyone knows the high life he enjoys having, he needs that security. “In five years, where are you in life?”

His eyes go blank. Visions of you, Lyla, another toddler girl, and a swollen belly dance in his mind. He’s with you every day. Away from the city, away from the killing and uncertainty. Just his family.

“Yeah,” Ari interrupts Lloyd’s train of thought, and he gets a pouting glare. “Just as I suspected. You realize the risk you give both of them by continuing this life.”

“This is what I know. And I didn’t ask for them — this.”

“Neither did they. But isn’t that how the best love stories start? Unexpected and raw, but also real?” Lloyd sighs, nodding his head. Yeah. It truly was the best love story. Completely unexpected, and the two of you knocked him off his feet, and made him feel things he never thought he would.

”Have you ever asked her what she wants? Surely she doesn’t just want to be an au pair,” Lloyd grunts. It’s the tenth time Ari has pissed him off in one conversation. “I’m sorry, a mom. What if she wants a bookstore, a flower shop, a…”

“She can have it,” Lloyd says with no hesitation.

“A coffee shop that the mister and missus run together. Lyla, busy helping when really she's just playing. A cute little baby bouncing around in a swing because you two can’t stand the thought of being away from each other. Or what was it you wanted to do when you were a boy? A professor,” Lloyd scoffs, rolling his eyes at the stupid ideas of a too young boy. Life happened, and he just rose up the ranks of the life of crime.

“I’m sure your pretty little wife would love to see you bend her over a desk. Punishing that pretty ass before you fuck her stupid.”

“Get out of my fucking fantasy,” both men release an airy laugh. Lloyd looks at the desk in front of him. He couldn’t continue on with this life. “I could do it, you know?”

“I know you could. Just as much as I can join your freakish little fucking games with your girlfriend. And I do mean fucking,” Ari gives Lloyd a wink, who returns the gesture by throwing a pen at him.

“Shut up.”

“You brought it up.”

“I was teasing her. Seeing her get all embarrassed and heated is,” Lloyd glares at Ari. “Oh, shut up! I like to see her squirm.”

“You have a sick need to humiliate, but she likes it,” Ari shrugs. Who is he to judge yours and Lloyd’s kink.

“Yeah, you don’t get to come home to her fucking a copy of my dick while I eat dinner,” his eyes grow distant again. Imagining his favorite show to watch while he eats. Seeing you get off, while simultaneously begging for his real cock, and to just fuck you is the best form of entertainment.

“You should invite me over one night,” Lloyd’s foot goes in between Ari’s legs. Connecting to the seat of his chair, he pushes the chair back causing an uproar of laughter from Ari. “You really are a bastard.”

“You offered!”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“It’s just new. You’ll change your mind,” Ari chuckles as Lloyd walks away from the conversation. Annoyed. Intrigued. Irritated. Turned on? No. Definitely not. Maybe not. Maybe a little.

——

Lloyd opens the door to his home, and quickly turns the alarm back on. It is too quiet. He worked late. Really it was having time to think about what Ari had questioned him about. Being your cute self, you left a dinner plate in the fridge. He isn’t hungry. Just hungry for you.

With a bit more gusto in his step he heads towards your bedroom. He’ll check on Lyla after he wakes you up with an orgasm. It’s been such a long day, and he could use something sweet on his tongue. The peaceful sound of your sleep sounds plays softly under the door.

Now, he could burst through the door, and wake you up with fear. He could crawl up the bed, and plant himself between your thighs, or he can make a trail of kisses up your body before he melts into you. Forgetting the work he does while basking in your warmth. It didn’t matter to him what he did because it was going to be with you.

Opening up the door, he slinks closer to the bed. Starting to peel off his clothes, until the most perfect and beautiful sight he’s ever seen comes into view. Lyla tucked so close to your body while your arm drapes over her. Cuddling the baby into your body. It’s cruel he didn’t get to fall asleep with the two of you.

Seeing just how quickly you took her into your life, and made her yours eases his darkened soul. You didn’t birth her, but you are the most integral part to her raising. He has missed so much time with her, and you. And each day he chooses to live in this life is another day that he misses his family. One day could potentially miss everything. The risk of the job is becoming too real for him.

He could miss her first sentences, her first steps without assistance, her personality coming through. He might miss out on her first day of school, the first person to break her heart, the first date. He shudders thinking of that aspect. Lloyd could risk the possibility of making more adorable babies with you. Forgoing the chance to have a family with you. The ability to give her siblings. It’s a risk he isn’t fully willing to take anymore.

He had too much here. Right in this bed is his life. Not the money, the thrills, the heavy rotation of women. This is the most comfortable and fulfilled he’s ever been. It isn’t worth it anymore. Ari is right.

“You could put on your pajama pants and get in the bed with us.”

“You could meet me in the shower.”

“Lloyd, the baby is sleeping,” playfully he sighs. He’ll take a quick shower, and get back to you. It isn’t worth it to stay away from you. Or her. How did he get here? To a time where he got excited about going home, or wanting to get to work late because he is too busy spending extra time with his girls.

His mind is set. He doesn’t need the job. Investments have been made. He can live an honest life. Maybe. The two of you could have a store. Or do absolutely nothing for a while. Just enjoy each other.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he slides into the spot behind you. His arm moves over your hip, and he lays a hand on Lyla. Her lips pucker out a bit before wiggling close to you, and you give her a kiss to her forehead. “You smell good,” you hum.

“Stop wiggling your ass on me.”

“But you’re warm, and smell good.”

“If you want to keep snuggling our daughter, you better quit. Because I will make you take her to her room, so I can fuck you long and hard,” gasping, you peek behind you to look at him. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a threat.”

“Fine,” you exhale, starting to close your eyes again. It just feels so much more comfortable when Lloyd is in the bed with you. There’s a rightness to it.

“Is there anything you wanted to do before you got here with us?”

“An art gallery,” whispering, you give Lyla another kiss. It’s a simple answer, and if Lloyd did any light digging into your college degree, he’d know you wanted a life in the art world.

“I will buy you an art gallery,” you snort out a laugh, and his hand moves from Lyla to your breast, and he pinches your nipple. You bite your tongue to not make too much noise. “I’m serious. What if I let all this go? It’s just you and I. A very chic art gallery. Lyla growing up around this rich and creative life.”

“You’re serious?” Did he really say what you think he said? Give it all up.

“Yeah. I don’t think I can continue to be away from you. I’d like to think we’ll have another baby bee or two. I can’t do that if I’m dead. I don’t want to continue to bring all this ugly fear and possibilities into our home. I have enemies, and lots of them. I put you and our children in danger. I can’t have both that life and you. And it’s you and her that I have to choose.”

Lloyd’s face buries into your neck. Nipping along your sensitive skin. Feeling at ease with his decision. He’d get everything situated. He’d give you your dreams, since you have given him his. Being out of this life, and everyday with you, just makes complete sense.

“You sure you don’t want to put Lyla Bee in her bed?”

“No, hers seeping. And hers is really cozy and comfy and warm on her mommy.”

“I love hearing you talking like this,” he shifts slightly, placing his mouth at the shell of your ear. Exhaling just enough to awaken your core, “But I will wake you up with my dick inside you.”

“The baby,” your voice trembles as you try to remain still. You just never know with Lloyd. It’s what makes him so exciting.

“I’ll get her all cleaned up, fed, and in her own bed. I know why you have her in here with you. My needy sweet girl. You are so touch starved, and I love giving you attention. Especially touching you,” how are you supposed to fall asleep now? How can your body get turned on that quickly, and now how are you going just left to drift off. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

“You can’t say things like that, daddy.”

“Shhh…”

Frustrating. He can whisper those things in your ear, setting you on edge. Making sure you wake up horny and ready to take him. Fine. You’ll just wait for when he gets Lyla fed and asleep in her own bed. Like he could be stealthy enough that you don’t wake up with them.

—

You failed.

You failed miserably. You slept through Lloyd waking up, and tending to Lyla, getting her in bed, all while you slept. “Lloyd! Untie me!” His grin turns sinister as he shakes his head no. “Daddy,” you make your voice weak, hoping it entices him to do just that. Not being able to hold him is just cruel.

“Don’t daddy me. You earned this. Do you remember your safe word,” narrowing your eyes, you nod once. “Then say it,” you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “There’s my stubborn girl.”

His boxers are so tented. Straining from his hard length, and if he’s just going to stand there, making you drool over his cock that is pressing so hard against its confines then he is cruel. Your lower lip puckers out as you look down your body. At least you’re still dressed. “Daddy.”

“How much does she need me,” the infuriating thing about this man is his need to talk about you instead of to you. His knee presses into the mattress and yanks your thighs apart before crawling in between your legs. Noticing the glint from his knife too late as he cuts away your satin shorts, and moves up to your shirt. He could have just unbuttoned that. But why would he do the easy or normal thing? No, he just likes to cut them off.

“Shh, I’ll buy you some more,” he whispers, running the blade down the middle of your body. The icy coolness from the metal leaves chill bumps in its wake.

He peels the shreds off you, and drops them onto the floor, before his darkened eyes peer up at you, “No panties?” Your response is a glare. Wishing he’d just get a move on it. “Hmm,” he settles between your legs and gazes up at your weeping cunt. “What has got her so wet? My, my, my. She is soaked. I wonder if it’s me or just being tied up. Or,” he glances up at you with a murderous smile.

Sticking his tongue out, he licks a strip up through your center, moaning in satisfied hunger. “I knew it,” he does it again, but keeps his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he pulls up. A string of your arousal connects the two of you as he keeps those blackened eyes on you. “You’re ovulating.”

You shake your head no with a smile. He’s crazy. Insane. You are on birth control. “Are you so filled with lust you don’t even remember what we decided?” Oh. That. “We decided you would stop taking your pills. Now, here’s where we are now. The chances are higher for you to get pregnant. Before we get started, and you’re filled with desire and not brains, do you want me to come in your cunt, on you, or your mouth. It’s a big decision, I know.”

It is a big decision. Because his warmth inside of you feels so good. He snaps his fingers, “Don’t go into that space. You’ll get fucked regardless. But where am I putting my cum?”

“I don’t — I don’t want to decide.”

“Then I’m wearing a condom.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t in the right mind frame to make this decision. You’re acting on just your body‘s feelings,” he’s right. But there are other options of birth control. It doesn’t have to just be pulling out.

“Come in me, and then a morning after pill,” Lloyd nods towards the dresser. Of course he’d have one ready. “You’re not questioning me?”

“Why would I?” Yes, you get the contradiction. You stopped birth control, and now are using an alternative. But you just can’t think past wanting to feel him. “When you’re not tied up, and spread eagle, maybe you’ll think differently. But you just want me to fuck you and fill you with my seed, huh?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“I do really like looking at this pussy though. She looks gorgeous, all wet, and ready to take me. Lyla is dozing off with her lullabies playing and you are just ripe for the taking.”

“So take me,” your threat or warning, whichever, is enough for him to position himself. Lloyd runs his aching, throbbing cock through your folds, while you stare at him sheepishly. “I can’t touch you.”

“I just enjoy seeing you squirm,” he responds before crashing into your warmth with no warning. Leaving your head to lean back as the utmost pleasure of having his length fill you up with a sharp pain. Taking him is a hard task. “Don’t you ever get used to me, Dolly,” he grunts before pulling out, and spearing hard back into you.

You whine as he bottoms out. Jerking on your restraints as you try to ground yourself with his body. “It’s a bit of an effort,” he starts to pull out again, and slams into your wet heat. Your toes curl at such a harsh intrusion, and you want more. “But I still think your pretty little cunt was made to take me.”

His hips piston into you quickly. Over and over he pounds into your body, and you can’t do anything, but take it. Take his heavy cock. Take every inch of him. Every jolt of his body pushing into you, you take. “Such a good sweet girl. You’re not even arguing with me. You like my cock too much, huh?”

“Uh huh,” with that admission he fucks into you so hard you feel him in the depths of your soul. His body becomes one with you. The most vulgar way that you can think of to accept that the two of you are one. You are a team, never to be split. Together forever. This is the man that you will live for and die with. The man that will burn the world down if it means saving you and his family.

He’s it.

He’s everything.

And yes, you do take him so well.

Even the slight tinge of discomfort feels amazing as your cunt stretches to accommodate him. You will get to experience him, this life, a new life, all of it forever. Have more adorable babies. Have a life you’re happy in. A life you’ve dreamed about. Away from the violence and secrets. A life that you’ll be okay with raising a family. A life different than the one you were raised in.

This is it.

All you’ve ever wanted.

Right here in this home.

Right here in your body.

“Stay with me, Dolly. Don’t you go all dumb before I come inside you.”

“Daddy, I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” he’s so deep into your body, you feel his head swell as he empties his load into you. “Mmm,” you sigh as his warmth fills up your swollen pussy.

He leans forward to kiss on your forehead, while his hands undo your cuffs. Your arm drop free, and you pull him close to you. His lips still press warmly against your cheek as he starts to pull away. “Don’t go.”

“I was getting the pill.”

“It can wait,” he shuffles to lay beside you, but pulls you on top of him instead. “It can wait until next time.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“What — changed your mind?”

“Just this once. Once a month,” his brow cocks up, and he smiles. “Once a month you get to have unprotected sex. The rest of the month, you pull out,” he says your real name, but you cover his mouth. “Unless you don’t want to. Then you can wear a condom,” Lloyd shakes his head. “Would you be okay with it if I happened to get pregnant?”

“Dolly, I’m okay with whatever you want to do. My life is yours, and pretty sure it has been since the first moment I saw you. I’m all yours. However you want this to go. Just don’t tell me to go away.”

“I’d never.”

And you wouldn’t. Not ever.

He is yours, and you are his.

And with your touch, you changed his entire world. His entire being.

Forever.

The End, friend. Or is it...?

Next

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[steviewashere]

Back in My Head Again

Rating: Mature CW: Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Steve Harrington, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use (In Various Points), Mental Health Issues, Past Referenced Parent Death Pairings: Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Father, Steddie Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Steve Harrington Making Some Bad Decisions, Impulsive Steve Harrington, Good Friend Tommy Hagan, Protective Tommy Hagan, Tommy Hagan Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan Cares About Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is Loved, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Eddie & Tommy Bonding About Steve, Childhood Friends, Hopeful Ending This one's a very personal piece to me. So please be kind, but also take care of yourselves. This one gets dark really fucking fast. Read all content warnings and tags, take care! <3 Also on ao3 (because this is long)

☎️—————☎️ Tommy’s the only one who knows what happened to his mom. It’s not that he’s keeping her death a secret, but it’s easier to just not say anything. Sometimes, when he’s quiet in a room, all the eyes around him are a bit more attentive than they’d be if he were just being stupid. He only found out because Steve needed an ear to listen and a brain that remembers when she had been sweet.

Not that his mom hadn’t been nice or sweet or motherly. She was just…different near the end. Combative. Argumentative. Angry. He could breathe the wrong way and receive an earful for the way his nostrils whistle. Had he known the inevitable, maybe he would’ve been a little bit more receptive to her comments, accepted them like soft punches to an even softer pillow, but as it was, he was just as angry—if not more.

With her gone, his dad became worse.

They weren’t, like, buddies before she died. But if they were in the same room? Well, it would take a whole lot of tongue biting, but Steve could manage it. With his nose cradled in the crook of his elbow, all his words muffled by warm skin, and hands curled into tight white fists. At least in the before, there were only a handful of times where he felt the need to be scared of his dad. The one afternoon where he came home from a basketball practice—pent up and exhausted, hungry as hell, sweating where the sun didn’t shine—and his dad had been furious about something probably ridiculous, and charged at him from the other side of the room. Steve had acted on a weakened instinct, one he thought he trained to be obediently dormant, but when his fists went up in front of his face and his eyebrows furrowed into the soft hoods of his eyelids, he knew he’d always had to be ready just in case.

Maybe he was just a spoilt brat. Maybe he was just an angsty teenager with too many misplaced emotions. Maybe he was just naive.

But he had been ready, always, to pack his shit, dodge some punches, and get the hell back. Though, when his mom was alive, he survived on her affection like a sick bee needing sugar. Now, without her? It was a matter of time before his dad starved him. Or worse.

Tommy knew, though, about his parents. That his mom died suddenly and too young. That his dad was an asshole. He knew about the always packed backpack in his closet, the overstocked first aid kit he hid under his bed, and that secret he let spill from his lips too late one evening, beer soaked on his tongue, a hunger for Tommy’s freckles in the deep pit of his stomach—I want to kiss you, is that weird?

Was it maybe too weird that he went to Tommy still? Even after everything? Even after telling him off in that parking lot? Maybe, but Steve’s never been one to make good decisions. But there was a certain sort of security blanket when it came to talking to Tommy. 

After a bad hookup? He went to Tommy. Drank a little too much and needed somebody to not judge him for it? He called Tommy. Wet the bed from a nightmare like he did as a kid? To his childhood friend, Tommy, he ran to.

They’ve seen each other at their worsts. Well, the non-NDA, government cover-up worsts. He’d been there for Tommy when his parents divorced. Been there the first time Tommy had been rejected. Been there when Tommy was sick with the flu, threw up a little too hard, and gave himself a nose bleed. And in turn…

Steve trusted Tommy still, despite it all.

Was it unhealthy? To rely on Tommy in certain dire moments and then to recede as if it never happened? Oh yeah, Steve can recognize that. But would he go to Robin with information about his dad? No, unfortunately, he wouldn’t. There’s not enough time and comfort and days spread between them.

He’s known Tommy since he was seven years old.

If they weren’t such big piles of shit, to each other, to themselves, maybe they’d still be orbiting. But. They are, that’s the problem. They are.

Now, though, he needs Tommy.

Hugging a payphone by the nearby park, wrapped up in loose, thin layers, seventeen degrees and lips turning purple, he needs him.

“C’mon, Tommy…c’mon,” he mutters, breath puffing in front of him in a large white cloud. This is his last quarter. His cheeks are searing with tears. There aren’t gloves on his hands, his fingers are fucking numb and bluish. He’d go home, but his dad is there. Drunk and stubborn and angry, his dad is always there.

Finally, on the last ring, it’s picked up. “Hello?” Tommy answers gruffly.

Steve sobs, hard and sour and ugly, “T-Tommy.”

“Holy shit,” he hears, that voice now alert, “Steve, is that you? Oh my god, are you okay?”

His eyes dart around. The street is empty. There’s ice under his stupid sneakers, one wrong move and he’ll give himself another concussion. Words bubble in his throat, but all that leaves him is an awkward, dry retch.

“Hey,” Tommy whispers, “take…take a deep breath for me, okay? I’m—Take a moment, I’m right here.”

The breath stutters in his chest, hiccuping and sharp and painful. He heaves a sigh, is praised for it, and sniffles. “My d-dad f-fucking sucks. I hate him, Tommy. I fucking hate him.”

Over the line, Tommy shuffles—probably in his bed, this late at night; 3:23am, when Steve hazily glances at his watch. “I know,” he says softly, “what’d he do, Stevie? Or is he just…”

“He—fuck—I came downstairs to get some water, y’know, and…and I don’t know, he was just in the kitchen. I could…I could see the alcohol on the counter, so he was drinking, and he’s always drinking, Tommy…he’s always, always—but he saw me and h-he called me an asshole, I know I am, but I just—I was just trying to get some water and he just said it and he—he said it was my fault that my mom, that she…”

The moment ‘mom’ leaves his tongue, the sobs boil again in his throat. Gurgling and wet, he allows it to happen. Bile-laden sobs rip wild through his chest, staining the back of his mouth, heaving out of him because the breath burns through him too fast to mean anything. He blubbers, words incoherent through his teeth, slurred in a way only his dad knows how. And it’s within the blink of an eye, sorry on himself that he’s so close to being just like him, that he’s wrenching something deep from within his pocket.

On his sixteenth birthday, only a few short years ago, his grandpa had still been alive. Happy and well. There was one thing he gave him. A pocket knife. Heavy silver handle, sharpened silver blade, his name engraved in pointed letters. It was for self-defense, a good tool just in case of an emergency.

Is it self-defense if it was himself that he was protecting from?

Is it self-defense if it pierces between his ribs?

Is it self-defense if it was an emergency escape?

“Where are you?” Tommy asks. It’s urgent in the air, as if he’d already been asking it in Steve’s daze, looking down at the pocket knife shiny in his grip. “I’m going to come get you. Where are you?”

He could bite his tongue, he’s good at it. 

But one thing about Tommy that nobody else knows is that he’s perceptive as hell.

Steve could swallow his own tongue, but even then, Tommy would pick up that something is going seriously wrong.

“That park near my house,” he mumbles in response, “you know where it is?”

“You see a bench nearby?”

He nods stupidly, humming without words.

“Can you sit on it for me, Steve?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “I can do that.”

“Okay,” Tommy sighs, but it doesn’t sound put-out. It’s relief. “Stay on that bench and wait for me, okay? I want to be able to see you.”

Steve hums again. Bobbles his heavy, eyes-burning head. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry?”

His hand fists tighter around the folded pocket knife. Thumbnail etching into his own name, eggshell white paint chipping at the pressure. One wrong move, one wrong thought, one wrong second—he takes a deep breath, the air burning inside him, and can pinpoint the exact spot where the blade would rest. It’d be just one quick push. One last scream. One last bout of terror. The metal is cold in the center of his palm, yet his fingers haven’t quite picked up on the temperature.

“‘Course,” Tommy murmurs, “I’ll find you soon.”

The phone buzzes dead in his ear. There are tears crisp and hot to the gentle wobble of his chin. He darts his eyes to the nearby park bench, lonely and dark with a gentle spattering of snow along its back, and he begins the gentle path forward. Tiptoeing around sheets of slick, thin ice. Fog in the air hanging, clouding the dark sky to be a semi-permanent pale grey. He settles himself on the bench, the cold seat against his pants.

In his hand, the knife rests uneasily. It’s a light thing, but tonight it’s especially heavy. Especially daunting. He blinks, still looking at it with his tired, seeping eyes, and curls his fingers around it. It doesn’t go back to his pocket, though.

He doesn’t know, really, why he took the little knife with him. As if, possibly, there’d be a demodog out there searching for him—that’s the only truth he can bring to the forefront of his mind. That he’d be hunted down by something he could only control with the folds of his own flesh, but even that’s a sorry excuse; the demo-creatures have long since been rid of, they were connected to Vecna, and Vecna’s as good as dirt. If he had to think of a reason, Steve could conjure up reality with a simple blink. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the need had always been there.

To kill himself.

That’s as bluntly as he could put it.

Even that brings a fresh churn to his ever-churning stomach.

The need had been there, though. An etch to the sketch of his whole person. A fleeting thing. Maybe since the first time he’d been left home alone—eight years old and confused. Maybe when he called the police after his dad had hit him the first time—ten years old and told that that’s how bad kids are punished, a spanking. Maybe when he drank himself into near hysteria—thirteen years old and puking up his lungs in his mom’s nice peonies outside the kitchen window. Or maybe it was after the demogorgon—seventeen.

Could’ve been in part because of Nancy or even Jonathan. Possibly Carol. Even Barb. At one point, definitely, Tommy.

But even he knows pointing fingers at friends is pointless.

This need, this feeling, the weight of the knife in his hand—

He’d always held the handle. It was just a matter of sensitivities that controlled the blade.

Why this time?

Why now?

Because he was an asshole? Whatever. He’s been an asshole. Because his dad was home? Whatever. Steve’s always wanted him home. Because his mom was dead? Whatever. She’s been dead for over a year now. No Vecna to get her, no demogorgon to savor her—he had been eighteen, she had been sick, like really fucking sick…it was nobody’s fault.

So why now? Steve couldn’t even pinpoint the reason.

It was a build probably. Unresolved shit from the Upside Down, hand in hand with his failing minimum wage job, with his spiral of never-ending college rejection letters, on and on. He never went through with flicking open the blade. Had to protect and whatnot. Is it because there’s no reason to protect? Is it because he doesn’t have to now?

Sure, he was staying because of Dustin, Max, the lot of them, Robin, and Eddie.

He wasn’t staying for himself, though.

Why would he? Who could?

He’s always had this need to never truly pocket the knife. Despite its name.

It belonged to him. Name on it and everything. And as fate should see it, maybe it was a sign.

Read: Steve Harrington is fucked in the head and is going to do something about it.

Read: Steve Harrington brandishes a weapon and he knows how to use it.

Read: Steve Harrington wants to die and has wanted to for a really long time.

Longer than he cares to admit.

He flicks the handle, blade unsheathing with a quick schtick! It’s shiny and clean. Never used. There’d been a back up pocket knife, one he was given from his dad; it was only ever used for shotgunning beers. Couldn’t bring himself to use it for anything else outside of that. And he couldn’t ever hurt himself, not when he was swimming and playing basketball. Everybody would see. Everybody would know. He was known, sure, but not known, and the prospect of that brings a fresh wave of goosebumps to his arms. Unless that’s the cold. But the point still stands.

The knife he currently has, shiny and clean, it could use a little grit to it. Some roughage.

Why hadn’t he killed himself, though? Was it the blood that made him squeamish? The fact he’d hurt anyway? He could drown, but then there was the problem of his bloated corpse. And there was the possibility of overdosing, but then somebody would go all detective on his stupid body, trace back the ketamine in his system to Eddie…Eddie doesn’t deserve that.

He’s had plans. They were kind of…intrusive, though. Made in a split second decision. The ketamine one, he almost went through with that. Bought as much as he was allowed to purchase in one sitting, whatever Eddie was willing to part with—years ago, he has half a mind to squander, he doesn’t sell like that anymore—and then he’d return a few days later, stock up some more…he was just gonna go for it. All in one sitting. Lock the bathroom door behind him. He had even brought in a dining chair the night he was going to, set it up underneath the doorknob and everything, yet when it came to the actual drugs…

The toilet had a very open mouth and very willing stomach that night.

There was the quarry. He’d only been there a few times. Not since Will’s “body” had been discovered, but he’d been there before. It was always during a morning jog. Crisp autumn air, low hanging fog, nobody on the roads. Steve would make a detour, in his short sleeve t-shirt and even shorter shorts, and he’d jog right up to the edge.

It was farther and farther and farther down the more he went. The more he grew. Even when he sat, he was taller than the time before. Sometimes he’d throw a rock, watch it skitter down the sharp edges of other rocks, listen until the sound disappeared, until the only thing that gave proof it was there were the ripples in the water far below. There was always a passing thought, though, that he’d leave a lot more evidence behind. Every sharp edge stained with proof of him. He wanted nothing left in his wake. Wanted it to look like somebody had just snatched him while he was out, dumped him in the water, had very little care for his body. Because who would care? No, if he went through with his plan, there’d be evidence. The news would break: Steve Harrington, age 15, Death By Suicide. Or would they publish it? Beat around the bush, probably. Save face and all.

Point is, there had been plans steadily over the years. Each one getting smaller and smaller and lesser and lesser. It was always the clean up that startled him. The fear that little bits and pieces of him would be left behind. Vomited foam from his mouth, blood from his head, the wet shadow of his body pulled from the pool. He’d be everywhere. And everyone would know.

Steve Harrington was suicidal.

King Steve Harrington had problems.

Steve Harrington was a scared little boy, hardly a man, and oh how fun that is to laugh at.

Who would miss him? Well and truly miss him?

At eighteen? Dustin. Maybe Nancy. Maybe even Jonathan. They’d would’ve gotten over it, wouldn’t they have? Poor Steve Harrington, the ex and the babysitter. At fifteen? Just Tommy and Carol. He always imagined it, people like Barb and Nancy and Robin and Eddie, all of them adrift by the news, but later getting over it. Just a ‘who cares’ thrown over their shoulder, a ‘good riddance’ in the back of their mind they’d never admit to. At twelve? Bobby in the A/V club, who always welcomed Steve with a gap-toothed grin and his wide bright eyes, making sure there was always space for his confused questions. The kid that some time later, Steve watched get his head swirled in a toilet, laughing at how he sputtered. At eight? His mom. She would’ve been inconsolable. Though, she would be young enough, maybe she could’ve tried again.

Now, though?

There’s…there’s too many people to even name.

God, way too many people.

He was staying for them, never himself. Got a best friend and a few pseudo siblings, his adopted dads in Hopper and Wayne…and he’s got a boyfriend that nobody knows about. He’s got everything.

Why is he still here? With the knife in his hand? In the cold? Frostbitten and scared?

Underneath all the scars, the anger, the hair, he’ll always be that scared little boy. The little boy afraid of his dad—the monster he lives with. Of drunk hands and slurred words, cigar smoke and stale dinners, wooden paddles and leather belts. He’ll always be the little boy that cried in his knees, hidden in the depth of his closet, under tens of old clothes, hanging on for dear life. Always be the kid that called his best friend, Tommy, when things went to shit. Phone cradled to his ringing ear, a slap still stern across his cheek, and needing instructions from Tommy’s parents on how to use a first aid kit.

He’s gotten better at discerning what he needs from the kit. Not because of alternate dimension beings, though. No, due to the monster that sits at his dining table, sipping Jack with glazed eyes and sorrowed brows, angry veins and angrier words. Asshole.

Steve was scared. Vulnerable. Soft-bellied. And he was small, despite being so big, he was always smaller than he showed. Any sign of himself—this true self, squirmy and squeamish and small—that would be it. He didn’t want to be known. Didn’t want to be found out.

But then, here he was, holding the knife.

Distantly, he hears the slow jog of heavy steps. He has the wherewithal to recognize he should stow away the knife, deep in his pocket where nobody can see. Though, as it glistens and blinks—mesmerizing him—he leaves it wide open.

This isn’t the first time he’s been here.

It needs to be his last.

“Stevie!” Tommy shouts somewhere on his left. Steve’s head swivels to the sound of his own nickname. Jogging up one of the clearer snow paths, Tommy’s making quick work of getting to him. He’s in heavier clothes than Steve is: a beat-up Carhartt jacket, thick and long jeans, brown work boots, a tartan red scarf wrapped messily on his neck, mittens, and a beanie with a big pom-pom on the top. As he gets closer, Steve can hear his heavy breathing, see the puffs that emanate from the frigid air. Still got that boyish way to him. A million freckles, those soft brown eyes, his pearly white teeth. The first boy Steve ever thought to kiss; the first and last boy to break his heart. “Steve,” Tommy murmurs now that he’s close, “hey…hey, I found you.”

He can’t move from his spot on the bench. It’s cold. His bottom aches from the chill of the wood, but he can’t make himself get up. Legs like lead. That knife still heavy. And he might cry if he speaks right now.

Tommy can see him. Truly see him.

For the first time.

Steve can catch the exact moment Tommy spots the unsheathed, flipped open knife. His eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows shooting up to the edge of his hat, his light smile fading into the paleness of his cheeks. He stutters in his settling, standing frozen to the spot. Like he became one with the slick ice. He’d do something like laugh at the expression, but again, it may just catch like a sob.

“You…you have a knife,” Tommy dumbly points out. His eyes dart away from the blade, though. He’s forcing himself to not look. To ignore it. Setting his focus on Steve’s face instead. “Your lips,” he whispers, “what’re you doin’ out here without a scarf? And your gloves and coat and…you need to be warm.” With great speed, the same quickness Steve used to see on the high school’s track, Tommy is unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. Gently, he tucks it on Steve’s, forcing it to sit tight against his going blue lips. Then, he’s tugging off his jacket, slipping Steve’s left arm through one of the sleeves. But by the time he makes it to the right—“Stevie, can I…I need to take the knife from you, okay? I need to get you warm.”

He can’t move his hand.

But his eyes stay on Tommy’s. Big on his sunken face, burning hot with fresh tears, chin wobbling. He can’t even ask.

“I’m gonna take it,” Tommy gently says, “put it in my pocket, okay? Just for a little while.” Slow now, he reaches for the knife. When Steve doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even flinch, he takes it in his grip. It’s probably the only thing about him that’s warm, if the surprise on Tommy’s face says anything. But he ignores that, too. Simply folds it up—schtick!—and buries it deep in the front left pocket of his jeans. Just like that.

Like it was nothing.

The outline of its handle in Tommy’s pocket is something, though. Heavier than it seems.

Had it looked like that in Steve’s sweatpants? All weighted and obvious?

He pities himself—the fool.

Tommy continues to take care of him, though, one piece of clothing at a time. The jacket all zipped, mittens on Steve’s numb hands, beanie on his big head. And when he’s done, he steps back with a tight, light smile. “There,” he breathes, “all done.” He tucks the scarf tighter again, as if he can manifest it to be warmer. Then, softly, he takes Steve’s hands in his own, rubbing them with his palms. Forcing them to get warmer. “Can I get you to come with me to my car? Let me turn on the heater and warm you up?”

Steve blinks. The first thing he feels on his face since he finished sobbing on the phone—a single hottear. “Are you taking me home?” he asks, wobbly and so unusual, even for himself. It makes him sound like a little kid. A little, vulnerable, very afraid kid.

“No,” Tommy murmurs—simple—“I’m not. We are going to drive around for a few, so you get warmed up in the car, get you a gas station hot chocolate—which will taste and feel amazing right now—and then I’m going to take you wherever you want to go.” He pats Steve’s shoulders with both of his hands, almost like he’s reminding himself that Steve is still right there. To touch. Alive. “How’s that sound?”

He nods once. Then, he blinks and shakes his head. Nods. Shakes. “I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, muffled by the scarf, “I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, no, I don’t want an apology. No apologies allowed. I’m glad you called.” Tommy squeezes Steve’s shoulders, looking dead on. There’s something watery in his gaze now. He doesn’t let it fulfill. “I’m really glad you called, okay? Let’s go to the car to warm up. And if…if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk. My ears are yours and my lips are sealed, you know that.”

They make their way back one slow step at a time. Their arms are hooked like they’re on some winter wonderland walk date. It’s fucked sideways, completely fucked, but Steve smiles small behind his scarf anyway. Tommy’s trying to fill the silence, something about baseball and little league and coaching, but Steve’s too lost in the warmth seeping through his body. The heat that makes him feel truly like a dancing flame, alive.

He’s still bad enough to know that once tonight is through, wherever he ends up, he’ll be left bereft with the consequences of his own actions. Probably something about disappearing in the middle of the night from his dad, something worse if his mind’s eye isn’t playing tricks. A lot of people will have questions as to why they’re seeing Tommy Hagan around a lot more—wandering into the Family Video just to talk to Steve, swooping into their local diner just to grab some fries with a wave at Steve, hanging around the arcade just to catch Steve beating his own high score. Nobody has to know what happened tonight.

But if he doesn’t talk, eventually he’ll self-immolate. Implode.

Steve Harrington, 19, Found Dead in Ditch; does not sound appealing. It wouldn’t make sense, he’s a great driver. He’d make it look like an accident, though. He’s still too much of a live-wire for a million and one questions, let alone all the queues being dispersed among so many people.

He needs help, he knows that. How does he ask for it, though? Who’s going to be less judgmental when he finds the strength to ask? Or is it going to be just as he feared? Under a microscope, people poking and prodding, local town pariah for being so mentally unwell. It happened to Eddie’s mom.

Maybe he’d be the only one to truly grasp it.

The conversations that have to be had, though, are daunting. Less daunting, however, than the knife still stowed in Tommy’s pocket.

He’s just sat in the passenger seat, reclined the way he likes with the door shut behind him, when Tommy abruptly turns on the car and starts messing with the dials on his vents. Pointing every single one at Steve, cranking that heat up. His radio is on, too, playing a mixtape on low volume. It’s the one Steve made him in their freshman year—“Nowhere Man” by The Beatles is just starting.

“Rubber Soul?” Steve finds himself mumbling.

“Hm?” Tommy stops moving for a moment, seatbelt halfway to being buckled, darting his eyes to the radio. “Oh—yeah, yeah! Remember, you showed me this album? One of my favorites, man. Always liked this song the most…you put it on this tape twice just to make sure I heard it.” He smiles at Steve. Bright and happy, his eyes squinting and his freckles bunching. It’s always been a great smile.

It’s been a while since it was pointed at him.

He likes it.

Wishes these were better circumstances. That they had been better people. That they’d survived. Maybe if they both weren’t so conniving and embarrassing and crude. One day, he thinks he can forgive Tommy. Not now, not for a while.

Tonight, though, he can learn to thank him.

Maybe that in itself is forgiveness enough for Steve, but even then, it takes more than a few good years of near radio silence to pass them by.

“Let me just”—Tommy whispers, leaning in. He reaches for the seatbelt, stretching it across Steve’s rigid body, and safely clicks it into place. There’s a moment where he lingers, staring, darting his eyes over every minuscule part of Steve’s face. Up close, there are definitely unshed tears in Tommy’s stare, but he just smiles. Small and safe, just for them, he smiles again. He pulls back to his own seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hovering over the gearstick.—“there we go, all tucked away. Sorry if the jacket is a little tight, it was the only winter coat I could find, guess it’s getting up there in years.”

Steve blinks and settles his head deeper into the headrest. Exhausted, he doesn’t say anything else.

Tommy seems to allow it, pulling away from the curb and back onto the empty street. He’s going at a snail’s pace, most likely because he doesn’t have chains on his tires. But he keeps his focus on the road ahead, unlike the him of previous years. Sitting passenger in Steve’s car, talking directly at him, not sparing a glance out the window. Instead, he looks forward, occasionally squeezing the leather of his steering wheel tighter. His eyes are darting, though. Nervous. Scared.

They pass by a few dark houses. Some small stores.

And then the gas station is pulling into view, Tommy slowing to turn into the parking lot, putting it in park. He turns to Steve, eyes big and dark in the dim light of his car. “I’m gonna go in there and fetch a large hot chocolate for you. D’you want me to grab anything else?”

He shrugs.

“Hey,” Tommy murmurs, “let me take care of you for a little bit, okay? Drive you around, get you some things you need.” He reaches out, gently squeezes Steve’s left forearm. His thumb is tracing the seam of the jacket’s sleeve. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “…maybe just some peanut butter cups?”

Tommy nods. “‘Course. Want some Reeses Pieces, too? I remember you liked those.”

“No, it’s okay. Shouldn’t put you out like that anyway.”

The fingers still resting on his forearm tighten. Squeezing so hard, Steve can feel the bite of his fingernails. “You aren’t putting me out, Stevie. It’s no big deal.”

Up close, he can make out the eye bags and dark circles under Tommy’s eyes. The tired fold of his smile. Laziness creeping back onto his face. Probably tired as hell.

“Just those things. Don’t need anything else, promise.”

For a brief, brief moment, Tommy remains rooted to his seat. Something flickers through his face. A shuttering shimmer of daylight, darkening in the edges the way a vignette photograph does. It’s not confusion or disbelief or anger. A sadness, maybe. A fear.

But then Tommy is heaving himself out of the car, keys still in the ignition, radio volume low, heaters pulling their weight.

Steve glances out the passenger side window. At the chainlink fence on the edges of this gas station parking lot, curled into itself and overgrown with wild weeds. Some needles are littered at the base of the fence—he wonders where those people are now. Were they looking for a little relief? Partying with the hard stuff for the sake of it? The thrill of it?

How many of them were like him?

How many were there?

His reflection is blinking in the glass of his window, peering out softly at the needles. What if there was only one? Just as young. Just as scared. With nobody there to pick them up, take them out of their head, be patient. Nobody, not even an old friend, not even a neighbor. He wonders if this person—this figment—was running from something. Feelings, responsibilities, the very thing they feared. Seeking shelter, semblance of a normal in the dark parking lot of their local gas station chain.

Maybe they made it out. Got away from their head in that manner. Maybe they see the needles, too. Putting themself in those shoes, some of them new, some of them dirty, some of them laced, some velcro. He hopes they got their peanut butter cups and hot chocolate. Hopes they got a soft ending; wherever they may have ended up; whoever they ended up being.

Glancing out the windshield, he spots Tommy looking back at him, as if checking to see if he’s still there. His stomach turns over, clenching hard at the reason why. The fact he put that worry there. Shit.

And then, finally, he gets a good catch of himself in his overhead mirror. There are barely any lights around that illuminate his face, just whatever shines outwards from within the little convenience store. His hair is tucked away in the beanie, not wild from the wind like he had been expecting. His cheeks are puffy, starting to redden with color, from the heat in the car. But his eyes.

Flat, pink, bloodshot, yet empty.

No wonder Tommy keeps looking at him. He put that worry there, in the absence of himself, he instilled that worry. The fear.

Tommy eventually comes back out, swinging into the car with a to-go carrier of hot chocolates, and a crinkling plastic bag in the crook of his left elbow. He settles in his seat, off loading the carrier to Steve, regaling him to divvying out the drinks. Once he’s in, buckled and warmed, he reaches for the ignition.

“Can we stay here for a minute?” Steve meekly asks.

All at once, Tommy stops in his tracks. Sitting back. “Y-yeah, dude, sure. Just figured you’d wanna see around first, give yourself some time to…to think, I guess.”

He hands off one of the hot chocolates when Tommy reaches out for it, saying in the process, “I feel like I’ve done enough thinking tonight. Enough for a lifetime.”

There’s a sharp inhale at that. “I get that,” Tommy murmurs, “seems like there’s a lot of empty time on my hands these days.”

Steve sniffs, takes a swig of his drink, hums unconsciously at the flavor. “What are you up to these days? ‘Sides saving my sorry, stupid ass.”

“You’re not stupid, Steve. Don’t say shit like that.” He’s momentarily frozen in his seat, as Tommy’s eyes ice over to him. “And I already told you, I’m glad you called me.”

“You were asleep. You could’ve told me that. I would’ve found somebody else.”

“I wanted to get you,” Tommy insists. “It doesn’t matter how much time or space or whatever other garbage is between us, if you call me, I’m gonna be there. Even if you need me to—fucking, I don’t know—tie your shoes or something.”

Steve traces the lid on his cup with the thick thumb of his mitten. Words caught splintered in his throat, dead.

At his silence, Tommy lets out a sad little sigh. And then he goes quiet for a moment, too.

The air isn’t exactly tense, but it isn’t pleasant either. Thick, heavy, and warm. Maybe it’s the heater vents, the million layers he was forced into, the hot chocolate in his hands. It’s not even a good hot chocolate—Wayne Munson is the king of that—but he can appreciate it for what it is. A chance to make sure that he isn’t going to collapse in on himself.

It’s an appeasement. In a way, he’s being convinced to stay.

“What would it take to show you that you’re worth caring for?” Tommy suddenly breaks through. “Because I…I know I was going to let you talk about it in your own time, but…Steve, I want to be there, but I can’t always be there. And I. I have to be honest, right?

“I’m always going to try and save you. I’ll always come to your side when you call me, even if it’s been months or, shit, even years. But what happens when the next time I’m out here in the cold, your toes are too far over the edge? What if I go to grab the back of your shirt and it rips in my grip? What if…what if you can’t be patient anymore?” He won’t look up from the lid of his cup. Won’t answer, not yet. Right, passes through his head, he’s right. You know he is. Tommy’s gaze is set on his face, shiny in his peripheral. “I love you with every piece of me, again, no matter what, I’m always gonna love you. Just…

“Steve, I’m worried one day I won’t reach you.

“Or that I’m gonna come across…that you won’t be there by the time I arrive,” he stresses, “and I don’t want any of that to happen. Seriously, whether you’re my best friend or fuckin’ best enemy or whatever, I still care about you. You were still my first friend, the first person outside of my family that I was hugging, my first camaraderie, and you were my first wake-up call.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up. Burning, heavy, aching, Steve blearily looks to Tommy. Caught up in the blur of his own vision, unable to see even two feet ahead of him. His whole everything aches. Every ember of his soul. The drip of his blood, rushing straight to his toes, up to his no longer numb fingers.

The world’s a fireplace around him, words sound like near deathbed confessions, and he can taste his stale breath cutting through the chocolate. He never did get his glass of water. Can’t believe he let his dad play into this. Into tonight.

“Tommy,” he chokes out. “I don’t…I don’t know what you want me”—

“Sorry,” Tommy whispers, “I’m sorry. That was a lot and all at once. I just care about you, man.” He reaches out, grabbing for Steve’s forearm once more. Fingers tense and tight in his jacket. “I’d hate to see you gone. You deserve to be here, to be cared for. Please, Steve, just let me care about you for tonight. Please.”

Bending forward, Steve places his hot chocolate in the cup holder closest to him. Having his ear closer to the speaker, he can hear “Nowhere Man” again—or what must be for the second time. Tommy was always trying to make Steve feel better, even if sometimes how he showed it seemed impossibly stupid; but maybe the song wasn’t purposefully put on the cassette twice, he has half a mind to realize, Tommy didn’t want him to feel dumb for what he did.

Slowly, he peels off his mittens, fingers sweating with anticipation to not be so damn hot. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy begin to lurch forward, stop him, but Steve only works faster. Just so he can place the naked skin of his right palm over the back of Tommy’s. Their skin joins in a puddle of malleable warmth. And even further, the hand under his turns, palm now up, gripping tight to his fingers. He rests his head against the passenger window, looking out at the bottom of the fence again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs.

“Stop apologizing. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I”—

He’s silenced with an even tighter pressure to the tips of his fingers. So hard that he can feel the way Tommy’s wrist shakes with the force. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not asking for it. It’s not necessary.”

Steve nods against the window. Beanie pushing up, hair falling free against his forehead. “Okay,” he crackles.

Again, Tommy’s moving, his shirt rustling against the leather seat. But he’s closer, if the warmth of his shoulder bleeding into Steve’s says anything. “Hey”—he tugs their joined hands, Steve glances over—“you think you can talk to me? Tell me what happened?”

Shrugging, Steve sighs. “Just…what I said earlier. Trying to get some water, Dad’s in the kitchen starting shit. Guess I just…just pussy-ed out. Went running out the door.”

Tommy swallows hard. “Did he…”

“He tried to get his hands on me,” Steve admits quietly, confessing what Tommy already knew. “But he was so drunk, he swung and stumbled. Made it out of there with my hair still intact.” His shoulder hurts in this angle. But he doesn’t want to pull his hand away, not when it gets another squeeze, not when he earns Tommy’s thumb rubbing into his knuckles. “I think he’s waiting up on me,” he whispers, “I can feel him, even here in the car, standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the front door. Like he did when I had weed that one time…couldn’t lay on my back after what he did that night.”

“I hate him,” Tommy darkly murmurs. “I’d kill him if I wasn’t so much shorter than that fuckwad.”

Dryly, Steve snorts. Rolls his eyes. “You’d give him a swirly and his face would get all red from how angry he’d be. From humiliating him. We’d call ‘im cherry cheeks for a week. ’Til he caught on.”

In the reflection of his window, he can see Tommy nod in agreement, smug little smirk on his face. “Until he caught on.” He shifts again, shoulder melting into Steve’s. “And then you decided to go on a midnight walk…did he take your car keys or something?”

“I didn’t really think about the car, Tommy. I just went. It was a dumb thing to do. But, well, I don’t make good decisions,” he states bitterly.

“Well, you called me and now you’re here.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that.

There’s a squeeze to his hand that has him looking over. “So…did you…were you planning on…”

He shakes his head. “Guess I grabbed the knife without thinking. Self-defense or something, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Tommy mutters. And there he goes, squeezing at Steve’s fingers again. It’s nice, though. The contact, warmth, the reminder. He twists his head so that they’re looking straight on each other, even as his neck contorts uncomfortably. “I’m glad I got to the park when I did,” he murmurs, “the world wouldn’t be the same without you, Steve. It really, really wouldn’t.”

“You’re just saying that,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, I mean it. Who else would be there to call your dad cherry cheeks? Tell him he looks like a big, ugly oaf?” He snorts at that, a smile itching to make itself known. Tommy nudges him, shakes him, smirks. “Also, dude, the world needs a little bit more light, don’t you think? Who else is gonna call me on my bullshit? Knock me upside the head to tell me how much of a bigoted turd I’m being. You keep the balance, you bring the laughter, you bring the warmth, man. Nothing would be the same if you just…”—poof!—“left,” he whispers.

“Think someday I’ll believe you.”

Tommy shrugs. “Someday is better than never. But you better. Because I’m right.”

“When have you ever been right about something?”

“Well, I may be kinda thick in the head…but when have I lied to you?”

“I don’t know, think I can think of a few…”

“Those were well meaning lies! Like for your birthday that one year! You almost saw me wrapping up that new pack of baseballs—no way in hell was I going to let your snooping little ass ruin the surprise I had been sweating over for hours!”

There’s a big fat smile on both their faces, mirrored in each other’s all too expressive eyes. Tommy’s alight, Steve’s finally full. The laughter they share trickles out into shaky, steadying breaths. And for a moment, things are just like normal. Another late night with his old best friend, kicking rocks and talking shit. A time before.

Oh so before.

Tommy nudges him again. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Steve chuckles, shoulders jumping with it. “Sure, dude,” he sighs, “let’s get outta here.”

The hand in his lingers for a beat, then two, a third. It tenses, pressing deep into his knuckles. And retreats. Thrown into his lap is the crinkling plastic bag from the store. Inside are at least three packs of peanut butter cups—way more than he asked for.

He looks up at Tommy, ready to protest. Instead, he gets a wink. “Our secret, Stevie-boy, you peanut butter fiend.” And then they’re off, driving aimlessly on the empty streets of Hawkins.

As the sun begins to rise, coloring their cheeks with tangible warmth, snow beading on the sidewalk, brown wrappers tossed aside, Steve is somewhat content. Rustling with nerves, knowing full well that Tommy still has that knife. But he’s…relaxed, nerveless, almost free.

All without the pain. All without the task of planning. All without the fear of saying goodbye—Steve is free.

They wind down familiar roads. Until, eventually, Tommy cracks with a yawn.

“Getting tired?” Steve mumbles.

“Oh, I’ve been tired. It’s fine, though. I can be out a little bit longer.”

“Nah, you don’t gotta. Think I’m ready to hit they hay, dude.”

Tommy sniffs. Runs a hand over his mouth, lets it fall back down to his lap, hitting the handle of the knife with the hilt of his palm. “Where do you want me to take you, Stevie?”

“I…I have an idea. But, uh, you’ll promise to keep the secret to yourself?”

He shifts nervously, catching Tommy give him a confused little quirk. “As long as it’s not gonna hurt you, sure. What…this sounds big.”

Steve swallows, nods, squeezes his hands into fists until his nails just begin to bite. The passenger window is enticing. “Remember that one secret years and years ago? When, uh, when we were kinda tipsy and hanging out by the pool and it was just us and”—

“The kiss thing, right?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah, the…the kiss thing.”

“You can talk to me, Steve. I’m an asshole, but I’m not Brutus, man. Not gonna betray you for spilling your guts.”

“You promise you’ll keep it to yourself?”

In the blink of an eye, Tommy is pulling over to the curb. Slow and careful like. Twisting in his seat to face Steve, he only swivels his head to follow suit. “My ears are yours and my lips are sealed, remember? Hell, you don’t even need to tell me if you think it’s not safe to do so.”

Steve nods, slowly, absorbing. “Um…I-I have a partner.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Tommy asks, voice dropped low like anybody within a 100 mile radius could hear them. It’s a startling question, but it’s a soft one nonetheless.

“Yeah…he…he’s really good at taking care of me, y’know. And we look out for each other. He tells me I can come to him any time, if I need anything…anything.”

“Is it okay if I know who it is? Or is that…”

“I mean, I figured you’ll need to know to take me there? But, uh, Eddie Munson? Forest Hills?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise slightly. He blinks. Takes in a slow breath. Then, quietly, “At the far end of the park, right? Near those swings?”

“Um…y-yeah. Yeah, near the swings.” Without responding, Tommy turns towards the steering wheel, shifting gears, pulling away from the curb. He makes a U-turn, back the way towards Forest Hills. “Is that…you’re not gonna say anything, right? Please don’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tommy repeats. “I’m just…little surprised, I guess. Not about—Not that you two are, like, gay and into each other or something. Just…you guys have things to talk about? Get along okay?”

“He’s crafty. So, sometimes, we’ll watch a game together—whatever’s on—and he’ll listen to me rant and cheer and stuff, ask me about the stats…usually, he sits next to me and paints or draws or whatever. We keep each other entertained.”

Tommy nods in his peripheral. “Good, that’s good. Does he know about your…your mom? Your dad?”

“You’re the only one who knows about my mom. Figured it didn’t matter to bring it up, I guess. I mean, Nancy might know, but…I don’t know. It’s not important.”

“‘Course it’s important, Steve. Her death kinda hit you sideways…in a lot of ways, actually. It’s good, y’know, to talk about that kinda stuff. Plus, well, I’m sure Eddie would understand, right?” Steve shrugs at that. Tommy must be able to see it. “You don’t know about his mom? That’s a conversation you guys should have, dude. That was pretty big, last I remember.”

“Why do you know that?”

“This kid was picking on Eddie back in high school. Picking on him about his mom. Think I gave that kid a black eye or two…what a shitty thing, shitting on somebody ‘cause their fucking parent died.” Tommy begins to slow on the road, blinker clicking as he signals turning into the Forest Hills drive. “But he’d understand, that’s all I’m saying. Plus, you need more people in your corner. More people to rely on. Not that—I mean, I love being there for you, dude. I just…it would be good.

“When my parents divorced, I relied on you, sure. But I had a few other people, too. Some teachers. Principal Higgins. Even Mrs. Byers…which kinda shocks me, considering how I treated her kid. Makes me feel sick thinking about that.”

Steve blinks, notices they’re outside Eddie’s trailer, parked next to his shit-box of a van. He gets a good look at Tommy’s side profile. Gently aged. “You grew up,” he states.

“Best fucking feeling in the world. Should’a followed in your footsteps, Stevie. Should’a quit being an asshole when it was time.”

“But you did eventually.”

Tommy gives a slow nod, unbuckling himself. “Yeah, well. There’s a time for everything.” He looks over to Steve. God, his big brown eyes look even bigger in the sunlight. Even gentler. Even sweeter. “Can I walk you up to the door?”

“I don’t know…Eddie might”—

“I kinda need to talk to him anyway. It’s important.”

“Yeah, okay…okay.”

By the time they make it up the steps, peanut butter cups stored deep in Steve’s pocket, Eddie’s already swinging the door open. There’s a look of apprehension on his face, darting his eyes between Steve and Tommy. A bite behind his lip that he’s very noticeably trying to hide away. “Stevie,” he greets softly, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Um…I…I had a bad night,” Steve quietly admits, “thought I’d come here, after Tommy helped me.”

The screen door opens wider. Eddie’s face goes soft, deeper. “Everything alright? Nobody’s hurt, are they?”

Steve swallows, shifts uneasily. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, please. Just…can I hang out for a bit? Maybe nap?”

Eddie’s already placing a hand on the center of Steve’s back, ushering him in. “Of course, just go in and get comfortable, I’ll meet you inside in a second.”

As soon as he steps inside, the door shuts behind him. Muffled conversation is all he hears, retreating to Eddie’s room. In a matter of minutes, stuffy jacket taken off, he’s dozing.

——— “Alright, what’re you doing here?” Eddie asks, finally addressing Tommy.

In front of him, Tommy shifts uncomfortably. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me. I get it. But I…I just need to talk to you, okay? It’s about Steve.”

“If you’re here to talk shit on him after he was lookin’ like that, then you can take your sorry ass”—

“He called me, ‘bout a couple hours ago, sobbing on the phone. His dad’s being a real piece of work. Just a total shitbag, okay? And he called me from the park by his house, talking to me about his dad, and I couldn’t just leave him there. Kept zoning out on the phone, sobbing, I couldn’t just leave him there.” Tommy thrusts his hand into his pocket, producing a pocket knife from it.

Eddie startles back slightly, a half-step backwards. “Why do you”—

“I found him there, completely out of it on a bench, with this fucking knife in his hand. It was open. Like he was…and I took it from him, kept it from him. Took him around town for a bit, trying to get him not to spook, y’know?” The knife is warm, placed heavily in Eddie’s palm, fingers curling tight around it. “He was going to do it. If I hadn’t gotten there, if he had never called me…I don’t even want to think about it.

“But he told me that you guys take care of each other. And he told me that if he had something, he could go to you for it. I’m just. I’m worried, okay? I can’t always be there to save him, he needs more people in his corner—people who are not going to judge him—because I can’t fathom with”—Tommy’s voice wobbles, thickens—“with losing him. And I know you’d be absolutely wrecked, if what he told me ‘bout your relationship is true”—

“You know about us?”

“That’s not important,” Tommy emphasizes. “Just don’t let him get this, okay? Keep an eye on him. He needs it. I care about him, even if it doesn’t seem that way, I do. He was my whole world up until our junior year. If something happened to him—fuck—I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know…I don’t…”

Eddie’s not used to people crying around him. The only people who have are, well, Wayne and Steve.

But Tommy’s shoulders shake, his whole back heaving. Each sob caught on a choked breath. His eyes squinting into themselves, skin going splotchy with the effort.

Without a care for image, Eddie is stepping forward again, wrapping Tommy in a tight hug.

He doesn’t get Steve and Tommy’s whole dynamic. Not at all. All he knows is that they had a falling out. But he gets it, calling on the past to try and ground the present, that’s something Eddie’s been doing his whole life. Nostalgia or something. Relying on the lucidity of memories to bring him back. But if Tommy says something’s bad, sobbing so bad he’s choking with it, then it’s something worth tucking away.

And with that knife heavy in Eddie’s hand, he sees what Tommy’s doing.

He understands it.

He fucking gets it.

“Sorry,” Tommy muffles into his shoulder, “shit, I’m sorry. The world wouldn’t be the fuckin’ same if he—god, shit—he’s too good to do shit like that.”

Eddie’s squeezing so tight his knuckles hurt. “I’ve got him,” he swears into Tommy’s hair, “I’m not letting him get away like this again. I promise, man, I fucking promise.”

“Be easy on him,” Tommy murmurs, “he’s easily spooked.”

“I know, fuck, I know.”

Tommy pats him on the back in that dude-bro way. And then he’s pulling away, wiping hastily at his eyes. “If you guys need anything, you can call me. I know I’m not the best person, but I can try. Fuck, for anybody in Steve’s life, I can try.”

Swallowing down his own wave of tears, Eddie nods. “You in the yellow pages?”

“Yup. Leonard Hagan’s residence. Think it’s somewhere in the 130s.”

“I’ll reach out. ‘Specially if I can’t get to him.”

“I got him some peanut butter cups. Works wonders with trying to get him to open up.”

There’s a small little smile on Tommy’s face, knowing and soft. Eddie chuckles airily. “Yeah, he’s a peanut butter goblin or something. Think he ate eighty percent of my last jar, honest to God.”

“He’ll do that to you. Think he still owes me at least three jars.” Tommy reaches out again, patting Eddie on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Eddie. Keep an eye on him for me, yeah?”

“Nothing else I’d rather do.”

☎️—————☎️

[dazedangsl]

BLOWING MONEY FAST   skater!chris

When Chris’s board gets stolen, y/n surprises him with a new one, customized with inside jokes and doodles only they would understand.

Chris had never been so pissed in his life. He’d left his skateboard leaning against his car for a minute. Just a minute. But when he came back, it was gone. Stolen. It wasn’t the kind of board you could just replace—at least, not without feeling like an idiot. That board had been with him through everything. It had scratches from late-night sessions, stickers that had been on there since he was 15, and a little dent from that one time he wiped out trying a trick he couldn’t even land. It was his, and now, it was gone. The worst part? No one had even seen anything. No one knew who took it. It was just gone. “Shit,” he muttered, pacing around the parking lot. He was pissed off but also kind of empty. That board was more than just something he rode—it was an extension of himself. He sent a text to y/n, knowing she’d get it.

“Someone stole my board.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for y/n to know the kind of day he was having. She didn’t reply right away, but he figured she was busy. He ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the curb. What the hell am I gonna do now?

The next day, Chris wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a pity message from y/n, maybe a distraction, but nothing more. So when she texted him early in the afternoon with just two words: “Meet me”—he was thrown off. “Where?” he typed back, raising an eyebrow. “Park. You’ll see.”

When he showed up, y/n was standing next to their car, arms crossed, looking smug. She didn’t say anything at first, just waved him over.

Chris raised an eyebrow, a little confused. “You got something to show me or are we just standing here?”

“Patience,” y/n said, smiling just enough to make him curious.

She motioned to the back of the car, where a large sheet was draped over something. Chris couldn’t help but lean in, eyes scanning over it.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” y/n said, pulling the sheet away slowly. “I figured you might need a new one.”

Underneath was a fresh skateboard, brand new, not a scratch on it. It looked normal at first glance, but then Chris saw the details. The deck was covered in black and grey, but there were tiny doodles all over it—subtle things that only he and y/n would ever notice. A little sketch of a pizza slice in the corner (from that night they had the awful pizza), a drawing of a stick figure with a helmet on (an inside joke about Chris always wearing gear), and a couple of random notes scribbled across the edges. There were even a few phrases, like, “Get over yourself” and “Maybe next time, huh?”—quotes from some of their dumbest conversations.

Chris blinked, then smirked. He ran a hand over the board, examining the details. The board was a damn masterpiece, but more than that, it was a reflection of their relationship—laid-back, but full of random, weird moments they both cherished. It was perfect.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, voice low. He tried to act cool, but there was a bit of softness behind it.

“I know,” y/n said, shrugging. “But you’re not exactly the type to ask for help when something matters to you. And I figured if I didn’t do something, you’d just mope around for the next week.”

Chris gave her a look. “I do not mope.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to pick up the board. “This… this is actually kind of perfect,” he said, genuinely. “I mean, I don’t know how you did it, but yeah. This is way better than the old one.”

“I had to make sure it was up to your standards,” y/n said, her tone soft but playful.

Chris looked at the board again, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. It wasn’t just a replacement—it was something that actually meant something.

He ran a hand along the edge, grinning at one of the doodles. “You know, you could’ve just gotten me a new board, but this—this is next-level. This is us.”

“Exactly.” y/n gave a shrug, a slight grin tugging at her lips. “Now, what’s the deal? You going to ride it or just keep staring at it like a weirdo?”

Chris smirked, ready to get back to doing what he loved. “Guess I better break it in then.”

He jumped on the board and pushed off, rolling down the park path. y/n stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching with a quiet satisfaction.

It didn’t take long for Chris to start getting used to the new board. And as the day went on, it felt like the missing piece had been filled. Every little detail on the deck—the subtle artwork, the personal touches, the things only he and y/n would recognize—made it feel like his again.

But the thing that really stuck with him was that y/n had understood. She got it. She knew that it wasn’t just about the board itself, but about what it represented.

“Hey,” Chris called out as he coasted back toward y/n. “Thanks. Really.”

y/n nodded, not looking up. “Don’t mention it.”

Chris stopped right in front of her, hopping off the board. “No, seriously. This means a lot to me.”

“Good,” y/n replied, her tone soft. “Now, let’s see you do something cool with it.”

Chris grinned. “Alright, alright. Watch this.” He grabbed the board again and took off down the path.

y/n watched him go, a small smile on her face. Yeah, maybe it was just a board to everyone else, but to them—it was more.

And sometimes, the little things were all it took.

[lilangelbud]

The house was quiet when he stepped inside, the familiar creak of the front door echoing through the empty hallway. Home. The word felt foreign after being away at college. He dropped his duffel bag by the stairs and glanced around, taking in the unchanged decor. But something felt different. The air was thicker, heavier, like the place had been holding its breath waiting for him to return.

Then he heard it—the soft hum of a song coming from the kitchen. A voice, light and melodic, drifting through the house like a siren’s call. Her voice. He hadn’t heard it in months, not in person at least. Phone calls and texts didn’t do it justice. He followed the sound, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor.

When he reached the kitchen doorway, he froze. Holy shit. There she was, his little sister, standing at the counter with her back to him. But she wasn’t little anymore. Her once gangly frame had filled out in all the right places. Her curves were undeniable, her hips swaying slightly as she danced to the music only she could hear. She wore a tight pair of jeans that hugged her ass like they were made just for her, and a loose tank top that slid off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her bra.

He cleared his throat, trying to act normal, but his heart was pounding in his chest. “Hey, sis.”

She jumped, spinning around with a hand over her chest. “Jesus! You scared me!” Her eyes widened as she took him in, her cheeks flushing pink. “When did you get here?”

“Just now.” He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t think I’d walk in on you… what’s this? Practicing for American Idol?”

She rolled her eyes, but he noticed the way her lips twitched into a smile. “Shut up. I didn’t think anyone was home.” She turned back to the counter, grabbing a glass of water, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander again. When did she get so… grown up?

“Damn, lil sis,” he said, unable to stop himself. “You’ve, uh… changed.”

She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “I am 18, you know. People tend to grow up.”

“Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off as he took her in again. Her boobs were fuller, her ass rounder, her legs longer. She was stunning, and it was impossible to ignore. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the tightness in his jeans.

She noticed, her eyes flicking down for a split second before she quickly looked away. “Stop staring, you creep.”

“I’m not staring,” he lied, his voice strained. “Just… surprised, that’s all.”

She laughed, a soft, breathy sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “You’re such a liar. You’re staring. And it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he said, taking a step closer. “You’re my sister. I’m allowed to notice when you look… different.”

She turned to face him fully, crossing her arms over her chest. “Different how?”

He hesitated, his eyes drifting down her body again. ��You’re… you’re hot, sis. Like, really hot.”

Her cheeks flushed even darker, but she didn’t look away. “You’re such a perv.”

“I’m just being honest,” he said, taking another step closer. “You’re all grown up now. It’s hard not to notice.”

She bit her lip, her eyes flicking down to his crotch for a moment before she quickly looked away. “You’re… you’re hard.”

He froze, his face burning with embarrassment. “Shit. I—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted, her voice soft. She didn’t look at him, but he could see the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her tank top.

The air between them was electric, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, his fingers brushing against her arm. “Sis…”

She shivered at his touch, her eyes finally meeting his. “Big bro, we… we can’t. This is… this is weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It’s just us.”

She hesitated, her eyes searching his for something—permission, maybe, or assurance. He didn’t know what she found, but when she stepped closer, her body pressing against his, he knew she felt it too.

Her breath hitched as he cupped her face in his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Big bro…”

He didn’t give her a chance to second-guess herself, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kissed him back with a desperation that surprised him.

He groaned, his hands roaming her body, exploring every curve he’d been too afraid to touch before. She gasped against his lips, her hips grinding against his as they stumbled blindly toward the stairs.

“Wait,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. “We can’t… not here.”

He nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Your room.”

She nodded, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs, their footsteps silent on the carpet. When they reached her room, she closed the door behind them, her back pressed against it as she looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his again, before she nodded. “I’m sure.”

He didn’t waste any time, crashing his lips against hers as his hands fumbled with the hem of her tank top. She pulled it over her head, tossing it aside, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her bare chest. Her bra was flimsy, barely covering her, and he could see the hard peaks of her nipples through the fabric.

“God, lil sis,” he groaned, his hands cupping her breasts through the bra. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She moaned, her head falling back against the door as his fingers teased her nipples. “Big bro…”

He didn’t waste any time, pulling her bra off and tossing it aside before his mouth was on her, sucking and nibbling at her sensitive skin. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched into him.

He pulled her toward the bed, laying her down gently before stripping off his shirt. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, her gaze dropping to the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re… you’re so big,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He smirked, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them off, his boxers following soon after. Her eyes widened even more as his cock sprung free, thick and hard and throbbing.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice strained.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “Yes.”

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her as his hands slid down her body, pulling her jeans and panties off in one swift motion. She was completely naked now, her body exposed to him in a way that made his heart race.

“You’re so beautiful, sis” he murmured, his hands sliding up her thighs.

She shivered at his touch, her legs parting instinctively. “Bro, please…”

He didn’t need her to say more, his fingers brushing against her wetness, teasing her entrance. She gasped, her hips bucking against his hand as he slid a finger inside her.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his finger moving in and out of her slowly. “You feel so good.”

She whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets as he added a second finger, stretching her slowly. “Big bro… I… I need you.”

He pulled his fingers out, positioning himself at her entrance. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her eyes locking with his. “I’m sure.”

He pushed into her slowly, his jaw clenching as he felt her tight walls clenching around him. “Fuck, sis… you feel amazing.”

She gasped, her nails digging into his back as he bottomed out inside her. “Big bro…”

He started to move, his hips rocking against hers as he thrust in and out of her, slow at first, but quickly picking up speed. She moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist as she met his thrusts, her body moving in sync with his.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained. “So fucking tight.”

She whimpered, her head falling back against the pillow as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. “I… I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, baby” he growled, his thrusts becoming more erratic. “Come on brother's cock.”

She didn’t need any more encouragement, her body trembling as she came undone, her walls clenching around him in waves of pleasure. He groaned, his own release following soon after, his cum filling her as he collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies still connected, before he pulled out, rolling onto his back. She curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest as they both tried to catch their breath.

“That was…” she started, her voice trembling.

“Amazing,” he finished, wrapping an arm around her. “You were amazing.”

She smiled, her eyes closing as she snuggled closer to him. “I’m glad it was you, big bro.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his mind racing with thoughts of what they’d just done. This could change everything. But as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care. For now, it was just them, and that was enough.

[sturniolo04]

Hey I was wondering if u could write a dad chris fic and his daughter is like 15-16 and showing signs of pregnancy so he asks her some questions what she lied about as she didn't want him to know so he stopped thinking she was pregnant but she had already took a test and hid it in the bin but he found it and asked his wife if it hers and it wasnt

Wife!girlmom!reader x husband!girldad!chris

A/n: ofc! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

Dividers: @issysh3ll and @mintsturniolo

You and Chris loved your little family. It was you, him and your now 16 year old daughter Layla. Chris was never fond of the thought that his daughter was finally in what seemed like a commuted relationship with the boy who asked her out to hocoming her sophomore year of high school but nevertheless, they were cute together you thought. You also knew it was a matter of time they started exploring the world of the birds and the bees and you two thought you were ready when that time comes.

“No no no”

Layla quietly whispers to herself standing in her parents bathroom behind a locked door with a positive pregnancy test in her shaking hands. She knew her dad was going to kill her if her found out. She lets out a startled jump as she hears a loud knock on the door.

“Hey lay are you okay”

Chris voice cuts through the loud voices playing in Layla’s head at the moment.

“Y-yeah”

She chokes out quickly throwing the test in the trashcan next her sink counter and unlocking the door.

You two should have known something was up and Layla should have known that should wouldn’t be able to get this one over her parents for long because the symptoms were bound to show at some point and today was that day and she just hoped they wouldn’t catch on.

“Do you want something to eat for lunch”

Chris asks her as she simply nods her head sitting next to you at the island counter as he began to cook what he thought was her favorite dish, spaghetti. As soon as she took the first bite of the dish it tasted different, the pasta sauce and the noodles together were leaving a bad taste in her mouth and system. It was the symptoms finally coming to the surface.

“Is it good’

You ask your daughter as she begins to place a quick hand over her mouth running to the bathroom.

“I guess not”

You confusedly state looking at Chris with a concern expression painted on his face.

“Was it not cooked all the way I wonder”

Chris questions out heading to the bathroom door placing his ear to it hearing the audible sounds of throwing up. It was weird she had been acting weird up until now though the throwing up every morning, the morning sickness, and the weird hours she would have a snack and what she would even snack on raised a red flag towards Chris but he shook it off up until this point because it might be a phase or something never once thinking or anything worse.

“She is throwing up but she has been acting lately hasn’t she though have you noticed”

Chris states coming back into the kitchen sitting down next to you placing a soft hand in your bare thigh.

“I mean I noticed it A little bit”

You unsurely reply out replaying every interaction or situation where she noticed something out of character for your guys daughter.

“Something’s got to be wrong’

Chris quietly whispers out to you as you nod your head in agreement as Layla finally comes out of the bathroom entering the kitchen once again.

“ you okay lay”

You ask her simply as she nods her head walking over to sit on the couch in the living room across the way.

It wasn’t until layla was at school and you were out getting groceries for the household that Chris finally found it. He just so happened to be bagging up and taking out the trash to get picked up that he noticed a pregnancy test a positive one at that.

“When did she start taking those again is she really”

Chris mumbles out to himself picking it out of the can in your guys room taking note of the intersecting lines knowing it was a positive test but how long has she known and not told him. Why would she not tell him especially after her getting pregnant with Layla 16 years ago seeing how he reacted to the news.

“ Chris?”

You questioning greet him as you entered the room just getting back from the store. He slowly turns around to face you holding up the test your face morphs into pure confusion.

‘How long have you known”

Chris states slowly scanning you face for your very readable emotions.

“Known what Chris that’s not mine”

You reject coming over to examine the test seeing also that is was a positive test.

“Well whose else’s would it be sweetheart and it was in our bathroom trashcan as well so why wouldn’t I think it would belong to you”

Chris explains as you look up at him thinking about whose or the test could have gotten there. Then it hit it you.

“ wasn’t Layla in our bathroom a week or two ago”

You ask as you squint deep in thought.

“Yeah you don’t think-“

Chris states trailing off

“I don’t know maybe that’s the only thing that makes sense I mean it would explain a lot we noticed she was acting off maybe this is why”

You huff out take a seat on the bed as Chris does the same sitting next to you.

“ so she lied to us about it remember I asked if that was even a reason for her behavior’

Chris quietly whispers out and he did ask Layla if that was a factor.

“Sweetie it has been a week of you throwing up in the morning at the same hour and the only way you would be doing this is if you were pregnant”

Chris simple states out seeing he found Layla in your guys bathroom leaning over the open toilet holding her hair back for her. layla becomes nervous he was going to know and she was going to just tell him willingly either.

“Are you pregnant”

Chris flat out asks her seemingly already disappointed if the answers was yes so she lied.

“What dad gross”

Layla nervously replies standing up from kneeling in front of the toliet.

“I’m serious lay when was your last period”

Chris asks genuinely concerned. Layla stops in her tracks trying to think of a quick excuse or even a date to get him off her back for the time being.

“ dad it started today I get sick the first day always when it is that time”

Layla confidently states out as Chris face morphs into relief.

“Oh okay I’m sorry sweetie then you are in so much pain”

Chris states hugging her gently.

Layla finally came home for school to be met with you and Chris sitting on the couch the positive sitting on the coffee table in front of you two.

“Mom dad I can explain”

Layla starts noticing the test sitting on the table first.

“Well”

Chris states.

“I was sacred I didn’t know what to do I didn’t think I would get pregnant after everything-“

She trails off sobbing as your face softens towards your daughter.

“I didn’t want you guys to be mad at me”

She sobs out honestly as you and Chris come up to her console her bring her into a hug.

“It’s okay we will get through this”

You state as you continue to combing your fingers through her hair lovingly.

“Together”

Chris adds on as she continues to sob out into her parents chests.

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @ivysturnss @emely9274 @ksturnz @stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @chaoswithus @courta13

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[brrdhouse]

ok this is getting LONG so i'm putting it under a readmore —

not what he seems + a tale of two stans

for that very reason, i do not want gideon to be there.

i know i knowww, it could be fun, but i don't want him to get in the way. i imagine he'd get in a fight with stan an episode or two before because of the mounting portal stress making them both antsy, and get dragged out of the picture for a little bit. he'd come back during dd&md though! he'd be in the "this game is for loser nerds" group but sit in the same room just to spend time with his dad. i still don't want him to be super important, so i don't think i'd involve him in the main plot, but he'd be there in the background before shit hits the fan, and he comes back after running errands or something to the family watching the ducktective episode. he could be in the main group, but i want to keep grenda as the main side character here because i love her.

family dynamic

i don't want to take away the dipper and ford scenes, so i'm adding them to the tension.

ford gets back and while he's obviously happy to see his son, he's kind of distant like he is towards stan, just a lot less upset. he also skews more towards involving dipper in his projects, and gideon's conflict for the rest of the season is if he even wants to be in gravity falls anymore if his dad's acting so weird towards him.

yeah, it was 30 years ago, but ford used to tell gideon everything about his studies. and it hurts that it feels like he's being replaced by dipper just because he grew up while ford was gone.

he'd spend more time with mabel, soos, and wendy, and accidentally feed into ford's isolationist worldview as well as the one he's projecting onto dipper.

(also because i feel it vaguely relates, something else goldsixer drew for this that i can't stop thinking about)

society of the blind eye + sock opera (+ into the bunker)

you're right, i wouldn't put gideon in into the bunker.

i would however put him in sock opera and blind eye!

sock opera, i'd give him the same place as everyone else: just generally unaware of what's going on with dipper and bill in this episode. i think he'd clue in when dipper gets possessed because wow that seems pretty familiar, if only you could put your finger on it. this would be the episode that makes him get that much stricter in watching the twins. he doesn't want dipper to end up like ford, and he doesn't want mabel to end up like him.

i'd have him in society of the blind eye big time. he'd get dragged in like soos and wendy, and just be really fucking sad hearing fiddleford talk about himself after being accused. same plot really, just with the added context that he's the anomaly being erased from people's minds and he's kind of pissed about it. ("is that why i have t'reintroduce myself every time i go to th' library? are you serious?!")

gideon gets briefly mentioned in fiddleford's memory tapes, but it's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to "a visiting researcher and his son," which dipper obsesses over. (psst.. here's a quick thing for this btw..)

the last mabelcorn

again, gideon would choose to spend more time with the girls. he doesn't dislike dipper or anything, he just can't handle being around ford right now.

he comes along for the same reason wendy does, to keep an eye on the kids, but he also knows unicorns exist because he vaguely remembers seeing them as a kid, so he's not as cynical as she is about it. he's not 100% around for her goodness montage because i think it's funny for him to be like "wendy, i have t'go buy smokes, you're in charge for now." (🐦 <- also an older gideon smoker truther, especially in this au because he's not suffering from the amulet / a chronic illness metaphor to me)

he'd be there when mabel gets told she's a bad person and stick with her to comfort her while the other girls make their plan, and helps them take down the unicorns when it comes to it.

roadside attraction

i'm sorry i'm killing roadside attraction.

not entirely, but i'm making the dipper plot less important because i hate it. he'd still flirt awfully with girls and candy would still have a crush on him, but he wouldn't get ambushed, he'd just say something dumb and upset candy, and it'd end the same way.

stan would still get kidnapped because i like him being tied up. next question.

i'd replace the dipper plot with a ford and gideon plot back at the shack. i think it'd be fun to have them kind of stepping around each other and thinking "well that's not how i remember you acting" before they realize they're being dumb and apologize to each other. it's stilted and awkward and not quite bridging the gap yet, but it's a start.

weirdmageddon

if this takes a day or two to get posted, this is why. weirdmageddon in AUs, my worst enemy...

i think i want weirdmageddon to go SIMILARLY. not exactly the same obviously, but i think it'd be fun to still have gideon and the bikers be minor obstacles, only instead of them having the key and attacking dipper and wendy (iirc.. i haven't watched weirdmageddon in a while), those two find the key another way and gideon's just still really strict and doesn't want them to run into the action. they have a heart-to-heart along the lines of "you can't stop us from trying even if it ends up bad and you have to stop being a control freak about it" and he lets them go.

because he has less contact with bill, i don't think he'd get captured the same way, i think he'd either go back to the shack and help there OR stay on the outside and end up back at the fearamid somehow. pretty much every thing afterward would be the same, and then he'd regroup with the rest of the family after it all clears up. i think it'd be cute to have him talking stan through a lot of the last 30 years because he's the only other person who remembers them, and it'd be a healing/bonding moment for both of them 😊 i love family

okay i THINK that's all. i THINK. this took me a few days to think on lol

silly au from twitter:

+context lol

[javierduffy]

“uh … it’s a bit girly … no?” javier examines himself in the reflection of his knife’s blade, looking this-a way and that, the dark blue of a large silken bow now peeking sheepishly around his neck as it sits gently in his hair. next to him, kieran clams up a smidge, hands still held close to his chest nearby his completed ribbon project on javier’s head. he finds it in himself to wring his hands a time or two rather than immediately undo his work as javier seems to continue to formulate his final opinion. “you … think so? look at me?” kieran asks, politely as a mouse. javier easily complies, turns at his hips and looks behind, up at kieran where he sits on the stump above him.

kieran, as he peers over, can’t help the meadow of flush that blooms over his neck, then his ears, then his nose and his cheeks. he can tell javier is deep in thought by the look on his face, mouth twisted just a might sideways, cocking his mustache awry, and the deep wrinkle sat between his brows. the ribbon he used matches javier’s vest perfectly, and the shine of the silk warms bright in the sun, just like every piece of jewelry and metal javier has adorned himself with. with this ribbon, javier’s hair sits lower on his head, ponytail draped down his nape and more hair framing his face in his bangs. kieran resists an urge to tuck one side back behind his ear.

kieran thinks that he looks like a painting, a muse, a love letter so heartbreakingly full of adoration that the only language it could be written in is bright swipes of pigment on a canvas. as he makes eye contact with the silk squinting around the red of a necktie, he thinks that javier may be right, if ‘girly’ could sum up ’poetry written in effeminate reverence’.

kieran always did think women made better art, wrote better books- found a better way to love. softer. warmer. prettier. like javier.

the world sounds like it’s underwater.

“i think … it’s very pretty. it suits you real well.”

earnest to a fault, the look in kieran’s eye dances gingerly with javier’s internal voice. it dips and sways him, and javier, despite his instinct, finds himself charmed by its rhythm.

“-b-but! i could take it out! if you don’t-“ javier looks down at himself in his knife again, the sunlight filtered through the leaves glinting a yellow green around his dark features, and kieran hands him patience on a silver platter. a rich blue makes friends with bright green quite easy, javier thinks. this is how he must look through kieran’s mossy lens.

“pretty … yes. you know, i think you may be right. i’ll keep it. gracias.”

[todayisafridaynight]

any hopes for kiwami 3? like things u wanna see added or changed stuff like that

if they dont keep kiryu's goofy walk stance and the hoof-like walk sounds i dont wanna play it

[galariangengar]

💭

[carnallyricky]

When grown adult men in my dms are actually getting kind of good at grooming and I have to sit here and think about how if I hadn't been raised on internet safety this shit might have worked on me

[slvttyplum]

being roomies with a guy wasn’t what you had in mind, but what could you do when he was the only one offering the deal you wanted?

a bright smile on his face as he folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the marble counter, his eyes trailing your body.

“of course i can do that for you; don’t worry about paying a deposit; i got you.”

and with that, you were eight months deep into rooming with suguru, only catching each other for a couple of minutes every other day.

“what’s up? you hungry?” his hair tied in a messy bun with his shirt off and his pajama pants hanging low.

ugh… put some clothes on.

offering you dinner every time you came into the kitchen, his eyes dropping to your ass when you passed through to get to the pantry.

he didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t stop looking at you every time he got the chance; you were his type to a T.

suguru thought that was all it was ever going to be, just looking at you and exchanging a few words before you left the apartment or went into your room.

until he heard something, something he was never meant to hear.

when you did your “activities,” you made sure to be respectful; sometimes it even felt weird to do it when someone else was in the house, but you had needs. keeping it quiet, not risking a peep slipping through.

this time you got a little bit too carried away, but you just couldn’t stop. one hand working in between your thighs, your fingers pumping in and out of you at a good steady rhythm, while the other rubbed over your body, and suguru was there to hear it all.

suguru slowly walked to your bedroom door, leaning against the wall by it with his arms folded, red smeared all over his face as his heart raced, the sound pounding in his ears.

the walls were thin, the only downside of this place, but suguru found himself smiling at the fact he could hear you.

trying to imagine what position you were in, if you were using your fingers or a toy, the lewd faces you were doing, if you were building a sweat at this point, questions flying through his head.

he felt like a creep listening in just a few feet away, which he totally was, but your voice was keeping him there.

suguru loves your voice; it sent tingles down his spine every time you would speak, even if it was just a single "no, thank you." when asking you if you wanted dinner.

it was so soothing, so soothing, in fact, that he would purposely prolong the small talk just to hear your voice bounce off the walls of the apartment, his mouth salivating while he listened to you.

keep going, please.

your moans weren’t loud, but they could be heard; they were very distinct, but he could still make out your sweet voice, and that turned him on more than it should have.

unfolding his arms and grabbing for your door handle, if he had to listen to your moans for another minute, he was going to combust; he was going to go fucking insane.

sliding his hand off the handle and putting a knuckle to the door, calling your name as he knocked lightly, loud enough for you to hear.

“… i cooked; did you want anything?”

his eyes slowly looking over to the kitchen that was lightly lit, closing his eyes trying to come up with another excuse, while you quickly scattered, licking your fingers and throwing on the shorts beside your bed.

fast walking to your door and opening it, a bright smile on your face, trying to act normal.

"im fine, suguru; i already ate." your eyes sliding from his beautiful face to his body, once again shirtless with pajama pants hanging low, showing his v-line, but something else caught your eye.

suguru mirrored you, sliding his eyes over your figure and your disheveled look, feeling his dick growing more, his cheeks flushing as he slowly puts his hand over his bulge, making eye contact with you.

a lump was caught in his throat, his chest rising and falling so fast like he just came back from a run.

he needed you, or he was going to go fucking insane.

"do you want to fuck?"

[cream1111]

🍎 weird dream . . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.5k, somno, noncon, fingering, dry humping. ao3 ! part 2

it's not uncommon for you to burst into caleb's room without knocking. it was the same no matter where he was, you'd walk straight to his bed, already talking, as if all his attention was yours to command the second you entered his periphery, as if it was your own room. sometimes he'd be by his desk, perking up at the sound of the door being opened and turning to face you, sometimes he's already in bed reading, scooting over to make room as he continues his book, not even having to look at you. you'd snuggle in, making yourself comfortable.

"you know you got your own bed, right?" he'd tease, as if he'd have it any other way.

"yeah, but yours is waaay more comfortable" you'd feign a pout. he never pushes, and you never expect him to.

you'd talk and talk, and he'd listen happily. and sometimes, you'd fall asleep in his bed, never asking, never thinking to. it had always been like this.

even after he moved out for school, summers still gave you the chance to live together once again. you'd seamlessly slip back into the routine, as if no time had passed.

tonight was no different.

you were snuggled up against him, you had been telling him about some gossip from school, some text conversation with a friend. using his outstretched arm as a pillow as you looked up at the ceiling, gesturing at nothing, looking over at him occasionally, catching his eye every time. his eyes never strayed from you. you were used to his gaze, the feeling was constant when he was around.

your story slowed, yawns every few minutes became every few words. until finally a comfortable silence filled the room. he let's out a little laugh. rubbing your shoulder to help ease you into a nice dream.

"must've been really sleepy, huh" he mutters into your hair, petting you, you offer a sleepy groan as a response. he can't help but smile, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you hum happily. it's not long before your breathing slows into that familiar pattern. your chest rising and falling evenly, you were sound asleep.

"there you go," caleb coos softly, shifting to be behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. slowly, so slowly, he moves his hand to rub your stomach. small soothing circles, testing the waters. you've never woken up so far, but he doesn't want to push his luck.

his fingers drift lower, silk soft touches along the exposed skin between your slightly shifted top and the hem of your shorts. he could do this forever, feeling you under his hands, in between his arms, against his chest. he loved having you so close like this, he doesn't know if he could go without it. he knows you feel the same, you might not know it entirely, maybe you don't think about it too much, but he sees the way you look at him, the way you blush, the way you tease. you feel it too, you just aren't ready to act on it yet, you wanna keep the charade going. and that's fine, he's a patient man.

for the most part.

his fingers grow restless, sliding under the waistband of your shorts, under your panties, trailing lower and lower, slow and steady. he hovers over your clit, your breathing remains even.

he waits a second, just to be sure.

and he softly presses down. you don't stir at all. he begins to move in easy little circles, just the right amount of pressure. he thinks he's perfected it. he got a bit too eager with you once, and you almost woke up. you like soft touches, he knows that, for now at least.

he uses his arm around your waist to pull you closer, pressing your ass flush against his growing hard on. he has to bite back a moan, letting out a deep breath instead. he wants to grind into you so bad, but this isn't about him, it's all about you. he remains still, cock twitching against the layers that separate your skin.

he knows one day you'll be together. he can wait until then, but in the meantime, he just wants to open you up a bit. get you ready for him. he thinks it's sweet even, he knows you don't have any experience. he doesn't want you to feel embarrassed or scared he won't fit. he'll be able to assure you and mean it, he'll know your body so well already, you'll have nothing to worry about.

his finger against your clit presses harder, just a touch. your thighs shift, pressing into his bulge harder. he slows, not yet stopping. waiting, checking for any tell tale signs of you waking up.

"mm..." you let out a tiny moan, still asleep. caleb can't help but let his eyes flutter closed at the sound. letting his face nuzzle deeper into your hair, peppering encouraging kisses against your head as he breathes in your scent.

"feels good?" he mutters, barely audible. "let's see..." his hand stills, moving lower, dipping between your lips towards your opening. he has to bite his lip again to hold back the low moan that almost escaped.

you're soaked.

he has a habit of giving you what you want. now is no exception, he won't make you wait.

he circles your opening, before slowly inching in. his cock twitches again, head weeping, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside you. he pushes in deeper and deeper.

"nngh⎯" you let out a soft groan, and he freezes. he's unsure if it's discomfort or pleasure. you're tense around him.

"i know, i know, it's why we're opening you up." he whispers in his most reassuring tone, hoping it'll reach you in your dreams and put you at ease. and it seems to work, you relax, sinking deeper into the bed, soft walls welcoming his finger.

"mhm, just like that..." he presses into you, his finger is as deep as it could go. he angles his wrist so the meat of his palm presses into your clit as he slips a second finger in.

"hah," you sigh sweetly. caleb takes a deep breath, trying to keep his desire in check. maybe, maybe you've done this enough times, maybe you can take a little more now. he justifies it to himself as he curls his fingers out just to push it back inside, a little harsher now, causing you to press harder against his needy cock. you tense again, but relax before he even has a chance to comfort you.

he's losing all composure now.

he repeats the motion, harder, grinding against you. and again, and again, falling into a steady rhythm.

"mmph!" the sweet sounds seem to pour out of your lips. he takes them as encouragement, moving his head lower to brush his lips against your neck. your body sways with each thrust from his fingers, pliant and so accepting of everything he's giving.

he's moving you so much he doesn't notice as you shift more against him.

you feel the pleasure bubbling within you first. it pulls you close to waking. you've had this dream before. being fondled and fucked. your eyes squeeze shut tighter, but it starts to sting, it feels real, you feel the pressure of your eyes against your skull. you twitch, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ache in your core.

your eyes flutter, half lidded as you take in your surroundings. caleb, he's behind you, and he's ... his ⎯ you can't think straight. he's still moving. you're moving, he's moving your body along with his.

he's pressed against you, he's huffing in your ear, and his hand is in your panties.you try to keep your breathing in check, you want to pant, you feel so overwhelmed all over, you feel surrounded, filled.

right before you can fully acknowledge what is happening, you feel it, your peak is approaching, fast. it's all too much, all of it, his thrusts, his breath against you, his hard cock grinding on your ass, his fingers so, so deep. you try to stop it, whimpers tumble out, you try to speak, but it comes out as a lewd moan.

"w-wai⎯" but it's too late. it all comes crashing down, you come onto his fingers. he feels it, shoving his fingers deep and then holding them still, letting your walls milk him, fruitlessly.

"fuck, yeah, that's it," he whispers, kissing your neck. he was trembling, "mmm, yes."

as you come down you realize he's stopped moving as well, as he shifts you feel the cold air hit a fresh damp spot against your ass. he gently removes his hand for your panties, you crack your eye open as he raises it, past your face and out of sight. you hear him behind you, his lips part and he's sucking his fingers. he let's out a soft groan at your taste. you shudder.

"sooo good, you did so good." he murmurs into your hair. moving his arms to surround you again. you feel unsure, maybe, you're still dreaming. it's hard to tell, you feel so sleepy again. you lean further into him. he's so warm. it just feels right. and it's not unlike dreams you've had before. maybe, you liked it more than you're willing to admit.

you could worry about this in the morning.