#like. admitting it in an empty parking lot at night is one thing

[eg515]

oh but I'm still not over Zero saying "I can't even imagine you being an afterthought. I think about you first all the time."

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[glitchfiles]

only 'til dawn. [ljn]

pairing ⋆ badboy!jeno x inexperienced/goodgirl!reader

wordcount ⋆ 2.7k+

warnings ⋆ SMUT MINORS DNI!!!, softdom!jeno, smoking, shotgunning, car sex, big dick jeno, corruption, praise, light degradation, oral (m receiving), cowgirl, spanking (once), light choking, creampie...

note ⋆ i had to leave this one in my drafts for some time first because i didn't want to upload two car sex fics in a row then i wanted to rewrite it then i couldn't be asked to do that fully... so yeah, enjoy :D

"fuck," jeno drawls out as his head lolls to the side, "you're shit at this." he chuckles at your feeble attempt to give him a blowjob.

you look up at him, he seems totally unphased by your attempts to get him off, even going as far as to fish a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. the scowl that forms on your brow shows how much it dents your pride; he smirks down at you tauntingly.

"open your mouth a little more." he places a cigarette between his lips and lights the end. "you don't mind if i smoke, right?" you roll your eyes, he could have asked before. at least he had the courtesy to wind the window down.

there was no reason for you to debase yourself like this, the whole situation is beyond demeaning. you’re on your knees in the back of jeno’s car, struggling to please him and now he’s having a smoke mid-head?!

it felt as if your jaw was about to unhinge at any moment, you didn’t know it could stretch this far. the girls in the videos made it look so easy, compared to them, the way you were slobbering all over his girth was far from sexy. not to mention how you were clumsily pumping the rest of his length. not to toot your own horn, but you picked things up easily, this was a whole different ballpark to academic work. 

"you're too big," you whine. your lack of experience definitely didn't have anything to do with the shoddy head you were giving. how he was still hard was a wonder, you’re sure he’s seconds away from going flaccid.

normally, he would have put an end to the whole thing. it's not like he wasn't one text away from a few girls that could suck the soul out of him. however, considering how unsavoury his reputation was, the fact that you, the university’s golden girl, and much-revered student union president, were so eager to please him behind closed doors inflated his ego more than anything else could.

he couldn’t help but find humour in how ardently you refused to acknowledge him in public at times like this; if you spotted him on campus you looked the other way. but the moment he shot you a text, you were swooning and giggling, begging to meet up. so, here you were, in the dead of night, at the back of an empty parking lot a couple of miles away from campus.

“you’re lucky you have a patient teacher, i’m going to turn you into an expert!” jeno directs you between drags of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the windows as he laughs at you being unable to get the hang of it. saying you feel frustrated would be an understatement.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you sit up, finally admitting defeat and letting his heavy cock flop down against his abdomen. if jeno were a better person, he would have stopped you a few minutes ago, but you were so eager to please him and he loved the adorable pout on your lips and how your brows furrowed whenever you were exasperated.

"then what do you want to do?" you can think of a few things, but they would be super embarrassing to say. so, you refused to answer. he sighs before slotting his cigarette between his lips, leaving his hands free to pull you onto his lap.

"wanna try?" you don't know what possesses you, but you nod. 

how bad can it be? 

he taps the burnt end off, letting the ashes fall out the window before setting the cigarette between your lips. it feels childish to admit, but the fact that you had shared an indirect kiss makes you smile. this doesn't last long, though; after a short pull, you end up choking.

"god, that's awful!" you squeak as he belly laughs, only stopping when you hit his chest. all he's done tonight is tease you.

"i thought so too when i first tried." he soothes you, so as to not incur any more of your light-handed wrath. "why don't we start with some baby steps?" 

you're unsure what he means until his large, rough hand is placed gently under your jaw and his thumb brushes over your lower lip, "open up for me, angel."

he takes a long drag before tilting his head to the side and filling your mouth with a thick cloud of smoke. you're not sure what this is, but it feels intimate. it feels as if he’s breathing life into you. your whole body warms and tingles, your head spins, and a fire lights in your core.

once his lungs are empty, he seals it with a kiss. it's slow and passionate. his hand slides round to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. maybe it’s the nicotine running through your veins, you feel lightheaded. you let him slip his tongue past your lips to dance around your own.

the sweet flavour of your strawberry lip balm he was used to intermingled with the bitterness of his cigarette. he can't help but groan at the fact you taste a lot more like him now. 

the cigarette he's momentarily forgotten in his hand gets flicked away to burn to a butt somewhere on the tarmac outside. his now free hand comes to rest on your hip. it guides your body forwards, bringing your clothed centre flush against his bare cock.

you mewl into his mouth, he swallows down the sound. he’s greedy for more and starts rocking against you. grinding out then gulping down your noises, they go straight down to his cock. it’s throbbing, you can feel how painfully hard he is underneath you. only when he’s met with an uncomfortable stickiness due to his precum seeping through his shirt does he put an end to his gluttony.

a begrudging whine fills the car as he pulls your lips away from him. the look in his eyes alone was almost enough to make you cream, it was different to the cocky, yet lewd, eye fucking that seemed to be his default. those dark eyes of his turned into endless pits of boundless desire.

warm hands glide under your sweater, tugging it over your head, off your body to let it land somewhere in the front of his car. he does the same with his own shirt, sitting back to let you admire the rippling muscles on his torso. you delicately placed a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his abdomen; it seems he doesn’t have to have his dick in your mouth to have you drooling over him.

“like what you see, baby?” the smug look on his face makes your stomach twist.

“shut up,” you smash your lips against his again before he can speak again. 

jeno rushes to unclasp your bra, pushing the fabric out of his way so he can knead at your breasts; not before long, his mouth leaves you to pepper kisses down your neck then it encloses around one of your pert nipples. 

“mmm, jeno!” you mewl as his tongue laps at the bud, causing your back to arch in search of more stimulation. a hand weaves itself into his inky, thick locks, pushing him to give attention to the other side. “jeno, more!”

“i love hearing you say my name,” he growls against your chest, “wanted to hear you say it all week, but you don’t even spare me a glance unless i have my cock out.” 

you ignore the slight bitterness in his tone focusing on how he nips at your skin, leaving dark marks he hopes will last until he next sees you. marks that he hopes others will see and know you belong to someone; you’ll probably chastise him later over text but he doesn’t care, anything to keep him on your mind like you're always on his. 

reluctantly, he detaches himself from your chest and sits back, eyeing the drying traces of saliva he left with a dazed smile. 

“what next? tell me.” his hands delicately caress your hips, your cheeks begin to heat up and you avoid his eye contact. “don’t act all coy now, where’s the girl that begged me to drive her out here and fuck her dumb?” 

you were still clinging onto the last dregs of your virtuous good girl persona - the last white spots on a canvas he had first found unsullied. your first sin had been naivety, too easily seduced by a good-looking face and the sweet nothings he whispered in your ears but he had been more than happy to lengthen the list.

you wondered if this was how you had always been - or was he corrupting you. he broke down every conception you had of yourself and no one outside of the car you both sat in would believe this was you - you barely did yourself. some would say he was ruining you, but he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to, this was all you.

“please…” you let your head fall onto the crook of his neck, voice barely above a whisper. “want you inside.”

“a smart girl like you can be more descriptive than that.” he strokes a finger down your back, leaving a trail of heat on your spine, in hopes of prompting lewder vocabulary. you take a moment to chew your bottom lip and swallow down the last bit of dignity you had.

“please, fuck me.” you weep against the shell of his ear, “fill my pussy up, i need you so bad, jeno.” 

“sound so pretty when you tell me what you want.” his low-toned praise makes you shiver as he flips your skirt up and raises your hips. he pushes your panties to the side to position his cock at your dripping entrance. taking a second to tease your slit, making sure to brush over your swollen clit, only to hold you still when your hips jerk forward.

“look at me, angel.” you perk up for him, “so beautiful,” he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his gaze holds yours firmly as he brings you down on his bulbous tip, stretching you out slowly.

you struggle to keep your eyes from shutting. your mouth hangs open letting out hushed gasps as you sink down an inch at a time. he thinks you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“keep going... yeah, just like that... so good...” his soft gaze, light touch and encouraging words make things easier. he can feel your walls begin to relax and hungrily accept his girth. 

“‘s so fucking big,” you wail out, not even having taken him fully. you couldn’t quite yet without his help, though you’ll get there eventually - he’d make sure of that. 

“i know, baby, but you take me so well. can you move for me?” you nod shyly, lifting yourself and dropping back down as far as you can with a long whine. up and down, you split yourself open over and over. 

jeno’s hands press into your flesh, silently encouraging you to take more of him. you work your hips faster, earning a deep groan from him as his head falls back. instinctively, your mouth attaches itself to his neck, mimicking the way he had kissed and sucked at your own earlier.

“for such a sweet, innocent girl, you sure do ride like a slut.” he breathily laughs as his hand comes down on your ass with a sounding slap. “like the way my cock stretches this tight cunt out.” there’s no hiding the way your walls clench at the sharp sting. you try to find refuge from your embarrassment by hiding your face in his shoulder, but he quickly takes ahold of your throat, forcing you to sit up straight.

“don’t hide from me,” he tells you warningly and squeezes your neck lightly. once again your eyes lock, his stare as intense as ever. your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you rest your hands on his strong chest, adopting a faster pace. 

he lets out moans which you naturally reciprocate, however, you embellish yours with his name; you feel his cock twitch at the sound of it. the look in his eyes turns wild as his fingers dig deeper into the meat of your ass, forming a nearly bruising grip; with the other hand, he’s careful not to cut off airflow but forms a hold that leaves you feeling dizzy. 

“you know exactly what you do to me.” he chuckles, “you were fucking made for me, made for taking my cock, weren’t you? yeah, so perfect, angel.”

your legs begin to shake, his words and his cock are quickly pushing you towards the pinnacle. you try your very best to work through the overwhelming pleasure and the ache in your thighs, wanting to get him off since you failed at sucking his dick. but you can't seem to power through it, tears well in your eyes as everything becomes too overwhelming, it's far too much.

“need help, baby?” his soft spot for you wins, “did such a good job for me. i’ll take care of you, make you cum all over my cock. want that?”

“please, need to cum so bad.” his hand leaves your neck and places itself and your other asscheek. he plants his feet firmly and then rams up into you.

your brain goes blank in an instant. 

he’s deep. so deep. too deep!

you cry out, nails digging into his broad, muscular shoulders to anchor yourself. the tears that had threatened to leave your eyes before stream down your face, staining your cheeks. your whole body quivers as his cock lays kisses on your cervix with each thrust. 

“jeno, oh my god, right there!” you practically scream. his face screws at the feeling of your walls constricting, getting tighter by the second and making it harder to move; he powers through by jackhammering into you with more force. 

it feels like you could break at any moment, he's bouncing you on his cock like you're a ragdoll and you're too weak to do anything but take and enjoy it. all it takes is a few more thrusts before you’re creaming all over him. your body seizes as your eyes roll back, and his name tumbles from your lips incessantly in pleasured sobs. 

it’s hard to keep you in one place as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, but he handles your squirming body with ease using his strength. the most ungodly wet squelches fill the car as he races towards his own release, your sticky mess clings to both of your thighs. 

“shit… pussy’s sucking me in so deep, gonna cum.” his chest rises and falls dramatically, he can barely breathe. his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to paint your insides pearly white.

a heavy groan rips through him as his balls tighten, he nestles his cock nice and deep as he pours hot spurts of cum into you. he fills you with warmth; you feel complete for a moment. unfortunately, all good things must come to an end eventually. 

you could almost start crying again when he pulls you off of him. his praise on how well you took his cum as it dribbles out of your cunt makes up for it, though. his tongue swipes across his lips as he watches it drip all over his cock, unbothered by the fact half of it is soiling his leather car seats too. 

the sound of your wild breathing is all that fills the car for a moment until his lips find yours one last time. breathlessly kissing you, there is less vigour than before but just as much passion. your heart warms for a moment at the almost bashful smile on his face as he rests his forehead against yours and wipes the tears that still cling to your soft skin.

this feels right, perfect even, but it only takes a few words for him to fuck it all up.

“wanna come over to mine?” jeno regrets his words immediately, the expression on your face sour at the thought of someone spotting you walking into his dorm or one of his loud-mouthed roommates blabbering about you spending the night together.

give jeno a hand and he’ll end up taking the whole arm.

you pull away from him suddenly remembering who you are.

“don’t be ridiculous, you know i can’t even be caught dead with you.” you grimace at the mess between your legs as you reposition your panties; then, you search for the clothing he had strewn around the car.

you don’t even look at him when you demand him to. “just drop me off where you usually do.”

jeno grins even at your cold-hearted rejection. not just anyone could say they had a place between your legs; he’s sure he’ll have a place in your heart too soon enough…

★ thanks for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests! :3

© glitchfiles

[nervousimposter]

Eddie started finding notes in his locker his sophomore year. The first couple of them, he just tossed without reading. He didn’t need to read what those asshole bullies wanted to say about him. But curiosity won out after two weeks of constant notes and he finally opened one. It was the single most impactful thing he’d ever read. 

I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. 

He kept that note. And every other note he got from that point on. If anyone were to ask Eddie what he regretted most in his life, it would be those two weeks of notes he tossed without reading. Ten slips of paper with unknown writing that he wishes he could get back. Add them to his ‘mystery boys notes’ box. And he was a mystery, the note writer. Anonymous. Unknown. Impossible to catch. 

Eddie held out for a month. A whole month before he decided to stage a stake out. He watched his locker like a hawk. In between classes, during classes, lunch, after school and even one absolutely horrible day where he came in an hour before school started. But the mystery boy had to be invisible. He never saw anyone approach his locker but his daily note was always there. And Eddie; poor, unfortunate, infatuated Eddie dealt with mystery boys’ notes from ‘82 to ‘85. Four agonizing years of the most heart-warming, loving notes. 

I wish I was as brave as you.

Did you change your shampoo? Your hair looked so soft today.

God, your eyes have to be the biggest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen. So pretty.

I like how long your hair is getting. 

Saw you walking down the hall today and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more. 

They started cute. Compliments here and there, even a doodle every once in a while. Hearts and smiley faces. But as the months and years went by, the mystery boy got deeper. Confessions and secrets. 

I think if I had a different dad, we would’ve been best friends.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never talked to?

I dream about us. 

I’m a boy. I’m sorry.

I want to hold your hand. Those rings are something else. 

I saw you trying to catch me. Adorable.

I wish I could take you on a date. Not give a shit what my dad would say or what people would think. 

I wish I could be brave enough to talk to you. 

You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

I’m graduating this year. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. I think I’m going to try to figure out a way to keep dropping these off next year. I don’t want you to forget about me.

The notes didn’t continue when the school year started. Eddie was embarrassed to admit he cried that first night. He wasn’t sure how the mystery boy was going to be able to get the notes to him but he fully believed it was going to happen. He went five weeks with no daily note in his locker. And then, it showed up on a Monday. He almost missed it, the tiny slip of paper. 

Sorry this took so long. Had to figure out how I was going to sneak these in here. I don’t think I’ll be able to call you pretty every day of the week this time around but I’m going to try my best! 

And mystery boy was right. The notes were always there on Monday. Just Monday. But Eddie didn’t complain. One note a week after five weeks of nothing almost had his heart bursting from his chest. It also narrowed down his search. Sort of. Mystery boy was either coming in on those Mondays to drop off the note, sneaking in on the weekends when the school was empty OR after school on Fridays. And look, he’s failed to graduate high school two times in a row now but he wasn’t stupid. Did it take him three months after the notes to start again for him to realize who it was? Yes but to be fair, for two of those months it was Eddie wallowing in denial. 

Five weeks into school was when he restarted Hellfire. Three weeks before that was when he brought in those new little freshman sheepies. The same freshman sheepies that got picked up by Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who graduated last year. Steve Harrington who he catches staring at him from his beemer in the parking lot every Friday night before he takes the kiddies home. Steve who he categorizes as someone who is so far out of his league that it just couldn’t be him. But it’s been three months and there isn’t any other former Hawkins high student running around in or near the school. And now that Eddie’s almost certain Steve has been mystery boy these past few years, he can’t wait. He’s been in love with a figure made out of slips of paper for four years and his nonexistent patience has truly run thin.  

He calls for a break 15 minutes before they normally end their sessions. Tells the boys he needs to run to the bathroom and almost sprints out the door. His locker sits in the hallway just around the corner of the drama room. The door closing shut echos through the empty hallways, alongside the squeaks coming from his shoes as he hustles towards his locker. He freezes as soon as he turns the corner. 

Steve probably only had 30 seconds after hearing the door open and shut to process what he was going to do. He could’ve run or hid, maybe pretend like he just needed the bathroom while he waited. But Eddie watched him pause as they made eye contact instead. Watched as Steve looked him up and down. Watched him relax and lean back against the lockers behind him with a lazy smirk. His arm slowly moved up and Eddie could see a slip of paper held between his fingers. Steve didn’t break eye contact with him at all as he proceeded to shove the paper between the vents of his locker. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Staring. Broken when Steve pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. He didn’t stop. Side stepped around Eddie before they could collide. A faint brush of his fingers along the back of his hand as he walked past him. And Eddie just watched him pass. Just like he watched him slip that note in his locker, he watched Steve walk back down the hall and out the front doors.

He waited only five seconds after the doors closed behind Steve before he jogged over to his locker. Grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket before running back over to the drama room. Told the guys that they stopped at a decent spot and would meet again next Friday. Walked with them to the parking lot to head home. To catch a glimpse of Steve. And there he was, sitting in his beemer, staring again. This time though, Eddie smiled at him. He smiled at him and pulled the note out of his pocket. Opened it right there in the parking lot while he stared back at Steve. It only took him a few seconds to glance down to read. And as soon as he did, he threw his head back and laughed. Cackled really. He looked back at the beemer and saw Steve with the widest grin. Watched him lift his fingers off the steering wheel and wiggle them at him before he started pulling out of the lot. He looked back down at the note in his hand and chuckled again. Who knew Steve Harrington knew DnD well enough to draw a perfect rendition of an eight sided dice?

Wanna go on a d8? - Steve Harrington xxx-xxx-xxxx

[atimeofyourlife]

Time after time

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: uncle wayne adopts steve | rated: t | wc: 942 | cw: reference to abuse, reference of canon fake suicide | tags: steve harrington has bad parents, steve harrington needs a hug

The first time they met, Wayne knew the boy couldn't be much older than fourteen. Definitely younger than Eddie, who was fast approaching sixteen. It was early, a little before 6 am, during summer vacation, no less. Wayne had finished his shift and called into Benny's to get a coffee and breakfast, on the mornings he did this, he was almost always the first customer of the day. Occasionally beaten in by a cop, or a firefighter, or anyone else that had been stuck with a night shift. But he had never seen a kid in so early. Sat alone in the corner booth nursing a cup of coffee with an almost empty plate in front of him.

"Mornin' Wayne. The usual?" Benny asked.

"You know it. But, uh. What's with the kid?" Wayne replied, nodding toward the boy in the corner.

"Dick and Linda's kid. They're back in town, and he needs a safe place. So he comes here."

"Why don't you report it?" "You think I haven't tried? His parents paid off just about everyone from the mayor down. Kid's not lucky enough to have any other family around to look out for him."

The kid came over with his empty cup and plate.

"I've told you a thousand times that you don't need to do that kid." Benny said.

The kid just shrugged.

"What's your name, kid?" Wayne asked.

"Steve, sir. Steve Harrington." He replied.

"I'm Wayne. And I wish my boy was as polite as you."

The second time they met, it was in more unfortunate circumstances. Benny's funeral. There'd been weird shit going on in town, starting with the Byers' kid going missing. Wayne didn't believe any of the official stories. But especially not the story of Benny's supposed suicide. He knew Benny so well, and something like that wasn't the sort of thing to cross his mind.  He took his place in the community too seriously for that.

But the kid had changed. A few years older, and a lot more haunted. The look in his eyes giving away that he'd seen more than his fair share in his young life. And he was jumpy, almost always looking over his shoulder.  He kept to himself, away from everyone else there. Wayne didn't see much of him until after. Steve was standing at the edge of the parking lot, his hands shaking as he tried to get his lighter to work.

"Here, kid." Wayne held his own lighter out.

"Thank you, sir." Steve replied, after taking a long puff on his cigarette.

"No need for thanks, kid. You doing okay?"

"I. I think I'm gonna miss him. He's helped me out a lot." Steve admitted.

"That was Benny for you. Always ready to help anyone out. But do you have anyone else you can reach out to if you need it?"

Steve hesitated a moment. "Yeah, sir. I do."

The third time, it was less of a meeting than Steve yelling directions at everyone. Tabitha, a woman who lived on the other side of the trailer park, collapsed in the middle of Big Buy. The kid snapped into action without second thought, checking Tabitha for a pulse, for her breathing. He yelled at an employee to call for an ambulance as he started chest compressions. At another to clear space. At some other customers to block the end of the aisle so no one else could stand around and watch. Wayne approached as Steve gave rescue breaths, before going back to the chest compressions. When he noticed Wayne, he looked like he was about to yell at him, but Wayne spoke first.

"It's okay, kid. She's my neighbor. And I know CPR too, so when you need a break I can take over."

They swapped places a few times before the paramedics showed up and took over.

"You did good, son. You acted quicker than any adults did. You may have just saved her life." "Anyone would have done it, sir. I was just the closest who knew what to do."

The fourth time, it was at the hospital. Steve in the hospital bed next to Eddie's, identical wounds, but Steve's were infected. Wayne got to talking to Steve while Eddie slept.

"I tried to protect him the best as I could, sir. I patched him up, and made sure he got to the hospital in time. I know I should have done more-"

"You did more than enough. You kept him alive, now you need to focus on making sure that you're healthy. And you can drop the sir shit. It's Wayne."

After that, Wayne lost count of the meetings. From sharing the hospital room with Eddie, to being friends, to being more. He would do as much for Steve as he would for Eddie, and wanted to ensure that both always had somewhere safe to return to.

"Steve, if you ever want to get out of that big empty house of yours, you're more than welcome to join us here. We'd love to have you move in with us." Wayne said to Steve one day while they were cooking together. Eddie always conveniently disappeared when anything cooking related came up.

"Sir, Wayne. I couldn't put you out like that." Steve replied.

"Nonsense. You're as much my kid as Eddie is, it don't matter who your momma or daddy is. We want you here, you spend enough time here as it is, we might as well make it official."

"I, Wayne. I'd like that." Steve was quite choked up, so Wayne pulled him into a hug. All was going to be okay, with him and his two boys.

[rbfclassy]

heyy! can you please write something with geto being a nonchalant person but then he meets this girl that’s got him so intrigued, she seems innocent at first but the more they talk the more he realises she isn’t and she’s all he thinks about, at work at home everywhere and obv he starts being a perv and thinks pervy things about her but when he tells her she’s like “that’s what I was going for, glad it worked” so he’s HOOKED also pls pls pls need some size kink there🤲🏼🤲🏼 thank uuu

NOT SO INNOCENT! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...when a not so innocent girl like you gets geto’s head spinning, and little does he know that it’s on purpose

INFO...geto x fem!reader, they’re in college, touching, dirty thoughts, jerking off, dirty talk, making out, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you for the request anon!

You were Geto’s new class partner, paired up for a project that you guys both had in chemistry. He’s never talked to you before, but he knew you were smart, and quiet, always stayed to yourself. He was hoping with you around that you’d both pass with an easy A, usually opting out of working with others unless it was his best friend—he is sometimes even hard to tolerate.

You’d try sparking a conversation with him, trying to get him to open up, trying to make jokes, he was going to be your partner after all. But, all he did was give dry responses or ignore you, settling for just working in silence instead. But as the days went on, you never failed to keep talking to him, going on about the annoying professor in your history class. He won’t lie, you’ve earned a chuckle from him or two, but still, he would always act nonchalant.

Then, the light touches started after a few weeks, your hand brushing over his when reaching for something, sneaking by him and accidentally rubbing your ass against him. Not to mention when you leaned over the table, your tits threatening to spill out of your cute top while explained some stupid equation to him. Was he not supposed to stare? His eyes would flicker up to your lips, taking notice of the tinted pink lipgloss you wore. He just stared and stared, nodding his head at what you were saying as if he was listening—he couldn’t hear a thing.

He hated to admit that every night when he got back home from working with you, he’d find himself pent up, a tent in his pants, aching to the touch. He’d groan in annoyance because what was it even about you that got him so worked up like this? You’re practically some nerdy, shy girl that he’s partnered up with. Or were you?

One late night in library answered his burning question. That focused look on your face, writing down your notes from your computer as he tapped his pen on the table, staring at you. His eyes narrowed as you stretched, looking away from your computer and back at your notes, when suddenly your pen dropped under the table. “Oh no,” you mumbled, quickly getting on your hands and knees. Geto just sighed, looking back down at his paper to realize he had one sentence written down. He rolled his eyes, but they quickly shot open when he felt your hands on his thighs, so dangerously close to touching his clothed dick. “Got it!” You spoke from under the table and removed your hands from him, sitting back in your chair. Surely that was just an accident, just like the rest of them.

That night, Geto wasn’t even able to make it back home without pulling over in some empty parking lot and jerking off to the thought of you. Every single day and night, you cloud his brain, picturing your soft tits, your plump lips, the way your hands feel on him, and how your ass pushes up against him. God, you’re starting to drive him fucking crazy. He doesn’t like it…he loves it. “Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, tossing his head back as he grows closer to his orgasm. His eyes are screwed shut, imaging it’s your hands that are making him feel this good, and before you know it he’s cumming so much, broken moans filling up the empty space of his car.

And the next day, he goes about meeting you up at the library like nothing happened, like he didn’t just jerk off to the thought of you last night. “Hey, Suguru!” You greet with a cute smile, waving at him. He waves back, setting his things down at the table you usually work at. A few hours go by and he’s looking at books on the shelf, trying to find one that relates to your project topic and here you go, walking up to him. “Excuse me,” you say, brushing up against him once again.

Hie clenches his teeth and before he can even think, he snatches your wrist and pulls you towards him. You let out a little squeak, staring up at with confused eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?” He asks, yelling in a whisper.

“What…what do you mean?” You question, your chest flushed against his, the grip on your wrist still tight.

His nostrils flair and he inhales deeply. “Stop playing so innocent. I know what you’re doing, y/n. Always rubbing your ass against me, having your tits out in my face, the accidental touches near my dick. You’re driving me fucking crazy, you know that?” He stares down at you. “Every fucking day and night I’m constantly thinking about you, getting so fucking turned on, hot and bothered, jerking off to the thought of you touching me. Fuck…” He exhales.

A small smile starts forming on your face before you start giggling, looking up at him. A confused look is plastered on Geto’s face. “Oh my gosh, took you long enough,” you laugh. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice for so long, Suguru. I’m so glad it worked.” You placed your hand on his chest, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in disbelief. “Fuck you.”

“Oh? When and where? I’ve been practically waiting for that moment.” You smile at him, pushing him against the library wall. “Should we do it right here, hm? Where no one can see us?” You slowly start sinking down to your knees.

“Get up off the floor before someone sees you!” He pulls you back up to your feet, looking around to make sure no one saw the both of you. You laugh in his face, leaning against him.

“Come on, I know you wanna fuck me! I see the way you stare at me, and based on what you just told me…you’re quite desperate.” You reach your hand up to his face, the pad of your thumb ghosting over his pink lips. “I am too,” you whisper.

He stares back at you with dark eyes, and you could tell he’s holding everything back no matter how hard it is, but one more word from you and you’ll shatter that wall and make him lose all control. He can’t help himself when it comes to you.

“Please, Suguru.” The sound of his name rolling off your tongue goes straight to his dick and he realizes he can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck…fuck, okay, okay. Come here.” He pulls you in for a hungry kiss as if he was a starving man. His plump lips colliding with yours, tongues messily moving against each other. At this point, he doesn’t care if anyone catches you both, he just needs to feel you wrapped around him so badly right now. You drive him insane.

yes I left it on a cliffhanger (sorry for being devious)

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Losing It

steddie, omegaverse, virginity kink, loss of virginity, mdni 🔞

Steve has always been good, and good omegas kept their legs closed. His mother loved to say, “No one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free.”

Which, gross. He isn’t a cow, and any milk he has will be for his pups, thank you very much. But his mom clearly knows what she’s talking about—former stewardess who landed a hotshot business man at 21 and got him to build her a house just close enough to her dirt poor parents to rub it in. Who got pregnant a year later, stopping after Steve because, “Pregnancy is miserable, Steven. I could barely keep anything down with you! I lost weight and still got stuck with stretch marks!”

She only started saying that after he presented, while the cow thing started much earlier. Mostly about his father’s secretaries. And anyone in short skirts.

But his mother always would say, “You’re such a good omega, Stevie. So sweet and pure. You’re going to make an alpha very happy someday. Just make sure you get what you deserve first.”

Robin says his mom gave him a complex, fucked him up. “Seriously, Steve, it’s like a fetish. You get off on blue-balling your dates,” she says one night while Steve is shelving new releases.

“I do not! I just wanna make sure I find the right alpha.”

“You thought I might be-”

“Shut up!”

Neither of them needs to think any more about his drunken confession when they first became friends. How he tried to kiss her before she admitted to only liking girls and awkwardly screeching that he had nice tits but she was much more interested in playing with Tammy Thompson’s boobies.

“Besides, you’re a big ol’ virgin, too!”

“Yeah, but not because I wanna be! I’m a virgin in a loser way; you’re a virgin in a porno way!”

Steve’s lower lips trembles, his shoulders hunch, and in moments Robin is at his side.

“I’m sorry, that was bitchy!”

“No, you’re right! I’m a prude and a tease and I’m—Rob, I’m really fucked up.”

They talk it out the rest of their shift, and Steve makes up his mind to find a decent alpha and get it over with, rip off the bandaid so he doesn’t have some virgin/whore complex when he finally gets married.

But finding a decent alpha is *hard* and he goes on too many first dates and zero second dates. He’s about ready to give up, to focus on re-applying to colleges instead, when it finally happens.

He’s running late, picking up Dustin as a favor to Mrs. Henderson, forgetting he needed gas until he’s on the way.

It’s dark, and he pulls into the near empty parking lot, spotting Dustin leaned against a shitty white van. Steve parks and rushes out, apologizing as he pulls Dustin to him, crushing him to his chest.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Dustin huffs, pushing him back. “Eddie waited with me.”

“Figured we’d give you another ten minutes before I drove him home myself,” Eddie Munson says with a smile, blowing out cigarette smoke. “You okay, Harrington?”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you,” he starts, blushing, not sure why he suddenly feels warm. “For waiting with Dustin, I mean.”

Eddie drops his cigarette, crushes it with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, of course. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Steve, you’re being weird.”

“No, I’m not! Get in the car, Dustin, your mom is waiting. See you around, Eddie?”

“Yeah, see you around.”

Steve considers showing up early next week when he picks Dustin up from Hellfire. Or hanging around the record store in hopes Eddie comes in. But in the end he decides that he’s better off being straightforward and asking for what he wants. It’s not like an alpha would say no. Not to what Steve is offering. Not when he smelled interest and fear coming off Eddie the night before.

And with how his spicy scent made Steve’s mouth water… He thinks he’ll have fixed his little problem soon.

So he gets dressed as carefully as possible, and drives to Eddie’s.

He knocks, pleased when Eddie is the one to answer and not his uncle, the alpha blinking against the daylight. “Um, hey, Steve, what are you doing here?” he asks, sounding a little bit sleepy.

“Can I come in?” Steve blurts, nervous, maybe even a little bit terrified.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie steps aside, bowing as Steve walks past him, and it might just be what he’s planning to do, but Steve’s never been so charmed in his life. “You sure you’re okay? Because you seem kinda… Off.”

“I’m fine! Honest. I just…”

“Steve?”

“Iwanyoutafuckme.”

Even with how fast he mumbled it, Eddie clearly understood. “What the fuck? What? Why! Why ME?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting, and all the alphas I know suck, and you’re weird but nice, and…” Steve pauses, swallows hard as he looks straight into Eddie’s dark chocolate eyes.

“And no one would believe me anyway, right? So no one has to know.”

Shame flames up his neck and over his cheeks, because that was part of it. The tiniest bit. But Steve bites his lip and shakes his head. “I figured you wouldn’t make fun of me. For not being good at it.”

“With how sweet you smell, I doubt any alpha would tell you that you were bad at sex, Steve.”

“They sure do like calling me a frigid bitch and saying my pussy’s gotta be too dry to feel good since ‘I’m so good at saying no.’ But, sure…” He sniffles, and Eddie steps in close.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t—” Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s cheek, and on instinct the omega leans into the touch.

He purrs, takes a step closer of his own and scents at Eddie’s neck. “You smell real nice, Eddie,” Steve whispers, his lips ghosting along the skin of his throat.

“You smell like hot apple pie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“With vanilla ice cream.”

“Nancy said my scent was really mild, and Tommy always said it was sour…”

“So, you’re just sweet for me, Stevie?”

“I wanna be real sweet for you, Eddie. Let me, please?”

Eddie can only nod. He leads Steve back to his room, watches as Steve strips out of his clothes, revealing delicate pink lace. “You really want this…”

“I really do.” Steve takes Eddie’s hand, brings it to his crotch, lets him feel how much slick already clings to the lacy fabric of his panties. “I want you to be the first alpha to touch me here. I thought about it all night, how good your knot would feel in my tight, hot pussy.”

“I don’t think I’ll last long enough to make it good. Shit, Steve, I’ve never—”

“It’s okay. We can always wait until you’re ready to go again—”

Eddie kisses him then, with far too much teeth, but Steve feels the desire in it and grins.

He’s getting what he wants.

Eddie’s right in the end, popping his knot too soon. Steve cries out in pain, his own dick going soft as he whines through the alpha’s near-violent orgasm.

But the second time is better. After that, Eddie begs to eat him out, to come all over his tits, for Steve to stuff those panties in his mouth and ride him.

By the time he leaves, he has a date for the following evening.

Now that Eddie’s gotten a taste, Steve’s pretty sure he’s not going anywhere.

[five-and-dimes]

Skin Deep

Dreamling Bingo Square D2: Bar Fight

Rating: Explicit

Ship(s): Dreamling

Warnings: Implied past rape/non-con (not explicit or described)

Hob has a routine for how he uses his tattooed, biker aesthetic to coax people into his bed, and tonight he knows who he’s going for the second he steps through the door. The man at the bar is just Hob’s type- lithe and pale, artfully messy black hair framing his face. Despite the warmth of the bar, he’s fully covered up, a black turtleneck hugging his body and leather gloves covering the hands tapping away at a laptop. Hob wants to peel the fabric off of him, wants to see that pretty white skin blush beneath his mouth.

Hob has no idea what he's getting into, but he knows it'll be worth it.

Read on AO3

The thing is, Hob knows what he looks like.

He likes what he looks like- thick set and strong, muscle and fat filling him out, abundant body hair, and numerous tattoos and piercings adorning him. With a leather vest and a motorcycle parked outside of the pub he owned, he looked like every tough biker stereotype, only offset by his wide grin and friendly demeanor. 

Hob likes the way he looks. In part, he’s not ashamed to admit, because he is a lot of people’s type .

Specifically, when he walks into the pub, he is usually guaranteed at least one stuffy, buttoned up patron who secretly wants a little excitement in their life will look up and stare a little too long to be subtle. It’s too easy, the way Hob will sidle up to some nine-to-fiver, “just unwinding after work,” they explain, and Hob offers to buy them a round, and they ask Hob about his tattoos, and then Hob offers them a ride home if they don’t mind riding on the back of his bike, and by the end of the night he’s got the nice quiet secretary who “doesn’t do this normally, really,” moaning in his bed.

Tonight, he knows who he’s going for the second he steps through the door. The man at the bar is just Hob’s type- lithe and pale, artfully messy black hair framing his face. Despite the warmth of the bar, he’s fully covered up, a black turtleneck hugging his body and leather gloves covering the hands tapping away at a laptop. Hob wants to peel the fabric off of him, wants to see that pretty white skin blush beneath his mouth.

When he approaches, he is confident that he will get exactly what he wants. The stranger looks like the type that needs to relax, and Hob is more than willing to offer his services. He gives the bartender, Johanna, a quick look, wagging his eyebrows and nodding towards the man with a lecherous grin. Johanna rolls her eyes, but says nothing. As much as she gives him shit for his habits, she still keeps her mouth shut about him being the owner of the New Inn, so when he goes after someone sitting at the bar, she treats him like just another regular, and not her boss and longtime friend. 

Sliding onto the stool next to the stranger, he swings his body around until he can lean backwards against the bar top casually. The man glances at him out of the corner of his eye, eyes narrowing slightly, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Hob. 

“Hey gorgeous,” Hob drawls, nodding at the nearly empty glass of something clear that sits to the side of the man, “Can I get your next round? I find that drinks taste better when they’re shared,” he winks.

“No thank you,” the man responds without hesitation, continuing to type away without sparing Hob a second glance.

Hob grins wider. He loves when they play hard to get. 

“Well that’s a shame,” he spins in his seat, facing forward and gesturing to Johanna even as he continues speaking to the man next to him, “You look like you’ve been working hard. Everyone can use a break now and then.” 

Johanna places his usual order- a simple whiskey on the rocks- on the counter in front of him, not bothering to linger. Hob takes a slow sip, letting the taste wash over his tongue and maybe swallowing a bit more prominently than is strictly necessary. The man continues to ignore him, but when Hob slips his leather jacket off his shoulders, he catches the man’s eyes darting towards him. Icy blue eyes roam over his arms, muscular and hairy and tattooed, and Hob doesn’t see any lust or want, but he does see curiosity. And he can work with that.

“Like what you see?” He asks teasingly.

The man huffs, turning his eyes back to his laptop, but Hob leans forward and continues, “Might seem crazy, sitting and getting stabbed with needles for hours, although to be honest I barely felt it,” he flexes subtly. The stranger doesn’t see it, so he keeps chatting, “But I like them. Getting to decorate myself however I want, make a statement, tell a story.” 

The word ‘story’ pulls the man’s gaze back to him, staring at Hob intently, and he grins, “I could show you more of ‘em if you want,” he says suggestively.

Next to him, the man arches a perfect eyebrow as he drawls, “Does that line actually work on anyone?”

“You’d be surprised,” Hob shrugs, “But the more important question is, is it working on you ?”

“No,” he responds without missing a beat, and despite not being the answer he was hoping for, it is so deadpan and blunt and utterly unexpected that Hob cannot help but burst into laughter.

“Wow, you don’t pull your punches!” He puts a hand over his chest theatrically, “It’s always the quiet ones that stab you when you aren’t looking.”

“You were looking.”

Hob laughs again. Oh, this guy is a riot. Hob feels something in his chest, a little flicker of flame that he has to beat back down until it turns back into lust. 

“You’re right, I was,” he concedes, looking the man up and down blatantly as he licks his lips, “And for good reason. A pretty thing like you here all alone? That’s asking for the exact kind of trouble I specialize in.”

The laptop slams shut, but it feels more like a door being slammed in his face.

“Well then,” the man drawls, “I will save myself that trouble, and find somewhere else to be alone.” As he stands to gather his things, he catches Johanna’s attention. When she approaches, he slings his bag over his shoulder and gestures between his drink and Hob, “Put it on his tab.”

It’s official. Hob is smitten.

“You know I’m good for it,” he grins, waving his fingers at the stranger’s back, watching as he leaves without a second glance.

When he straightens in his seat, Johanna is raising an eyebrow at him, “I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you strike out.”

“Nah,” Hob smiles wider, leaning his chin against his hand, “I think it’s gonna be the slowest I’ve ever succeeded.”

Hours later, Hob goes home alone, but he barely notices. He’s too distracted thinking about the beautiful stranger from the bar.

~~~

A week later, the stranger is back. He doesn’t sit at the bar this time, instead occupying a small table for two in the back corner, laptop once more in front of him and a glass beside him, his clothing concealing him just as it had before. Hob feels an excited little leap in his chest, forcing himself to stop by the bar to grab a drink instead of beelining straight for the other man. When he does approach, he notices that the second chair is pointedly occupied by the man’s messenger bag. Grinning, he casually grabs a chair from another table, pulling it up and seating himself at the man’s table confidently.

The scrape of the chair against the floor makes the man jump slightly, head snapping up and blinking in surprise as Hob settles in across from him.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

His eyes narrow, spine so straight it almost looks painful, “It seems like you are the one incapable of staying away.”

“Can you blame me? I’m surprised no one else has tried to catch your eye.”

“Everyone else seems capable of taking a hint,” his eyes return to his computer, but his fingers don’t move.

“Everyone else is a coward,” Hob quips, taking a sip of his drink as he leans back in his chair, “The best things in life take a little work.”

“Is that what this is?” The man raises an eyebrow, “Work?”

“It’s a fun puzzle. Like the NY Times crossword. It’s only fun when it’s hard.”

“You do the New York Times crossword?” The disbelief in his voice is blatant.

“I’d do it in pen if I had the actual paper,” Hob brags, “But I make do with their app.”

“You do not look the type.”

“Oh, so now we’re profiling, eh? What’s that saying about books and their covers?”

“You have put far too much effort into your cover for me to believe you don’t want me to make assumptions.”

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” For a moment, he leans forward to rest his chin on his hand, before abruptly sitting up. He doesn’t want to look like he has a schoolgirl crush after all. “All this and we still haven’t even introduced ourselves,” he holds out a hand, “Robert Gadling, b ut my friends call me Hob.”

The man doesn’t take his hand, simply raising an eyebrow, “Are you sure they are friends and not bullies?”

“Hey, it’s a perfectly fine nickname!” Hob laughed, “Old family name, who am I to break tradition?” He drops his hand, raising his own eyebrow in return, “I take it your name is better?”

“Do you actually care?” he fires back, “You don’t seem the type to remember it the next morning.”

“Again with the assumptions!” Hob shakes his head, and tries to grin, but is caught off guard to find that just a little of his mock offense is real, “I’m not an animal. I’ll remember your name and make you breakfast the next day.”

Across from him, the man leans back in his seat, and for the first time Hob gets the sense that he has his full attention. 

When his eyes drift over Hob’s body, it doesn’t feel like judgment, but it doesn’t feel like lust either. Just like the last time, it feels like curiosity.

“I will not be going home with you,” he declares finally, looking Hob straight in the eye, “regardless of whether you remember my name or make me breakfast.” 

“Bummer,” Hob responds easily, “I’d still like to know your name.”

There is a long moment where they simply stare at each other. Then, the other man slowly and gently closes his laptop, not the slamming door of their last meeting.

“Next time, perhaps,” he says, gathering his things once more.

Hob grins, “Next time, then.”

Watching the man leave, he gets the distinct sense that he just passed a test. 

He goes home alone again, and he doesn’t even care.

~~~

The third time, Hob is there first. When he had arrived he had immediately descended on a sharp-dressed businessman who looked like he’d run his hand through his hair a few too many times, tie loosened enough to undo the top button. Everything about him screamed that he’d had a long day and could do with some fun. Hob was good at fun. He was in the middle of telling the man all about how freeing it felt to ride a motorcycle and how he happened to have an extra helmet when his stranger walked in.

He enters like a shadow, a silhouette just barely offset by the paleness of his face. As he approaches the bar, his eyes flick over to land on Hob where he’s still got one hand playing with the man’s tie. There is a barely perceptible purse to his lips and a look in his eye that can only be described as disappointment before he looks away.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, my friend just walked in and- I just need to- it’s complicated, sorry, hope the conference goes well,” he scrambles from his seat, nearly knocking the chair over in his haste. He’s pretty sure he’s given the poor man whiplash, but he can’t bring himself to feel too guilty. The fact is, this man was just a distraction from the one who’s really been occupying his thoughts.

When he reaches the bar, Johanna is just placing the man’s drink in front of him. She gives Hob a pointed look, as though she knows he fucked up. Hob just shrugs. What can you do?

Slipping into the seat beside his stranger, he puts on his best winning grin, “Fancy meeting you here. Weren’t planning on saying hello?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he replies smoothly, opening his laptop and waiting for it to turn on.

“You could never interrupt,” Hob responds a little too honestly.

He sees the man’s hands clench into fists on the keyboard, “You should go back to him,” he turns his head to glare at Hob out of the corner of his eye, “You already know I will not give you what you want.”

“Still no name then?” Hob quips.

“We both know you want more than just my name.”

Hob doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

“I suppose that’s true,” he drawls, “I also want to know what you’re always typing away at.”

There is a heavy sigh in response, “You are persistent, Hob Gadling.”

“One of my best qualities,” he leans forward, grinning widely, “Got you to remember my name, didn’t it?”

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Hob swears he sees the man’s lips twitch towards a smile. And then, miraculously, he turns to face Hob.

“I am a writer,” he explains, “I am in the process of outlining my next novel.”

Hob whistles, impressed, “ Next novel, huh? Is that why you don’t want to tell me your name? Don’t want me fawning over the famous author?”

“I use a pen name,” he states plainly, “I simply enjoy watching you struggle.”

“Should’ve known,” Hob shakes his head with a laugh, “What genre do you write?”

“Fantasy.”

Hob is a little bit terrified of the feeling blooming in his chest, “For real? That’s amazing! So is what you’re working on now the next in a series, or do you write standalone novels?”

The man seems surprised by the question, but turns to face Hob more fully, “I have written standalones before, but this particular story is the third in a trilogy.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so focused on your outlining. Gotta make sure you wrap everything up properly.”

“Indeed.” There is a pause as he seems to consider something before asking, “Are you a fan of fantasy?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hob replies gleefully, leaning over and holding out his right arm. Winding around his forearm is a serpent-like beast, waves around its body and a delicate compass by its head, stylized like a monster drawn in the waters of a medieval map.

“Always loved stories of monsters and magic,” Hob explains. Once again, he sees his stranger’s eyes sharpen at the word “story”. “I especially love old sailors' stories, ‘ here there be monsters’ , sirens and leviathans. We don’t know nearly enough about our oceans to convince me it’s all fantasy. But to avoid sounding totally off my rocker I’ll begrudgingly use the word,” he winked.

“Fantasy realism, one might say,” the other man quips with a smile.

Hob likes him when he smiles.

“One might.”

The stranger refuses to tell Hob anything about his book, nose up haughtily as he claims he doesn’t want to give away any spoilers. But they talk about other books, and movie adaptations, and when he finally stands to leave, the man pauses for just a moment.

“Dream,” he finally says, voice grave and regal, “My name is Dream.”

And then he is gone again, leaving Hob to utter the name under his breath to himself, just to taste it.

~~~

“If you’re so anti-people, why do your writing at a bar? Why not just tap away at home?”

Hob had arrived a little later than usual this evening, and had sighed in relief at the sight of Dream sitting in the back with his laptop. He was tapping rapidly, barely sparing Hob a glance when he slid into the seat across from him. While Hob was used to the man giving him the cold shoulder, he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He’d thought after being given a name, they were making some kind of progress.

Dream narrows his eyes at the question, finally pausing in his typing to answer, “I am not ‘anti-people’,” he insists, “I simply do not enjoy strangers invading my space.” He raises an eyebrow at Hob pointedly

“Oh, I’m hardly a stranger at this point,” he grins.

“I know you as well as I know any actor,” he replies coldly, no hesitation, “skilled at your craft, and completely fake.”

That… hits a little too close to home, and Hob feels himself tensing, his own voice turning cold as he responds, “All the world’s a stage, sweetheart. Don’t pretend your high-and-mighty schtick isn’t its own act.” 

“Perhaps you should worry less about the stage,” Dream snapped back, “and more about your audience.”

Rolling his eyes, Hob crosses his arms, “God, I can’t believe you pissed me off enough to quote fucking Shakespeare,” he grumbles, mostly to himself.

Dream scoffs, “I can’t believe you know Shakespeare.” Hob feels himself bristle, and Dream raises an eyebrow, “If you do not like my ‘high and mighty’ act, you are welcome to find another,” he gestures at the other patrons in the bar, several of whom Hob can tell at a glance would be his usual targets before he met Dream. 

It strikes him, suddenly, that this is another test. Dream has been trying to scare him off since the moment Hob first saw him, and the moment he found a button of Hob’s to push he started slamming it. He thinks back to their last conversation, and something in him settles. 

Maybe Dream had a point. He’s starting to understand his audience.

He allows himself to relax, leaning back in his seat with a smirk, “Listen, it’s not that Shakespeare is bad . And I’m definitely not saying he’s unimportant, from a historical standpoint. I just think he gets way too much hype.”

Dream blinks slowly, and Hob gets the impression that a lesser man would be gaping. 

“Like, if I could just read Shakespeare, or watch one of his plays, and just experience it for what it is on its own? I probably wouldn’t be so bitter,” Hob explains, “But it’s the hype. Had to do a few too many essays on the guy in school and hear a few too many professors go on, and on, about him. He got built up too much and then couldn't live up.” 

Slowly, Dream closes his laptop. Hob expects him to stand and leave, but instead, he folds his hands in his lap, tilting his head at Hob curiously, “It is not his work or merit that you dislike. It is the way you experienced it.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hob shrugs. He nods his head towards Dream’s closed laptop, “You leaving me again?”

“No,” Dream answers carefully, “Now I’m interested.”

“In me?” Hob feels his traitorous heart stutter hopefully.

Dream grins slowly, “In your experience.”

Hob grins back, leaning forward on the table, “Lucky for you, baby, that’s something I’ve got plenty of.”

~~~

Johanna has taken to rolling her eyes dramatically every time she sees Hob practically skip over to Dream. Hob has taken to ignoring her. 

He tells himself he likes the challenge. He tells himself it’s more fun seducing someone when it takes a little effort. He tells himself that’s the only reason he hasn’t gone home with anyone in months, why he’s taken to scanning the bar for the shape of a dark silhouette of a man instead of the shape of someone who might find him useful for a night. 

He hopes if he tells himself enough it will become true.

“You know, you never answered my question,” Hob prods one night, a few drinks in and having coaxed Dream into closing his laptop while they talk, “Why come to a bar to do your work?”

There is a pause, and Hob is surprised to see that Dream seems to be truly considering his answer. “I do not like to be alone,” he finally answers, “not truly alone. In my empty apartment just staring at-“ he cuts himself off. When he continues, he is even more tense, “It is nice to be around people. In a crowd. Even if I am not a part of it.”

His voice is even and steady, but to Hob it still feels so… sad.

“Do you want to be a part of it?”

Dream dips his head, looking down at his gloved hands and tugging at the edge of his shirt sleeve, “I don’t think it matters what I want.”

“It matters to me,” Hob replies softly.

When Dream looks at him, his eyes are carefully blank, windows with the curtains drawn tight. “Are you sure?”

There’s a lot Hob’s not sure of. This isn’t one of them. 

“Yeah, Dream,” he smiles, “I’m sure.”

Leaning forward, Dream rests his chin on one hand, and Hob can’t tell if he believes him or not. “And what of your wants, Hob Gadling?” 

Hob’s mouth moves on autopilot, “I’m a simple man, with simple wants,” he grins running his tongue across his lips suggestively. 

Dream shifts in his seat, leaning away from Hob, “Less simple than you think, I believe.”

Raising an eyebrow, Hob can’t help but question, “Me or my wants?”

He can only watch as Dream stands, going through the motions Hob has become so familiar with from each time he decides it’s time to walk away.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

~~~

Hob has no idea how Dream always manages to do it. One minute Hob’s sliding into the stool beside him at the bar, rattling off cheap pickup lines that make Dream huff and glare.

And the next, he’s rambling about the worst essays he ever read back when he was a history teacher. 

“I literally gave them outlines. My office hours were practically 24/7, and these punks still handed in papers with my name spelled wrong in the header and describing the 20s as ‘Ancient History’.”

Beside him, Dream’s lips twitch towards a smile, “I suppose it depends. Which 20s were they writing about?”

“Har har,” Hob rolls his eyes, “You’re hilarious. Prehistory is important, you know, and very different from medieval times, which is very different from Ren Faires, but even that was hard to drill into some of those kids’ heads.” He gestures enthusiastically with his hands, “And history is interesting ! Obviously I couldn’t go as in depth on every subject as I wanted too, but you would think just the sheer amount of time I was trying to cover would catch their attention. Imagine being too young to buy a pint and someone tells you we’ll only be covering 3000 years of history? Like, it’s mind blowing to me.”

Dream is giving him his full attention, something soft on his face, “It is a shame they did not appreciate your knowledge.”

His heart skips a beat, and with it Hob is suddenly struck by the fact that he has been rambling for most of the evening about literal ancient history that no one alive cared about. How did that even happen? How did Dream always manage to fluster Hob to the point of falling back on his old, nerdy habits?

It’s uncomfortable. He wishes it felt unfamiliar, but the truth is it feels too familiar, and he has no idea what to do with that. These are someone else’s habits.

So he takes a step back.

Shaking his head, he grins sharply, “Honestly don’t know what I was thinking. Make a better living owning a pub than I ever did as a teacher. Plus here I have the added benefit of beautiful patrons.” Next to him, Dream frowns, furrowing his brow as Hob leans forward to rest his chin on his hand, biting his lip as traces a finger over the cuff of Dream’s coat. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months now. What do I have to do to get you to shed a few layers, huh?”

Dream tenses so quickly and so sharply, Hob almost imagines he can hear his bones creaking. He jerks his arm back away from Hob, sliding to his feet to put even more space between them. 

His eyes are cold and glassy. Angry and frightened and hurt.

“Do you want to know what the last person who saw me naked did?” His voice is clipped, slamming his laptop shut and gathering his things into his arms before hissing through clenched teeth, “They didn’t care when I said stop .”

Hob thinks it would have hurt less if Dream had simply stabbed him.

“Dream, I…”

The other man nearly runs from the building, one hand gripping his bag while the other clutches his coat closed, as though there was any risk of skin showing through all that fabric.

“Dream-“ Hob stands as Dream opens the door, calling out, uncaring of the other bar guests, “Dream!”

“You sit your ass right the fuck down, Gadling.”

Hob has known Johanna for most of his adult life, and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound so sharp. 

His voice wavers as he looks between her and the door, “But, I just want-“

“Do you really think following him outside, at night, after what he just said to you, is going to make him feel better?” Johanna interrupts. She doesn’t sound angry, exactly, just… strict. She’s not messing around right now.

And she’s right. Hob knows she’s right, and he finds himself collapsing back into his seat like a puppet with its strings cut. “Fuck,” his voice cracks, and he puts his head in his hands as if he could hide from the past five minutes.

“Look,” Johanna sighs, crossing her arms, “I’m gonna give you some tough love. You’ve been batting your eyelashes at that man for months now, and you know what I’ve noticed?”

“That he hates me?” Hob mumbles miserably.

“That he hates your act ,” she corrects sternly, “But every now and then you loosen up and forget whatever stupid script you’ve written for yourself to get into people’s pants, and it’s like,” she scrunches her nose in distaste, “like he lights up a little. Like a stray cat crawling out from under a car, or, whatever. Something stupid and sappy like that.”

Furrowing his brow, Hob glances up, hardly daring to hope, “Really?”

“Really,” Johanna answers definitively. “He actually likes you . Even if you don’t.”

Hob opens his mouth, but closes it without saying anything. There’s nothing he can say that Johanna doesn’t already know.

“Even if that’s true,” he responds slowly, “there’s no way I’ve got a shot now. Not after…” he waves his hand vaguely before dropping it back onto the bar with a soft ‘thud’, “...y’know.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Johanna shrugs, pushing Hob’s drink towards him, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

~~~

Hob waits for over a month.

Thirty-three days, technically. But who’s counting.

Normally Hob visited his own pub once or twice a week, taking care of any official management business at home. But for thirty-three days Hob goes to the New Inn every night. He sits in the back where he has a clear view of the door and he waits. If anyone approaches him he tells them the other seat is taken, he’s waiting for someone, they’ll be here soon he’s sure. He ignores the pitying looks, and the number of nights Johanna has to silently switch him to water instead of whiskey, and the way a not small part of him wants to give up and fall back into his routine. 

He keeps waiting.

And then, on the thirty-third night, Hob doesn’t even make it inside the pub. He stumbles when he sees the dark figure leaning against the wall beside the door to the pub. Dream is a thin void in the shadows, a silhouette with just the slightest spots of color where his cigarette casts a faint glow on his face. 

He steps forward cautiously, like approaching a stray cat. Desperate not to scare him off again.

“Hi,” Hob says, barely audible as he exhales the word.

Dream looks at him, and he looks so tired , “I couldn’t decide whether to go in or not.”

Nodding, Hob looks down in shame, “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“I don’t know who you are ,” Dream continues, voice strained and frustrated, “Sometimes. You seem so…” Hob can’t tell if he is struggling to find the words or to say them. Finally, he clenches his eyes shut and admits softly, “Sometimes you seem so safe .”

Hob wants to cry.

“You can be so kind, and funny, and- and someone I want to be around,” Dream rushes on, “And then all of a sudden you go back to being someone who just. Just wants something from me that I can’t give.” He drops his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot as he whispers, “You give me whiplash.”

Johanna’s words ring in his head, about Dream hating his act, and it only just now occurs to him that of course Dream wouldn’t be able to tell which part was the act. All he knew was that Hob had two different sides that he couldn’t seem to settle on. How terrifying that must have been.

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, looking at Dream even as he doesn’t look back. 

“I don’t understand your persistence. Even before…” Dream trails off, waving a hand vaguely, “Just. Before. Always, I guess. People do not find me worth the wait.” His lips twist in a mockery of a smile, “Surely you have noticed. I am stiff, and awkward. I can be prideful, and cold, and… generally off putting,” he says, with a note in his voice that tells Hob he is quoting someone, “I am too much work for far too little reward.”

“Bullshit.”

Dream’s head snaps up, brow furrowed in surprised confusion, and Hob rushes to get the words out, “That’s absolute bullshit. I know I-” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “I know I started things off all wrong. I know when I first walked up to you I was just another asshole looking for a hookup. But it’s not work to get to know you. It’s not a chore to treat you with respect. I’m not waiting for anything, even if I’ve been shit at showing it. I’m not putting up with all these moments between us just to get to the sex. I want the moments in between, want whatever you’re comfortable with.” His hand twitches at his side, wanting so badly to reach out but not feeling like he is allowed just yet, “I’m excited just to see you. There is no work, no reward . Spending time with you is a gift .”

Dream looks at him, searching his face before swallowing thickly, “You are much bigger than me,” he states bluntly, and Hob has never wanted to shrink so badly, “If I wanted you to stop something, I could not make you. I would just have to trust that you would listen.”

His eyes are challenging and questioning and desperate, and Hob feels his heart break. “I get it,” he chokes out, “I… I know you might not believe me yet, but I would. I will , I will always listen to you. You’re in charge, you can choose the pace, or, or if you even want anything more than this at all, and I’ll only ever be grateful to have met you. Even if you walk away right now and decide you never want to see me again… I’d be sad, yeah, but. I’d still be glad to have met you.”

There is a long pause, Dream considering his words with a look of uncertainty. He thinks about Dream’s words, I don’t know who you are , and takes a deep breath, decision made.

“Can I… can I show you something?” He waits until Dream glances up at him to start tugging at his own shirt, waiting until Dream nods hesitantly before shrugging off his leather jacket and tugging his shirt over his head. He grips the fabric tightly in one hand, and almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of being nervous at being seen shirtless, given how often he used to spend naked with complete strangers. But he knows this is different.

“A lot of these don’t mean anything,” he begins, gesturing at the tattoos covering his skin and the metal studs through his nipples, “After a certain point I was just filling up space, trying to complete the aesthetic. But some of them still, y’know. Say something about me.”

He points at the tattoo on the right side of his stomach. His tattoos blend together, so few people notice the individual images unless he draws attention to them. Normally, he doesn’t want to draw attention to them. 

Dream blinks, lips parting in surprise at the tattoo Hob normally prefers goes ignored, “Is that,” he asks slowly, “a Pokémon tattoo?”

Hob grins bashfully, “Ah, I was wondering if you’d recognize it.”

Nodding, Dream stated easily, “Eevee.”

“Yup. Always was my favorite,” here Hob lets himself be a little enthusiastic, let himself start to shrug off the instinctual embarrassment, “I mean, the fact that they can evolve into so many different things, all depending on their environment and how they’re raised. It’s poetic,” he says determinedly.

He is rewarded when Dream looks to be fighting back a smile, teasing without malice, “It is a children’s cartoon.”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t cry during Mewtwo’s speech in the movie.”

“I never saw it.”

Hob gasped, clasping his chest dramatically, “That is a crime!”

Dream lets out a small, soft exhale, the closest to a laugh Hob has ever heard, and it makes it all worth it. So he continues, twisting to point at the intricate text across his shoulders, decorated like an illuminated manuscript.

“You’ve already heard me ramble on about Chaucer, so this one shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.”

It’s a tattoo he doesn’t often see himself, only ever catching the edges of the decorative ropes out of the corner of his eye. But he still knows it well: “ Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury”

“There was a time I thought I would get my doctorate in Medieval literature and language, and I was honestly excited to do my dissertation on The Canterbury Tales.” He still thinks about it sometimes. More, he privately admits to himself, since meeting Dream. As though that part of himself that he had given up on was still clinging inside him. “It… didn’t end up happening. But it’s still something I’m passionate about.”

Moving on, unable or unwilling to dwell, he lifts his right arm, pointing to a tattoo hidden on the inside of his upper arm. Leaning in to get a closer look, Dream’s lips twitch towards a smile.

“It’s so…. cute,” he says teasingly, “I would not expect that.”

Hob can feel himself blush, glancing down at the image of a pink and orange cartoon cat holding a strawberry, “Yeah, yeah. I had a cat named Strawberry growing up, and a friend of mine drew this for me after she passed. I don’t usually draw attention to it cause it does, y’know. Clash.”

Dream hums thoughtfully, “No,” he says confidently, “I think it fits well.”

The words are so simple and yet they make Hob’s breath catch in his chest. Turning around, desperate to move on before he loses his nerve, he points a finger at the next tattoo. When he looks over his shoulder, he grins at the sight of Dream biting his lip, very clearly stifling a laugh. Hob laughs too, as he’s learned to when it comes to this particular ink.

“It seemed like a good idea when I was drunk,” he laments, remembering picking the gothic font for the word “Harder” tattooed on his lower back. “You wanna know something funny though?” Hob turns back around, continuing when he sees Dream’s eyebrow raised questioningly, “I’ve only bottomed once since getting that tattoo. Guy saw it and proceeded to listen to my ink instead of me. Not-“ he rushes to elaborate when Dream sucks in a breath, “not like that . He was an asshole, and it was some of the shittiest sex I’ve ever had, but he never crossed any lines, promise.” 

Dream relaxes minutely, nodding in acceptance, and Hob’s heart warms at the other man’s concern for him. It gives him just enough courage to move on.

“This one is… hard to talk about.”

He points to his left bicep, Dream tilting his head slightly to take in the tattoo of a magic eight ball. A sliver of the eight at the top and a reading at the bottom that says ‘Try Again’, a large field of solid black separating the two and forming a nearly perfect circle.

“It’s a coverup,” Hob admits softly. “I was nineteen. Got mixed up with a bad crowd. I wish I could say I was just stupid but… the truth is I was mean . I was selfish, and cruel, and bigoted. Enough so to get a fucking hate symbol tattooed on my arm.” Hob has to close his eyes, breathing past the shame, “I’m not that person anymore. And maybe I can’t undo the harm I did in the past, but the least I can do is not walk around and make other people see something that makes them feel like shit.”

It’s a time in his life he hates thinking about, preferring to pretend it never happened. As though covering up the tattoo could erase the fact that he was ever such a shitty person. When he glances up at Dream, he thinks there might be a hint of judgment, a fraction of what Hob himself feels, but there’s also… acceptance. Not of the past, not the person he once was, because that person was unacceptable. But acceptance of the present. He looks like he knows Hob better and is not thinking less of him for it. 

And so he keeps going, hand drifting to his chest, “This one is hard to talk about too, but for a different reason.”

It’s cliche. It was cliche when he got it, and Eleanor teased him relentlessly but fondly, but Hob had no regrets. On his chest, over his heart, are three doves, with three dates beneath them.

“I got the first two after I married Eleanor.” Dream’s eyes snap up to his, surprised and confused. Smiling sadly, Hob points to the first of three dates under the birds, “One for each of us and our wedding date. Super sappy, but I didn’t care. And Eleanor loved to tease me but I know she loved it too.” His fingers drift over to the third dove, “I got this one added after Robyn was born.” He taps on the second date, “I had this image in my head, of getting a whole flock tattooed on my chest, of running out of room and filling every spare inch of my skin with my family.” 

His voice cracks on the last word. He presses his palm flat over his chest, over his heart, over the tattoo, as if he could press it even closer. When he moves his hand a minute later, he simply slides it up just enough to show the third date.

“Drunk driver,” he chokes out, “I wasn’t even there. Eleanor had been picking Robyn up from a friend’s house. I was getting dinner ready for when they got home. It was still warm when I got the call.”

It hurts less now, the pain dulled by time. But it’s still there . He thinks about telling Dream about how he had considered getting this one covered up too. Not even with a picture, just a black hole over his heart where his family used to be. He remembers how Johanna talked him down, told him to wait a week, two weeks, a month, and then suddenly he realized that he didn’t want to cover them up. Because his heart wasn’t a black hole. He was still here, and he would carry on, and he would carry them with him. So he simply added the third date instead.

Hob thinks about telling Dream all of this. But after the fourth time he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, he feels soft leather against his skin. Dream places his gloved hand over Hob’s, resting against his chest, and slowly intertwines their fingers. 

That little bit of contact is all it takes for the dam to break. “I thought that they were it for me,” he confesses, “I thought that I was done. I dropped out of school, only barely managed to keep myself above water, bought this pub through grit and luck. I knew I had to survive, had to keep living, but I thought I was done loving .”

His voice cracks again, and he realizes that he needs a minute to compose himself or he’s going to shatter before he even gets to the important part. 

Dream gives him that minute. Silent and steady, stroking his thumb against Hob’s.

Finally, he is able to take a deep breath, and he continues, “I got into this routine. Puffing myself up and mastering every line and pose to have a little fun, casual sex, because I thought that was all I wanted. I don’t… really know what to do without that script. When I want more than just sex.” When he looks up, Dream is staring at him with watery eyes, jaw clenched. “I haven’t felt like this since Eleanor,” he admits, not as ashamed as he thought he would be, “And it’s terrifying.” He lets out a watery laugh, “Sorry for fucking it up.”

The hand over his grips a little tighter, and Dream looks like he has made a decision.

“You didn’t fuck it up.”

Hob isn’t sure if he wants to insist that he did, or just say thank you, but before he can make up his mind, Dream is leaning in to kiss him. His eyes flutter closed, his focus narrowed into the soft press of their lips, and the way Dream’s free hand drifts up to rest against his neck.

“Take me home with you,” Dream murmurs against his lips, and Hob feels it like a gut punch.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, I meant what I said-“

“And I meant what I said,” Dream interrupts, carding his fingers through the hair at Hob’s nape. “If you would rather not, that is fine. But if you are so willing to listen to what I don’t want, be willing to listen to what I do ,” he places a pointed kiss at the hinge of Hob’s jaw, making him shiver as he repeats himself, “Take me home with you.”

Hob exhales shakily, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. You’ve certainly never been shy about telling me off before,” he laughs, and feels it catch in his throat when Dream’s tongue chases the motion, “To my place. And we can figure out the rest together, yeah?”

“Yes,” Dream pulls away reluctantly.

Pulling him in for one more kiss, Hob can’t help but grin mischievously at him, “As long as you don’t mind riding on the back of my bike. I have an extra helmet.”

Dream steps back, and Hob misses the contact already, “Lead the way.”

Once Hob has put his shirt and jacket back on and they are situated on the motorcycle, Hob glances over his shoulder, and allows himself to be a little flirtatious, “Hang on tight, sweetheart.”

It backfires when Dream slides his hands around Hob’s waist, kneading at the soft flesh of his stomach before tightening his grip. One hand is braced just below his pecs, his thumb just barely brushing against where his right nipple piercing can be felt through his shirt.

Hob doesn’t believe in miracles, but it might be the only explanation for how he gets them to his flat without crashing.

~~~

Once Hob closes the door behind them, he has no idea what to do next.

He knows he needs to trust Dream to be honest about what he does or doesn’t want, but he’s so terrified of messing it all up again.

Luckily, Dream doesn’t seem to mind taking the reins, and Hob finds himself pushed up against his own front door as Dream kisses him firmly. His hands rest on Hob’s stomach, pressing and gripping and pulling him closer until their hips are flush together. Hob was hard the entire ride here, but now he can feel Dream’s answering arousal pressed against him. All he can do is moan against Dream’s mouth, arching his back against the door to shrug his jacket off. Dream pulls back just enough to do the same with his own coat. 

It strikes Hob that this is the first time he has seen Dream with even that one layer removed. No matter how muggy and warm the New Inn got, Dream always kept his coat tight around himself. There isn’t much difference now, at least not visually. He still has his turtleneck, the sleeves falling past his wrists over his gloves, his jeans. He is still a black shadow standing in Hob’s entryway, even without his coat. But Hob knows it's important. Knows it deserves another kiss. 

When Hob kicks his shoes off Dream once again follows suit, though he is forced to take a moment to loosen the laces before revealing his predictably black socks. In between every motion they return for kisses, constantly drawn to each other, each kiss getting deeper and hotter and more desperate. 

“Dream,” Hob moans, the name muffled against the man’s lips, “Tell me what you want? Anything you want, anything at all,” one hand cards through wild black hair while the other grips a sharp hip bone, holding him as close as possible. 

There is a soft hum in response, Dream looking up at him through dark lashes as he takes a moment to consider. Then he takes half a step back and holds out one of his hands. It reminds Hob of a king presenting his hand to a subject, and so he cannot resist taking the offered hand and bending his head to press a kiss to the covered knuckles.

He’s rewarded with a soft huff of laughter, and when he raises his eyes, Dream is smiling at him, “You may remove it, if you would like,” he says with a note of teasing.

Hob grins, straightening, and takes his hand in both of his own. Reverently, Hob tugs at the fingers of the smooth leather, well worn and soft. He slides it off Dream’s hand gently, and feels his jaw drop almost comically when he is granted the sight of intricately tattooed skin.

The top of Dream’s hand is decorated with a thick black outline of a cathedral window, similar designs running down the tops of his fingers. He turns Dream’s hand to look closer and finds himself gaping at a black starburst in the center of his palm, rich black specks splattering out to the edges of his palm. The ink is so thick and saturated, it feels like he can barely make out Dream’s skin beneath it.

His staring is interrupted when Dream silently offers his other hand, waiting expectantly. He is no less in awe when he removes the remaining glove and finds matching tattoos, holding both of Dream’s hands in his own as he admires the cathedral Dream has made of his skin.

“Take me to bed,” Dream says bluntly, “and I will show you more.”

Swallowing thickly, Hob can’t resist leaning in slowly, kissing Dream again when he doesn’t pull away. No matter how stoic Dream may try to appear, Hob knows he can’t rush this. Hob doesn’t want to rush this. 

Once he has kissed some of the tension from Dream’s body, he begins carefully walking backwards towards his room, still holding Dream’s hands. Still kissing him thoroughly. He stumbles a few times over his own clutter, but it’s worth it to be able to taste Dream’s soft breaths of laughter against his mouth. In the bedroom, he moves them deliberately until the backs of his knees hit the bed. Reluctantly, he releases Dream’s hands, letting himself fall back onto the mattress with a little bounce, crawling back until he can sprawl out among his pillows, head propped up enough to gaze at Dream. For a moment Dream stares, blinking slowly like a cat. Hob grins, patting his lap in invitation, and that gets Dream’s lips to twitch towards a smile. He climbs onto the bed gracefully, settling to lightly straddle Hob’s thighs. 

As soon as he’s close enough Hob is leaning up to kiss him again. He’s never disliked kissing, but ever since Eleanor it’s just been a means to an end, a detour from what he was really looking for. But now, he feels like he could kiss Dream all night, just kiss him, and he wouldn’t even notice the time passing. He could get lost in the softness of Dream’s lips, the bite of his teeth, the taste of his sighs.

But then he tugs at Hob’s shirt lightly, questioningly, and Hob is all too happy to let those gorgeous, tattooed hands explore his skin. It is strange to pull his shirt off for the second time in as many hours in completely different contexts. This time his shirt is tossed carelessly to the floor, and Dream does not hesitate to cup Hob’s pecs, massaging his flesh and running his fingers through the thick hair obscuring the art. Hob can’t help but moan, almost embarrassed by the sound until he sees the way Dream’s eyes darken with want.

A whine escapes when Dream pulls back, but he is distracted from the loss of Dream’s hands when he sees him deftly pull his turtleneck off, his hair falling wildly around his face when the fabric is released from over his head. He is expecting it this time, and yet it still comes as a shock to see miles of richly inked skin.

Much like his hands, all of Dream’s tattoos are solid, heavy black. His entire chest is taken up by an elaborate, upside down castle. Tall spires and towers reach from his upper chest down to the dip of his ribs. Around his collar bones, the image becomes distorted, black waves like water ripples, like a mote wrapping around his shoulders. On his stomach are three black stained glass windows, thickly framed with countless patterns and pieces inside, the line work thinner and yet so dense it still hides the pale skin it is drawn on. Hob catches glimpses of wings wrapping around his sides, and in the center of his throat is a solid black outline of a gemstone, the barest lines left open to show the cut of it, with black lace patterns wrapping around his neck like a choker.

“I was held for a month.”

Dream’s words startle Hob from his revelry, ice water running through his vein as he looks up at Dream’s carefully blank face.

“I lived with my sister. The man wanted her. He had been stalking her, but when he finally sent his men after her, they made a mistake. And they grabbed me instead. So he decided to make do with what he had. He stripped me bare.” Here, Dream pauses. Ducks his head, closes his eyes, steels himself for the next three words. “He. Hurt me.”

It’s something out of a horror novel. The type of tragedy you hear about on tv but doesn’t feel real. But the pain on Dream’s face is very, very real.

“Afterwards, I could not handle the sight of my own skin. I could not handle the idea of someone else seeing my skin. I could not stand the thought of being forcibly exposed again. It was a struggle to shower, to change my clothes, anything where I would have to see myself. It is still hard, sometimes. So I decided. I wanted a covering that could not be taken from me.”

Looking over Dream’s tattoos with this knowledge, Hob understands. He can see the way the swathes of black form a cloak around him, shielding him. He imagines sliding his hands beneath the ink, parting it like fabric to reveal marble white skin. He imagines Dream pale, and vulnerable, and alone, and he wants to cry. He wants to wrap Dream in more fabric, cover him with his body, and protect him from the past.

“It was not easy,” Dream continues, “the process. I had to uncover my skin in order to cover it with ink. But I was,” he stops, and he softens, just a little, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I am . Lucky. To have a trusted friend who is a tattoo artist. Who was willing to work with me, and allow me to have sessions in a private room, and to hold my hand when I could not breathe.”

He looks down at his own arm, at the heavy black shapes that twist with the movement of the limb as he raises it up to hold in front of himself, “It helps,” he states plainly. “Even if my skin does not feel like it belongs to me anymore. The ink, at least, is mine.”

Someday, Hob will cry for Dream. Someday he will let the pain he feels for this man well up and spill over because Dream deserves to be cried over. But right now, he reaches up to Dream’s raised arm and twines their fingers together, tugging him down gently until he can press a kiss to the soft skin of his inner wrist.

“It’s all yours,” he says, voice full of wonder and awe, “All yours, all beautiful.” He lets out a huff of laughter, “Here I’ve been going on about my own tattoos, and you’ve been walking around as a masterpiece the whole time.”

Pulling his hand free of Hob’s grasp, Dream shakes his head, “No.” He leans back, resting his palms on Hob’s stomach, eyes roaming over the colors and lines adorning his skin, fingers tracing each picture idly, “If your body is a collection of stories, then mine is the Library of Alexandria. It’s all just ash now.”

Hob isn’t entirely sure of what to do, and simply bursting into tears doesn’t feel like the best option. So instead, he sits up slowly, pushes himself up until he and Dream are face to face and chest to chest, and then he wraps his arms around him. He hugs him firmly, but not so tight that Dream could not pull away if he wanted to. But Dream stays still in his arms, hands still pressed between them as Hob cups the back of his head with one hand while the other strokes up and down his spine. 

“You are so much more than ash,” he whispers into his hair, “and I’m going to do whatever I have to to prove it to you.”

For a long moment, he just holds him, and he thinks it might be enough when he feels the way Dream sighs and sinks into his arms. But eventually, Dream pulls back, the tip of his nose brushing against Hob’s.

“You can start by kissing me again.”

Hob can do that.

It’s an easy slide from soft back into heated. The embers that the sorrow had damped reigniting with each tug Dream gave to Hob’s chest hair, each earring Dream catches in his teeth. Hob lays back against the pillows and pulls Dream on top of him again, reveling in the way their bodies fit together. Hob moans loudly when Dream twists one of his nipple piercings, and then pulls an answering groan from Dream when he grazes his teeth over inked collar bones.

His hands drift down to the sharp jut of Dream’s hips, his thumbs brushing over feathers and flowers before ghosting towards the button of his jeans. He has barely brushed the metal there when black lined fingers wrap around his wrists.

“No.” 

When he glances up, Dream is still flushed and panting, but he’s not looking at him, his head turned to the side and wild hair obscuring his eyes. He is not tense, exactly, but not relaxed either. He seems like he’s bracing for something.

Hob’s heart hurts, but he manages a small smile, “Alright.” He lets his hands fall back onto the mattress. Dream hesitantly raises his head, expression carefully neutral as he looks down at Hob. 

Humming, Hob questions gently, “No to undressing, or no to touching? Or no to both?” He keeps his voice light, hoping to convince Dream that any answer is okay, because any answer is okay. Hob meant what he said, and if Dream needed him to prove it he would, anytime, as many times as he needed.

Blinking, Dream glances down again, letting the fingers of one hand brush against Hob’s chest softly, tracing the lines of the Clippership on his right pec. Hob watches and waits as Dream bites his lip, brow furrowed as he carefully considers his answer.

“I think. I would like for you to touch me more,” he finally replies, glancing up through long eyelashes, “but. I do not wish to remove any more clothing.”

“Not a problem,” Hob grins, bringing a hand up to cover Dream’s, craning his neck to press a kiss to his sharp knuckles. “Can I touch you under your clothes? Get your pants open just enough to get my hand inside? Or would you prefer I touch you through your jeans?”

There is a slight hitch in Dream’s chest, and his eyes glisten as tears well in his eyes. For a terrifying moment Hob is afraid he has said the wrong thing, but then Dream is leaning down to press their lips together. Their hands are trapped between their chests, still clasped together, and Hob can’t help but moan at the feeling of Dream’s smooth chest pressed against his, at the way he grinds down to press their erections together.

When he finally pulls back to breath, Dream has mostly blinked the tears away, “You may put your hands inside my jeans. Just. Try not to push them down too much.” His voice is breathless, and still a little shaky, but the nervousness has been replaced by want, and Hob doesn’t think he will ever be able to deny this man anything.

“Whatever you want, love,” he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Dream’s hair, tugging him back down for another kiss. Being pressed together makes it a little more difficult to get his hand between them, to fumble with Dream’s jeans, but his gut tells him that Dream needs a distraction, and Hob is all too happy to provide one by sucking on his bottom lip, just a hint of teeth to the kiss.

When he finally gets his hand into Dream’s pants, Dream lets out a stuttering gasp, His prick is rock hard and burning in Hob’s hand, and when he brushes his thumb over the tip he can feel the precome leaking there. He gathers up the bit of wetness with his fingers to smooth the next stroke, relishing in the jerk of Dream hips and the hitch in his breath. 

“ Yes ,” Dream exhales, his entire body writhing against Hob’s, the sharp points of his bones kneading into Hob’s flesh in a way that yesterday he wouldn’t have expected to be pleasurable. But tonight, he thinks he could come just from feeling Dream slide against him. 

He starts a slow pace, mouthing at Dream’s jaw as he strokes him, “Like that, sweetheart?” Hob’s words are strained. They are so close together that his knuckles press up and down his own cock through his jeans with each stroke, rough and hard and exactly what he needs right now. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Dream chants, voice gravely with lust, and he dips his head to latch his mouth on one of Hob’s nipples. 

Hob lets out a sob as Dream’s tongue toys with his piercing, “God, you feel so good,” he slurs out, breathless and he hasn’t even been touched yet.

Apparently Dream can read his mind, or maybe just the desperation in his voice, because suddenly his hand is pawing at Hob’s fly. His back curls, putting a little space between them without separating their hips, allowing him to flick the button of Hob’s pants open. Hob lets out a shuddering sigh of relief at having even a little more room for his cock to breath, but the sigh quickly turns into a voiceless cry when Dream wraps cool, slender fingers around him.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” a part of him is worried he’s going to come from just that one touch, but somehow he keeps it together, even when Dream pushes his briefs down enough to grind their cocks together. 

With Dream arching over him, he’s granted a view of the space between them. Lifting his head breathlessly, he sees the soft pink head of Dream’s cock revealed through his open jeans, framed by the tan skin of Hob’s hand wrapped around it. Most of his cock is covered by Hob’s hand, but as Dream thrusts into his fist, Hob catches the barest glimpse of the shaft. And he sees a hint of ink.

He doesn’t mean to tighten his grip, but he does, his hand spasming as he moans helplessly at the beautiful man on top of him. Dream whines at the feeling, rutting a little harder as he drops his forehead onto Hob’s shoulder, “Gonna make a mess on you,” he warns, breathless as the head of his prick smears precome through the hair on Hob’s stomach.

Hob’s pretty sure his neighbors hear the moan he lets out, “ God , please do.”

His words are enough apparently, because with a few quick stutters of his hips, Dream is coming over Hob’s hand with a sharp gasp, thick spurts landing in hotly across Hob’s belly and chest. As his orgasm tapers off, he grinds down hard on Hob’s cock, pressing his pelvis and Hob’s own hand against him, and then it’s Hob’s turn to come undone, adding to the mess between them with a long, drawn-out cry. 

Hob’s not sure how long it takes him to come back down to Earth, his body still singing with pleasure and his breath slowly evening out. But when he finally opens his eyes, which he doesn’t even remember closing, Dream is still hovering above him, his own breath still a little quicker than normal. Dream is looking down at him, watching him with those sharp blue eyes, and when he sees Hob looking back at him, he smirks. And then, without breaking eye contact, he runs one finger up the center of Hob’s body, from the tip of his softening cock, up his belly, all the way to his sternum, drawing a trail through their combined spend until his finger is coated in it. 

And then he licks his finger clean. 

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob moans, one hand coming up to cover his face, trying to laugh but just sounding desperate, “Have mercy. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

When he spreads his fingers to look up at Dream, he finds him smiling. He looks relaxed, and mischievous, and happy, and Hob would do anything to make him smile like that every single day.

“My apologies,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. He rolls smoothly off of Hob, moving to lay on his back as he tucks himself back into his pants and straightens his jeans, “Our come just compliments your tattoos so nicely.”

Hob covers his face with both hands this time, trying to muffle the sound of his embarrassment and lust, “Menace. You’ll be the death of me.” He hears a soft chuckle, but they fall into comfortable silence, both of them coming down from the adrenaline of their climaxes. When Hob turns to look at Dream again several minutes later, he is staring up at the ceiling, hands folded laxly on his stomach.

“You can stay the night, if you’d like,” Hob offers, his voice a whisper so as not to break the peace, “I can sleep on the couch if you’d rather not wake up next to someone.”

Dream’s head snaps to look at him, his eyes wide with surprise. Hob looks back evenly, not taking it back, but not overexplaining either. Just gives Dream time to decide what to do with it.

“...May I have my shirt back?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Hob replies immediately, sitting up with a groan and a wince at the increasingly uncomfortable mess on his stomach. But he ignores it for now in favor of reaching over the side of the bed to scoop up Dream’s turtleneck, handing it back to him easily. Dream silently slips it back over his head.

“…Is it really that easy for you?” Dream asks after a long pause, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeves, “You are not… disappointed? With tonight? With... me?”

Hob feels his eyebrows reach his hairline. And the thing is, he knows what Dream is talking about, even understands it in a distant way, and so he knows he should probably respond seriously.

But the thing is, Hob knows what he looks like.

“Dream,” Hob speaks slowly and gestures at the drying come coating his abdomen, his spent prick still hanging out of his open pants, “do I look like I’m disappointed?”

For a moment, Dream just blinks, eyes wide with surprise as he stares down at Hob’s chest. And then he is slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle actual giggles , and Hob is so in love he can’t help but laugh with him. 

“I think,” Dream says once he has composed himself, “that I would like to spend the night with you. In bed together.”

Hob smiles so wide his face hurts, “Lovely,” he says, “lovely, lovely.”

There is an easy peace between them as they move around the flat. Hob wipes himself down and then finds a spare pair of sweatpants. Dream changes into them in the restroom while Hob rushes to put fresh sheets on the bed, because that’s how badly he wants to impress this man. He thinks it might have backfired when Dream exits the bathroom to find Hob struggling with the fitted sheet. His face flushes, feeling embarrassed and incompetent, some small part of him feeling like somehow this will be what runs Dream off for good.

But Dream just smiles fondly, and moves silently to the other side of the bed to assist him, and everything feels right for the first time in a very long time.

When they pull the clean sheets back to slide under the covers together, Hob feels something inside of him settle as Dream curls shyly against his side. He pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him loosely, and smiles to himself when he hears Dream sigh softly and melt against him. He is lithe and lanky, and Hob can feel the points of his bones through the layers of soft fabric covering him. Hob is soft flesh and muscle, wearing only his boxers.

They fit together perfectly.

~~~

The next morning, Hob awakes to the feeling of Dream’s fingers running gently through the hair on his chest. Even half asleep he has the presence of mind to appreciate the feeling of Dream’s bare fingers touching him.

“Morning, darling.”

Dream startles a bit, but settles just as quickly, “Good morning, Hob.”

Hob rolls onto his side to face Dream properly, and they end up nearly nose to nose. Dream still has one hand resting lightly against Hob’s chest, the other curled under his chin, absentmindedly rolling the end of his sleeve between his fingers. 

“I want to take you on a proper date,” Hob blurts out, “Y’know, dinner and a movie. Or something. Hell, you can pick what we do and I’ll just pay and carry your things. I just. I want to treat you right.”

Dream stares at him, looking surprised, and Hob keeps rambling, “Or not. If you don’t want to. I mean, even if you don’t I’m still probably going to get a tattoo for you. To match the one on my heart.”

He didn’t actually mean to say that last part out loud, and he’s positive it was far too much for a ‘morning after’ talk. But then, before he can get too caught up in his own catastrophizing thoughts… Dream is laughing. A full, proper, full body laugh, though it sounds rough and unused, as though he is laughing through a mouthful of broken glass.

It’s beautiful.

Dream kisses him, clumsily because he’s still smiling. He leans their foreheads together, and says, so earnestly Hob thinks he might cry, “I like it when you are sappy,” he pulls Hob close, tucking his head under Hob’s chin, “and I would love to go on a proper date with you.”

Hob tightens his hold on Dream, “Excellent,” his face hurts from smiling so much, “I’m going to spoil you.” Hob thinks he needs it.

He feels Dream hum against his throat, and then he is wiggling free of Hob’s grip, leaning back to look at Hob with a raised eyebrow, “But first,” he smirks mischievously, “I was told I would be provided breakfast in the morning.”

Hob was planning to cook for him anyway, but first he has to tackle him, and pepper his face with kisses until they are tangled together in a mass of limbs and laughter and ink.

~~~

A year later, Dream stutters through an explanation, even as Hob tries to interrupt with reassurance that he gets it. 

It took some time, but Dream has shown Hob all of his tattoos by this point. The towers and trees along his legs, the birds and dragons spanning his back, the strange bone-like mask running down his spine. Hob has had the honor of pressing gentle kisses to all of them.

“It’s different,” Dream explains now, desperately, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or-... I don’t know, I know it’s silly, but I just-”

“ Dream ,” Hob cups Dream’s face in his hands, thumbs resting softly on his lips to silence his anxious rambling. “Love, it’s okay . I promise, it’s okay. I get it.”

And he does. He thinks it makes perfect sense that even after being allowed to see Dream’s body that he wouldn’t want Hob in the room when he is being tattooed. It’s different, he thinks, being seen in the safe intimacy of their home, versus a sterile shop where- willingly or not- he is experiencing pain. Or course he wants the comfort and familiarity of being alone in the private studio with his best friend. 

Some of the tension melts from Dream’s frame, though he still has a touch of nervousness in his eyes, and so Hob leans in to kiss him softly. He lifts one of Dream’s hands and presses it to his chest, to the spot where, under his shirt, a fresh tattoo rests. Dream had helped him design it, a solid black silhouette of a raven, wings spread as it flies in the space below the image of three doves. He knows part of Dream’s concern is that Hob will be offended, because he was allowed to sit beside him and hold his hand while Hob got the tattoo dedicated to Dream.

But he also knows it’s different .

“I’ll be there to pick you up when you’re done," he says casually, "I’ll even bring you one of your ridiculous coffees.”

Finally, Dream smiles, relaxing as he finally seems to believe Hob’s words. 

“I love you,” Dream whispers against his lips, and Hob will never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you too. Now go, before Lucienne has my head for making you late.”

That night, back in their shared apartment, Dream lifts his shirt to show where his stomach is wrapped in Saniderm. Hob’s eyes well with tears as he sees the vibrant colors beneath the clear plaster. The three stained glass windows on Dream’s abdomen, previously just stark black outlines, have been filled with a gradient of color. Bright oranges, purples, reds, yellows. A sunset or a sunrise shining through the windows.

“For the light you brought back to my life,” Dream had explained when he first told Hob of his idea. Hob had cried then. He cries now too. 

Once their respective tattoos are healed, he knows neither of them will be able to keep their hands or mouths off of them, the visible proof of how they’ve changed each other. But for now, they settle for curling up together and kissing everywhere else.

They leave behind little love bites in the scant spaces between tattoos, until every spare inch is filled in.

[sunarc]

Skater-Fuck Boy Gojo Headcanons

CW: NSFW headcanons underneath cut, toxic gojo, oral, cum eating, public sex, squirting, dirty talk

A/N: The divider is by the amazing @todorosie.

⇢ He knows he’s pretty and he uses his looks to his advantage. He gets free things all the time simply because of his looks.

⇢ One of the best skaters like he should be acknowledged like tony hawk but he doesn’t take it seriously because he skates for fun and it would be too much on him to do it professionally.

⇢ He’s not a good teacher because he thinks you should know these things even though you’ve never skated before

⇢ He’s very soft though. So when he’s teaching you his voice is soft, his touch is soft but when you ask him questions he’s confused on how you don’t know this already

⇢ He likes to skate at night, he says the park is empty and that when he can practice his best tricks

⇢ He loves baggy clothes but his favorite combination is the baggy cargo pants with a crop top

⇢ Has the body of a God but we been knew that

⇢ You wonder how he looks so fit because man eats so unhealthy.

⇢ Has broken so many bones he's lost count

⇢ He was so proud of you when you first got your skateboard, he even spent time decorating the board with you

⇢ Man is a flirt

⇢ He’ll do a cool trick to impress a girl and pretend like it was the easiest thing in the world

⇢ He has broken his skateboard a million times. He once pulled off a trick he had been practicing for months and broke his skateboard as celebration

⇢ He truly believes if you have not broken a bone you are not a true skater

⇢ He flirts with so many girls and blames it on him having a big heart. How could he reject someone so pretty, that would be mean.

⇢ He won't openly admit it but he’s a simp. He flirts a lot but he always tells you your his favorite and that he would pick you over anyone in a heartbeat.

⇢ Has a tattoo of a skateboard. It’s his only tattoo, says his skin is too perfect for ink.

⇢ His fingers are covered in rings. 

⇢ He is openly single has has admitted this to you but always takes a clam over you saying you’re his and his alone.

⇢ Has flirted in front of you on multiple occasions. He’ll always come back to you apologizing but not with words, with actions.

NSFW

⇢ He mostly wears rings because he likes the way they look covered in your cum. His favorite thing to do is make you suck your own cum off of his ring covered fingers

⇢ He has fucked you in an empty, dark skate park. He says it’s the thrill of getting caught that gets him so hard

⇢ Gojo doesn’t like labels but he has taken an unannounced claim over you. He makes you wear an anklet with his initials so he can kiss it when he has your legs propped up on his shoulders while he fucks you.

⇢ When he gets excited he gets hard so when he lands a new trick to celebrate he fucks you in his car.

⇢ His favorite thing to do is eat you out. He claims he’s doing it for you but even after you cum his face is still shoved between your legs while he moans and begs you for another orgasm.

⇢ His only way of apologizing is by making you cum on his cock. He’s horrible at real apologies. He has fucked you for hours all while asking if you forgive him. He knows you can’t reply so he takes your fucked out moans as an acceptance of his “apology”

⇢ He once made you sit on his skateboard and finger yourself until you were squirting on the board. He later won a skate competition with that same board.

⇢ He asks you to give him a pre-competition head as goodluck. You always oblige. He has to cover your pretty face in cum or he believes it wont work.

⇢ Gojo isn’t too good to kiss you after a blowjob. He’ll cum in your mouth then kiss you so he can get a taste.

⇢ He talks you through it.

⇢“Pretty pussy needed my cock. Look at how she’s thanking me”

⇢“Cum for me pretty girl, show me how much you love this cock”

⇢ His likes praise during sex but if he has lost a competition he fucks his anger out on you. 

⇢ He rarely loses though so you have to ask him to fuck you rough if you want it but he’s not just going to give it to you. He wants to hear you beg for his cock. You want it so bad so you better get on your knees and beg him like a slut

[sunlightmurdock]

anyway, don’t be a stranger | Bradley Bradshaw

one year after the hardest break-up of your life, you see Bradley Bradshaw again at your aunt’s wedding.

warnings : stand-alone. implied significant age gap (around 10-15 years). low-key dilf bradley except he has no kids. just angst really. this is based on scott street by phoebe bridgers and I felt like that deserved a warning in itself. reader is Penny’s niece. no physical descriptors of reader except brief mention that Bradley stroked their hair. post-break-up, kind of alluded to that the relationship was a secret. wc: 1.6k

…

“I missed you.” He whispers, all past-tenses nowadays. His lips brush your hair before he settles his cheek there instead, his left hand settled politely at the base of your spine while his right holds yours once again.

You miss him. Present-tense, as your make-up marks the white of his neatly steamed shirt. Your head on his chest and his stomach grazing yours.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, and behind your eyelids the floor plan of his living room is etched there. You know what steps to take to mind from bumping into the couch, or the coffee table, or the guitar he keeps by the lamp. You’re wearing his boxers and he’s telling you off with a grin on his face, for not knowing your nineteen-sixty-eight’s from your nineteen-seventy-four’s.

The records he gave you are nestled in the bookcase in your room. Your collection isn’t as extensive as his.

“You’ve been… doing okay?” even the way he speaks to you is cautious now. It wasn’t, once. Once he would have held both of your cheeks in his hands and you would have told him everything without him even having to ask.

He steps back, you step forwards, his hand on your back keeps your middle against his. The music rises and falls, his body keeping yours in rhythm.

“Yeah,” you guess. Okay is subjective, anyway. Your fingers skim along the seam between his shoulder and arm, careful to miss the ticklish spot at the back of his neck. “I got a new place.”

He had been constantly telling you that you needed to move out. That place was shitty in every sense of the word. Your roommates were useless, and rude. He was constantly fixing a leak in your bathroom, or a stiff window latch, or a blown fuse. Not to mention he hated the area.

It hadn’t seemed like too much of a pressing issue back when you spent most of your days at his place.

“Oh,” He murmurs, turning his face toward your hair once more, like he had all of those nights you spent in his bed. If he was an honest man, he would admit to you that he had always figured you would move into his place next, once he finally got you out of that shitty shoebox apartment. “That’s great. By yourself?”

He does everything by himself.

“No,” You answer. It would be far too lonely, far too empty, to have stretched through the winter by yourself. “With a friend.”

He’s glad to hear that. He knows you hate coming home to an empty place. Almost as much as he does. “It’s near the park?”

“No,” You wish. You wish, too, that he didn’t remember how much you wanted to live near there. You wanted a lot of things a year ago. “By the river.”

The smell of him makes the hole he left in the middle of your ribs throb with a painful emptiness. His thumb strokes the space of an inch, top to bottom and there again, on the small of your back.

A year ago, slow-dancing in a packed room, in a pretty dress with Bradley Bradshaw would have made all of your dreams come true. Him spinning you the way he did when you were alone in his kitchen, kissing you with a grin on his face.

It’sforthebetterit’sforthebetterit’sforthebetter. It’s for the best. Your fingers skim along his shoulders, turning your face toward his neck as you had so many times before.

“You could… come see it.” You don’t want him to see your new apartment. He’ll see that it’s everything he wanted for you and it isn’t enough. That his missing shirts are strewn between either your laundry hamper or your closet. His favourite Eagles record on the player he bought you. The stuffed animal he won you so proudly that night on the pier laying on his side of the bed.

He’ll see all the ways you’ve let him down after swearing that you would move on.

You want to see his place. It gnaws at you as he holds you in his arms; to know if pieces of you linger in his life the way he does for you.

Maybe you haven’t held onto the way it ended the same way he has. Bradley remembers, every day, the look in your eyes when he told you that it was over. The way he hurt you. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t ever meant to.

He’d hoped to see you here tonight with a new boyfriend and a big smile on your face. He’d hoped to be walking out with a knife in his side about how happy you were without him — at least that would mean he’d done the right thing.

“Is that what you want?” Maybe if he had taken the time to ask you that thirteen months ago you would have washed a few less mascara stains out of your pillowcases this past year.

The band slows and the music fades until the song is gone all together.

“No.” Comes through the resounding silence. His hand pulls away from the small of your back and comes to rest against the back of your neck, hugging you closer as an instinctive gesture.

His fingers squeeze softly at your nape.

This isn’t a very platonic way to dance together. Your arms reach around his shoulders and squeeze. Without checking to see if anyone’s watching, Bradley presses his lips to your temple.

Just like that, it’s over again. He drops your hand and unwraps himself from you.

“Alright,” His adam’s apple bobs as he takes a step back. He tries to offer you a smile. You don’t even attempt at the same courtesy, your eyes trained on him. He reaches out, grazing his fingers against yours as a parting gesture. “You take care of yourself, baby.”

And you’re expected to watch him walk away again.

He swallows thickly, weighted by the all too familiar glassy-eyed look you’re giving him. The dance floor swirls around the two of you, something gravitational that keeps them from getting too close. There had always been a certain level of privacy that came with being his, it lingers even in this vibrant room.

The song slows to a finish, and Bradley feels a familiar sinking feeling. He has to be the one to do the difficult thing, here. He straightens just a little and reaches for you once more, tapping platonically at your forearm.

“Have a good night.”

Don’t. The word almost spills right out. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip to keep it to yourself. He takes his first step back.

He opens his mouth, then. Lights twinkling above him and that look in his eyes, such strong regret— the kind of look that always comes before his best apologies. His eyes snag on the figure behind you.

Pete Mitchell leans against a support beam with a glass in his hand and a waning smile on his lips. His head is cocked with a vague curiosity, his steely irises flickering between the two supposed strangers before him.

Nothing more than passing ships.

No one will ever know how Bradley’s heart had thundered when you had kissed him. How he misses the way you’d tangle in his bedsheets, smiling at him while he got ready for work.

Pete’s dark brows start to pull together just slightly under the dance floor lights, illuminating him in a brash violet while you’re passed into the shadows.

Bradley closes his mouth, and turns away.

Your timeout is over, and the game is back on. As you have been for the past year, you’re invisible. He isn’t, he couldn’t be and you couldn’t even pretend that he is. Your gaze lingers on him through the passing shadows and lights, watching his gleaming smile spread around the room.

Charming the masses, he seems okay.

Your gut twists.

All day, all year, you have picked yourself up and carried on like normal. Like he hadn’t ever stroked his fingers through your hair and told you all the things he hadn’t been brave enough to tell anyone else.

All of those insecurities, and dreams, linger between you like a storm cloud in the sky. No one in this room has the sense to look up and see what’s there.

No one knows exactly what time you leave. It’s just passing conversation that they haven’t seen you in a while, that maybe you had gotten a ride home.

Bradley isn’t surprised, somehow, when he stops at the end of his driveway. The taxi pulls away behind him. His cheeks are flushed and warm-looking, his curls tangled over his forehead and his unfastened tie resting in his hand rather than around his neck.

Sitting on his porch steps, you’ve never felt quite as small. He watches you shrink further, pulling your knees closer and huddling yourself away from him. Memories of the times he would come home to you here and you would throw yourself into his arms flash across his mind.

Wordlessly, Bradley puts one foot in front of the other. He digs his house keys from his pocket as he passes you by, unlocking the door with a familiar jingle. You push yourself up from the steps and hug your arms around yourself while he flicks on the entryway lights.

[sk8terhoons]

Sunghoon fic recs

@asahicore Cherry Pits

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Dilf!hoon x younger!fem reader, neighbors to lovers

Word Count: 12.9k

Synopsis: Your alarmingly empty bank account forces you to find a last-minute summer job so that you can afford a trip with your friends. The extremely handsome customer that comes into the store just happens to be a young single dad who's renovating the old house next to yours. The tension that settles between the two of you as you start helping him fix up his house soon becomes unbearable, but it's all one-sided anyway, right?

More fics under cut!

@asahicore Stupid In Love

This fic contains smut

Pairing: hoon x fem reader, childhood best friends to lovers

Word Count: 22.1k

Synopsis: One night early on in your summer vacation, your best friend Sunghoon admits that his biggest anxiety about starting college is going there as a virgin - one thing leads to another, and you end up learning a few things from each other. The more time passes, the more obvious it becomes that your feelings for each other surpass friendship, but with the end of summer looming over your heads, it's hard to tell where these newfound emotions will lead you.

@jaylaxies To All The Boys I’ve Fucked Before, To The Boy: Who Took Me To Prom

This fic contains smut

pairing: Best friends brother!hoon x fem reader

Word Count: 19.6k

Synopsis: Prom—the last event of senior high school was right around the corner, but the only person who you wanted to go with had rejected you for his own reasons, leaving you upset and unwilling to attend the event. however, your best friend, mina, was hellbent on making you attend it and being a sweetheart, she ends up persuading her brother, sunghoon, to be your date for the night.

@zreamy SPF 23

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

Word Count: 31.8k

Synopsis: For as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot?

@neo-percs Deep End

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Rich!Sunghoon x fem!reader

Word Count: 36.6k

Synopsis: After saving Sunghoon from drowning at the local pool; y/n offers to give him swimming lessons which leads into way more than expected.

@simpjaes Night Shift

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Boss/ Cam boy!hoon x afab reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Synopsis: Sunghoon, a keen and professional man between the hours of 8 AM to 5 PM. ServiceKing, a faceless and proud man between the hours of 9 PM to 12 AM. Sunghoon’s secret night-life has nothing to do with the faces he sees day after day...until it does.

Or the one where you pay for a one on one call with a faceless cam guy you’ve been watching for a little while, and the next day your boss is avoiding you like the plague. 

@simpjaes Day Shift

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Boss/ Cam boy!hoon x afab reader

Word Count: 14.5k

Synopsis: After finding out that your boss has seen, heard, and instructed you through some pleasurable nights while parading around as a faceless cam-boy, you decide that your best course of action is to: call out sick. use vacation days. avoid Park Sunghoon at all costs. Unfortunately, ten days doesn’t appear to be nearly enough time to erase what’s happened, and Sunghoon refuses to be avoided.

Or the one where sunghoon pretends that he isn’t an anxious mess over accidentally exposing himself and you just so happen to have a lot of fucking empathy. 

@jlheon Love Exists, I’m Full Of It

This fic contains smut

Pairing: Situationship!hoon x fem reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Synopsis: When park sunghoon breaks up with his long time girlfriend he needs something to get his mind off her, you happen to be the perfect distraction : a girl who’s naive and has never had a boyfriend

My 1st fic rec list! I hope you all love it, I worked super hard to pick my favs so i hope you all enjoy!

[ace-turned-confused]

shiftin' gear | part two

joel masterlist | series masterlist

pairing: mechanic!joel x f!reader series outline: a slacker of a boyfriend, no job, and now your car needs serious maintenance. heading to the mechanic’s, you’re just expecting him to rid you of your car troubles and move on — you’re certainly not expecting him to change your life chapter summary: with big decisions to make, life throws you a curveball that leads you to joel again word count: 3,2k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied, boyfriend is still useless & also a prick, minor injury & blood, my car knowledge™️, bit of a cry & breakdown sesh, age gap (23/50), smutty thoughts, allusions to f masturbation a/n: thank you @frannyzooey for all the help & encouraging words when reading this over 😚❤️

A month has passed since you first met Joel Miller and you haven’t gone to see him since. You certainly wanted to, but couldn’t bring yourself to go there under the excuse of a lie, or the alternative of admitting you went just because you could. Every time you turn your car’s ignition, a small part of you hopes that another light will flicker on the dashboard, but so far that dream hasn’t been fulfilled.

A month since you met Joel Miller but three months since you and Jake last slept together. The few times you’ve come close, you end up giving him an excuse. At first, you simply couldn’t be bothered to put so much effort in, claiming you were tired. But lately, it’s because you’re thinking of Joel — what it’d look like having his hand dipping into your panties, how his mouth would feel on you, how you’d burn up watching him take himself out his pants.

Which is not ideal when Joel isn’t the one trying to do those things.

Jake’s been putting more pressure on you to see him more regularly again and it’s laborious, draining, constantly needing to put on this cheerful persona around him — you’re never able to mope around or yell or cry just for the sake of it. Truthfully, you’ve been trying to work out for a long time now how to go about breaking up with him.

His reaction to why you had quit your job had catapulted this even further. I’m sure the guy was a deserving candidate. You can’t just quit because someone better than you got the job. Not asking how you felt, not asking for details, simply not caring. He still had the nerve to ask if you were staying the night after that, and that’s when you dropped the conversation. Your employment hadn’t been brought up again.

As brief as it was, you found great comfort in talking to Joel about it — not once did he tell you you’d made a mistake, or that you’d regret it down the line. Just knowing he’s there to listen is more than what you have right now. 

Maybe you should stop by sometime.

-

You have plans to see Jake tonight, and you’re undecided on whether or not you should finally cut ties with him. You’re dressed in a square-neck navy top and black pants that hug your hips and thighs amazingly. Sure, you might end the night by breaking a boy’s heart — though, you’re not sure he’ll feel much emotion other than confusion — but this might be the one thing that’ll keep you feeling good about yourself right now.

Stopping off to get a few small items at the grocery store, the parking lot is mostly empty by the time you walk out. As you reach your car again, you see one of your back tires is almost completely flat. Dropping your bags, you seethe with anger – it feels like one fucking thing after another. 

Taking a breath, you calm yourself down and start unpacking the toolkit from your boot. Car jack, lug wrench, some… other tool that’s used for something — it can’t be that important. You run the process over in your head — it’s just changing a tire, how difficult can it be?

Crouched down on your knees, you’ve partially loosened the lug nuts on the wheel and are busy jacking up your car when your mind drifts off to Joel. He’d probably do this for you and you wouldn’t even argue with him — you couldn’t look away the first time he worked on your car, and you doubt that’ll ever change.

Maybe he’d be surprised you can do this, maybe he’d be impressed. Maybe he’d tell you you’re too pretty to change a tire and get your clothes dirty. You’d laugh it off, but you might just believe him.

You can’t picture Jake saying that to you — you can’t remember the last time he even gave you an honest compliment and meant it, not something backhanded, not something that elevates him higher than you. 

What’s sadder is that it doesn’t upset you anymore.

Changing a tire is easy enough in theory, but this is the first time you’ve actually done it yourself and Jesus Christ it’s more taxing than you anticipated. You’re sweaty, out of breath, and you’re sure you’ve pulled a muscle. In the depths of your daydreaming, you lose your grip on the lug wrench and fall forward, scraping your arm on the tar. It stings to no end and blood starts settling in small pools, the surface of your skin covered in a rough mixture of gravel and bits of tar — the last thing you need, but it’ll have to wait.

Tossing the wrench to the ground, it lands with a startling clank, the sound reverberating through your skull. You’re hauling the old wheel into the boot of your car and see a nail, stuck flush in the tire, still shiny and new. You wish you could feel shiny and new again.

Fuck this. You pull out your phone to text Jake.

You: just got a fucking flat tireYou: not coming anymore, sorry

You don’t wait for him to respond and focus on lowering your car again. You consider your options on where to go after this — not particularly wanting to go home so soon to be grilled by your dad, there is one place you can think of.

-

It’s early evening and Joel’s getting ready to close up shop for the day, tools pushed to the side and cash books up to date. Piling up loose papers, he finds the invoice for the brake sets he used on your car and he can’t help but wonder how you’ve been the past month. Each day that passed he hoped you’d show up — maybe something else was wrong with your car, maybe you’d just come to see him for the sake of it, but you never did. He told himself it was better that way.

He’s been keeping himself busy otherwise, teaching Eddie some tricks of the trade and avoiding Hazel. She’s not a bad woman, but he’s made it clear on plenty of occasions that he is not interested, be it a one-night stand or something serious  — then, of course, he met you.

He hasn’t been on a real date in a lifetime, he’s had casual flings here and there, but he’s felt drawn to you right from the start. He just wants to take care of you, give you the treatment you deserve, which you aren’t getting from your boyfriend. Emotionally, physically — whatever you need, whatever you’ll let him do. A part of him hopes you and this Jake boy will eventually break up and you’ll come running into his own arms instead, as selfish as it may be.

He hears a car stop outside and a door slams shut with a thud, pulling him out of his thoughts. Turning around he sees you dragging yourself in from the street, bloody scrapes on your arm and dirt stains on your pant legs. You look tired, rattled.

“Joel? Please can you help me?”

-

Joel’s standing alongside your car, hands on his hips, in the same tight coveralls you saw him wearing a month ago.

“You know you could’ve just called sweetheart, I would’ve come to change it for you.”

“I can change a tire.” Previously, the endearment would’ve made your mind go blank, but you’re tired — tired of Jake, tired of life’s bullshit, tired of everything, and it comes out much harsher than you intended.

Joel doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he doesn’t comment. He bends down to inspect it and a small part of you hopes he’s impressed by your efforts.

“I can see that, you did a good job of it too.” He tries twisting a lug nut and it doesn’t shift. “Who taught you how to do this?”

“Common sense? It’s not that complicated.”

“You didn’t wanna call your dad or that boyfriend of yours to come and help?”

“My dad would tell me I’m doing it wrong and I’d tell Jake he was doing it wrong. No thanks.”

You stand, arms folded across your chest and give him a tight smile, which fades as fast as it appears. Usually you’d revel in the banter between you, but tonight you can’t find it in yourself to let go.

“Well, I won’t keep you long. I’ll put a new tire on here for you and you’ll be good to go on.”

Your phone rings before you can respond — you tilt the screen and can see it’s Jake. You let out a bitter sigh, not in the mood for the insensitivity and all-round lack of respect you’re bound to get from him. You don’t excuse yourself when you answer, beyond caring what Joel may hear from either of you.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you call me, I could’ve come to help.”

“Says the guy who needed the manual to find the lever for the fucking fuel cap.”

“Well, I could’ve fetched you or called someone else.”

“It’s fine, it’s done. I’m getting a new tire fitted anyways, I’m at the mechanic’s right now.”

“Alright, whatever, but it’s not too late — you can still come over, stay the night maybe?”

“I said I’m not coming — my clothes are filthy, I’ve got muscle cramps where I didn’t know I fucking had muscles, and I’m not in the mood Jake. Not tonight.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joel stills, just for a moment, like that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. You swear you can see his ears redden and you wish you could see the expression on his face.

“Thought you’d have changed your mind by now but okay, I could come over to…”

“I said no. I have to go.”

You end the call and cut his goodbyes short, putting your phone on silent and shoving it back into your pocket. Seeing Joel had lifted your spirits ever so slightly, and now that’s all been undone. You’ve held it together all day but you feel tears start to well in your eyes. You blink furiously, trying your hardest to will them away before it’s too late.

-

“Everything alright?”

Joel stands and turns to face you, repeating his question when you don’t respond and sees you staring ahead, tears streaming down your cheeks. As if on instinct, he moves towards you and wraps his arms around you. He feels your body go rigid and begins to pull back — this was a mistake, he should’ve asked — but as fast as he lets you go you’re pulling him back in, your arms now wrapping around his middle.

Standing with your head buried into his chest, your breaths come out in gasps as you try to stop yourself from crying. He can feel your hands are balled into fists and you’re squeezing your arms like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded, like you’re scared he won’t come back if you let go. Joel’s careful not to put his hands where he really shouldn’t, one between your shoulder blades, the other cradling your head. Everything is not alright, but he doesn’t want to overstep, risk pushing you further down into yourself and further away from him.

“Hey, sweetheart, let’s go sit.”

You don’t object as he moves his hand to the small of your back and walks you into the office. He sits you down on the couch, handing you water from the fridge and you’ve gone silent, eyes drawn to the floor, but your tears have somewhat slowed. He notices blotches of dried blood on the bottom of your shirt and gets up to find some bandages and cotton pads — he knows there’s a first-aid kit somewhere around here.

“Just wanna clean your arm up, that okay?”

You nod your head meekly, still avoiding his eyes. He takes your arm in his hands, twisting it to see the scrapes and grazes in their entirety. He wipes your arm down with an alcohol-soaked cotton pad and you pinch your eyes shut, wincing slightly at the inevitable sting. Thankfully your arm just looked worse than it is; he’s able to leave most of it uncovered, only bandaging a small section that looks particularly inflamed.

Placing your arm down in your lap, he’s not sure how to carry on. He can practically hear you thinking, but what exactly is turning over and over in that head of yours he doesn’t know.

“Sorry,” you mumble weakly, angling your head towards him, gaze still downward.

“Sorry for what?”

“This.” You shift your hands around in your lap and start picking at your nails. You slump down on the couch, continuing, “Sorry for crying.”

“Hey, look at me.” Joel turns himself to face you, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. He waits for you to turn and you finally lift yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes red and glassy.

“Don’t apologise for crying, sweetheart. You’re allowed to cry.”

“I’m twenty-three, I should be better at all this by now.”

“Better at what? I’m about to turn fuckin’ fifty and I still cry sometimes.”

You turn away from him again — you furrow your brow and he can tell you’re trying to come up with a reason why that shouldn’t apply to you, why you need to be stronger than anyone else.

“I assume that was your boyfriend on the phone? Sounds like you had grand plans for tonight.”

You screw your face up at that.

“Don’t call him- don’t say that. He had grand plans, I was psyching myself up to break up with him.”

He knew that something wasn’t right between the two of you, but he didn’t realise it would be quite this bad.

“It’s just…” You sigh again, sounding despondent, like all that anger you had earlier has been dissolved, absorbed, or maybe you’ve just become desensitised to it.

“I just don’t understand, how is he so… detached? It’s like he’s from another fuckin’ planet. I can’t tell anymore if he just doesn’t care or if he truly is that self-absorbed.” You lean back and bring your arms up, draping them over your head.

“Was it always like this?” He’s trying his best to tread lightly, but hopes you’ll feel more at ease if you can get some of this off your chest.

“No… at least, I don't think so. Maybe it has been and I was just blinded by the bare minimum. Only now he doesn’t even do that.”

You turn to look at him again, eyes changed from glassy to broken and exhausted. You whisper a thank you, a soft, sad smile on your face and he decides not to push you any further. You’ve shared, and that’s a start — you’ll come to him again in your own time.

“Gonna go finish up that tire of yours, you can stay in here a while if—”

You’re standing before he can get the words out, straightening out your shirt and wiping your tear-stained cheeks with the back of your hand.

“Sounds good, let’s go.”

No longer hysterical as you push past to walk outside, now you just look defeated. He should insist you stay put to be alone, but having just opened up about your insecurities and loveless relationship with Jake, now isn’t the time to defy you. Maybe he can try and bring a smile to your face before you say goodbye.

-

You thought your night might end in tears courtesy of Jake, but this isn’t what you were expecting. You can’t believe you broke down so easily in front of Joel, but maybe deep down you knew he wouldn’t mind, knew he’d be there to console you.

You have to admit, it felt nice to be held, to feel safe in someone's embrace. Your head was spinning — Jake’s an asshole, my arm hurts like a bitch, I’m never gonna get the blood out of this shirt. Then Joel took your arm in his hands and it had your head spinning for entirely different reasons. Feeling his fingertips dig into your skin and his hold around your wrist had you longing to feel those same sensations on the rest of your body.

Joel shook your hand the first day you met and you committed it to memory — firm grip, calloused palm, thick fingers. You replayed it in your mind on countless late nights with your hand between your legs, trying to imagine how different it would feel, how much better it would feel if it were his instead.

Coming outside into fresh air was supposed to calm you down, until Joel carried on replacing the tire and you felt heat settle under your skin, neither from injury nor anger. Muscles flexing under his coveralls, neck tensing and the grunts from the exertion — something else you can commit to memory. You feel your panties dampen and you don’t feel ashamed.

Joel stands when he’s finished fitting the new tire, lifting you out of your fantasy. Thinking back to the last time you saw him, you remember his parting words to you: you’re welcome to come answer the phone for me. You couldn’t tell if he was being polite or actually offering you a job.

“Were you serious about all that answering the phone stuff?” You wring your hands, worried you’re about to make a fool of yourself.

“You wanna work here?” Joel straightens up, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I mean, I know my dad would like to see me out of the house and actually doing something. I doubt this would impress him, though.”

Joel cocks his head to the side, hands planted on his hips as he inches towards you and you feel yourself heat up instantly, eyes going wide as embarrassment washes over you.

“Sorry! No offence to you, I just mean- I’m not saying it’s- God I’m really not helping myself.” You snap your eyes shut, hands flying up to cover your face and you wish the world could just swallow you whole.

Joel starts laughing, a quiet, gravelly sound and you open your eyes to glare at him. He raises his eyebrows, a wide smile now across his face.

“No offence taken. Do you really wanna sit here answering the phone? I‘m sure there’ll be some other stuff we can do, too, but not much else beyond that.”

Other stuff we can do. You could certainly think of a few things, that’s for sure.

“Well, something’s better than nothing. And you play nice music, so there’s that.”

He laughs again, shaking his head.

“Maybe you can teach me some car stuff when I’m not answering the phone. And… you’re nice to be around, I guess.” You purse your lips, trying your best to play it off as an innocent compliment. 

“Well alright then, I’ll see you next week sweetheart.” He smiles warmly, eyes just beginning to crinkle around the edges and for the first time today you feel at ease.

Joel saves your number and waves you goodbye as you drive off. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he’s still standing in the road, a smirk plastered on his face and you grin like an idiot. You still have Jake to deal with, and your blood-stained shirt might go straight in the bin, but at least you have working with Joel to look forward to.

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[The Last Dance] Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader

Hurt and a bit of comfort? maybe?

poor Simon, someone please send me some fluff ideas for him or I’m unable to stop writing angst about him. (cuz that’s the only thing in my note for him)

word count: 744

You never visit his dreams.

Every day he’s a walking corpse, mindlessly doing what he should done, saying goodnight to his teammates, and coming back to his quarter, hoping he can see you one more time.

but he never dreams of you these days, despite how desperate he is.

“You need some rest, I can give you a few weeks of leave, Simon.” He simply shakes his head at Price’s suggestion.

There’s no home waiting for him anymore, a haven for him to sleep soundly.

Until the night Simon deems he hit his limits, you finally appear in his dream.

There stood you, at the quiet bay you two always date, your usual smile lingering on the face imprinted in his heart.

He runs, stumbles a few times maybe, but he never stops his feet until he’s in front of you.

“Simon.”

“I fucking miss you... god...” He pulls you into his arms immediately, squeezing hard so you won’t flee from him by any chance.

He just buries his face to hide his sobs as you rub his back comfortingly.

“You should move on, honey.” You break the silence first.

“How am I supposed to?” He can feel his face stained with tears, but he pays no mind to it, eyes never leave yours, letting them stream his sorrow down.

“Remember the dance we always do?” As he leans into your fingers that are wiping his tears, he hears you ask softly.

“I never forget.”

“Hey, let’s do it again, yeah?”

Your soft hands — cold, he notices — guide him to the proper posture, and leads the dance start.

He remembers the first day you tried to teach him the dance, and he reluctantly agreed.

He remembers the first time he didn’t step on your toes, and you praised him cheerfully.

He remembers those days he held you close and giggled with you during the dance, at here.

Swaying slowly along you, waltzing in a graceful circle, you sing the music just like you always did when dancing with him.

As you breeze to the last tone, both of you stop at the same place, nothing moves except the waves hitting the cliff beneath.

“Better now?”

“No.” He admits through a hiccup.

“Still so honest huh” you laugh “but listen to me, Simon.”

He lets you cradle his face in your palms, he hates that your hands are so cold, unlike the warmth he stole from you in winter.

“You can find a way to remember me, but don’t let me leash you in the past.”

“Keep going, my love, protect those people that you love when they’re still aside.”

The seriousness on your face is what he never gets from you before, he just stares at you, and eventually, nods his head.

“That’s my man.”

You let go of him, satisfied.

“Time to go now” you take a look at the sky and face him again. “before that, can you smile for me one last time? You know I love it.”

“I’m bloody ugly right now.” He sighs, but he still manages to pull his lips into a contorted grin.

“Well, true”

“but still the most handsome man for me.”

- - - - - -

Simon opens his eyes.

4 am, the clock indicates, earlier than the alarm he set, but he has a plan today.

“Only one day off?” Price crooks his eyebrows when he signs the paper for Simon to have permission to leave.

“Yeah, one day’s enough.”

Walking to the parking lot, he jumps into his car and starts driving to his destination.

The tranquil feelings he hasn’t experienced for months accompany him on his journey to the bay.

Everything’s the same as he visited here last time. Still a silent bay without people, the sea spuming over the cliff, filling the air with soothing crashes of the surf.

He’s afraid of visiting here after you leave, the emptiness is deafening without your singing.

Unsurprisingly, the hollow in his heart becomes more painful as he steps to the same spot in his dream last night.

Yet still, he gazes at the ocean for a good while, and chants out the song lowly.

The cavity in his bleeding heart starts healing.

[oneforthemunny]

boy toys |dom!eddie munson x brat!reader|

​​prompt: after a week of not seeing each other, eddie comes over and sees what's been getting you through your time apart.

contains: 18+ themes, minors dni. dom!eddie, sub!reader, fem! reader, slightly mean!dom!eddie, vibrator, toys, overstimulation, slapping, orgasm denial, light bondage, oral male rec, p in v sex, language

You peeked out the window, grinning when you saw the familiar van in the parking lot, Eddie stomping his cigarette out beside it. You heard the heavy footsteps, boots against the creaking wood. Before he could knock, you had the door open, arms wrapped around his neck, pushing him against the wall by your door.

Eddie let out a sound of surprise, laughing lowly into the kiss, his hands finding your waist easily, pulling you flush against him. His lips were soft, full, sweetly devouring every part of your mouth, leaving your blushing and reeling. His eyes glimmered when he pulled back, giving you a deep dimpled grin that had you swooning.

"D'ya miss me that much, sweetheart?" Eddie chuckled, hands softly rubbing down your waist.

You giggled, shrugging gently, a blush still warm across your cheeks. "Yeah," You admitted, sweetly. "I really did. It's been a long week."

And it had been.

The week had been agonizingly busy with the boutique bustling with customers, new shipments, and changing the styles to fit the new season. On top of that, Eddie's schedule and your's was conflicting, making it near impossible to see each other all week, despite working across the street from each other. You'd passed him one night after closing, where he was bouncing outside of the Hideout, checking IDs and collecting covers.

He'd grinned at you, jogging when the line emptied, pressing you into a quick kiss. "I'll see you Sunday, alright? I'm off and so are you, and we can spend the whole day together. Whatever you want to do, sweet thing."

His promise had kept you going, pushing through the draining week until finally, it was Sunday. You'd woken up early, tidying the house and making sure everything was perfect for him; for Eddie. Not that he minded, he never did, but you wanted it to be perfect.

The two of you walked into your apartment, shutting the door before your neighbor, Mrs. Franklin, could scream at the two of you for being promiscuous again. Eddie's hand hadn't left you, smoothing down your back, entwining your hand in his, pulling you into his arms to kiss you again.

"So, what'd you have planned for the day?" Eddie asked, nose pressed against yours. "Wanna go to Starcourt? I think they're opening at one, but we could go look around. See if they had those shoes you wanted."

Your heart swelled, smitten that he'd remembered such a small detail you'd told him a few weeks ago. You sighed, contently, running your hands down his arms. "Mm, maybe not today." You hummed. "I was thinking we could stay in, together. I have some movies from Family Video we could watch. I got that new scary one you wanted."

Eddie smirked. "You spoil me, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Too good to me."

You blushed, giggling. "I'm just going to change. I don't want to be in my pajamas all day." You said, his hand still lingering with yours when you pulled him to your bedroom.

"So, how did your gig go last night? I'm sorry I couldn't come." You opened your closet, flicking through the racks, while Eddie sat on your bed, the springs creaking under his weight.

"Eh, it was pretty good. Pretty good crowd, too, all things considered." Eddie looked around, taking in your room like he hadn't been in there dozens of time. He looked at the pictures, smiling at the framed one of you and him on your night stand.

"That's great." You smiled, pulling off your pajama top, and tossing it towards the hamper. Eddie picked the picture up, going to wipe a smudge when he paused, eyes widening gently. "I'll be at the next one, for sure. I just-"

"Baby," Eddie's voice purred. You turned around, brows furrowed before your face dropped. Eddie's grin was wide and salacious, eyes darkened. "Whatcha got here, huh?"

You blushed, heart jumping when you saw what he was holding. Bright purple with a long handle; your vibrator. Something a friend got you as a gag gift for a birthday years ago, but a very handy gift; especially after long weeks like this past one.

You shifted, biting your lip softly. His eyes were expectant, lifting a brow for an answer. You shrugged. "I told you it's been a long week." You said sheepishly.

Eddie chuckled darkly, standing as he examined the toy in his hand. You shrunk when he crowded you by the closet, his looming figure tall and dominant. Eddie pressed the button, the vibrator coming to life with a soft buzz. His eyes flashed down at you, a wicked, wolfish grin that had your heart hammering and center pulsing.

"Are you supposed to play with yourself without asking first?" Eddie asked. Your face dropped, eyes rounding up at him. "Hm?"

You shook your head, Eddie caught your chin in his free hand, tilting his head towards you. "I didn't think so." He tutted. "And, I just don't recall you asking me, baby."

Your heart hammered, a shiver spilling down your spine. Your stomach twisted at where the conversation was headed. "I'm sorry." You whispered. "I just... I-I-"

"Uh-uh-uh," Eddie's fingers dug harder into your jaw. "You broke my rule. You know what that means don't you, baby?"

You nodded slowly, palms sweating and shifting on your feet. Eddie turned to toy off, nodding towards your bed. "Strip. Go sit on the bed for me."

You fumbled towards the bed, pulling off your bra and pajama pants, throwing them in the hamper. Eddie looked through your closet, seeing your belts, cute and stylish, hanging on a hook. He smirked, grabbing two. Since he wasn't at his trailer, he didn't have his usual cuffs and restraints, so he'd have to make do with what he could.

You looked at him, wide eyed and awaiting. Eddie sighed heavily, shaking his head at you. "Go ahead and roll over. Hand behind your back." You obeyed, flipping over and wiggling your hips into position, clasping your hands at the small of your back.

Eddie tied them tightly, looping the belt around them, securing them firmly before lifting your hips up higher. "Legs apart." He barked, hand falling down hard on your left ass cheek.

You yelped, rocking until your legs were apart, hoping he couldn't see how wet you were already. He could, of course.

Eddie sighed, running a hand from your hip down your thigh. "I was really hoping I wouldn't have to punish you." He said, smirking at the pathetic whimper that fell from your lips. "But you just had to go and be a bad girl, didn't you, baby?" His finger slipped into you with ease, relishing in the little gasp and moan that followed.

"Is that what you are? Are you a bad girl?" Eddie asked, index finger pumping slowly in and out of you, feeling your walls flutter and clench around him.

You shook your head, cheek pressed into your duvet, eyes pinched together in pleasure. "No," You whined, high pitch and airy, just how he liked it.

"Oh, yes you are." Eddie tutted.

"Nuh-uh, I'm not, Eddie, 'M not." You cried, tears flooding your water line when his finger curled, grazing your sensitive spot.

"Are you arguing with me, baby?" Eddie asked, his mouth right by your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You whimpered when he pulled his fingers out of you, hand grasping your hair, pulling you up so you were cheek to cheek with him.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson." Eddie whispered, leaving you shuddering at his words, hot breath tickling your neck. "Need to learn you can't be breaking my rules."

He let you go with a thud, falling back onto the mattress with a small cry. You moved your cheek to the side, hearing him stalk behind you. He picked up your vibrator, flicking it back on, the taunting buzz filling the room, making you throb.

"I'm torn," Eddie sighed, moving so you could see him, veiny hands grasping the buzzing toy. It made your mouth water. "I'm not sure if I should just not let you come, and just keep teasing and teasing you until I'm sure you've learned your lesson." Your heart dropped, lips quivering and whimpering at the threat.

He dramatically sighed again, looking down at the vibrator, examining it carefully in his hands. He was putting on a show, like when he was playing the part of the Dungeon Master or working the crowd at a show. Exaggerated.

"Or," Eddie looked at you, eyes dark and lust blown. "If I should make you cum over and over and over again until you're begging for me to stop."

Your legs clamped, shifting out of position slightly at the threat. Eddie's eyes narrowed, moving so he was behind you again. He bit his lip at the sight, your ass in the air, exposed and aching for him, at his mercy. He was hard, his bulge pressed uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

Eddie took the vibrating toy, running it on the inside of your thighs. Your legs quivered, shaking at the touch he was trailing on you. Your breath caught every time he got close to your center, letting the tip of the toy touch just the edge of your lips before trailing back down.

You whined, pathetic. Your body was on fire, on edge with the way he was teasing you. Eddie pressed a hand on your back, pushing your ass up further for him.

"Either way, I think I'll just use this little toy on you." Eddie purred, pressing the vibrator to your folds. You jolted, gasping and writing as it passes over your clit, sending shock of pleasure through your body. "Since you love it so much."

You moaned, loud, pornographic. The kind of moan that Eddie usually only pulled from you when he used his tongue on you, working you open while you tugged on his hair. His brows raised at the reaction, sliding it slowly up and down your slick center, barely pushing it in at your entrance before dragging it back down to your clit.

"Hm, you really do love this, don't you, whore?" Eddie asked, eyes trained on your pussy. You ground your hips closer, fists closing and white knuckled on your back.

Eddie laughed to himself, palming himself through his jeans. You could feel yourself getting closer, toes curling, hips writhing as you gasped, whimpering, moaning closer and closer until...

Your eyes snapped open, the toy removed, pulled back and still buzzing in Eddie's hand. You whipped your head back, eyes wide with shock, betrayal.

Eddie smirked, brow raised. "Oh, baby, you didn't think I'd let you cum that easy, now did you?" He grinned, watching your face crumble slightly, whining and wiggling against the restraints.

"I think I've decided," Eddie started, moving so his knee was propped on your bed, hand pushing the hair out of your face. "I don't think you deserve to cum." You cried out, lips wobbling and pouting. He could've busted right there, your pathetic, begging face. "Not that easily anyway."

He kept you like that for what seemed like hours. Teasing you with your vibrator, expertly toying with you, building up your pleasure, getting you so close just to rip it away, leaving you achy and needy.

You were sobbing, babbling and begging for him to let you cum. Eddie laughed darkly, vibrator pressed firmly against your clit, watching the sweat drip down your hair line, mixing with the tears spilling down your face. Eddie was enjoying himself, hearing you beg and cry, smug that he was the only one who could get you like this.

You felt it coming, closer and closer, you clenched around nothing, screwing your eyes shut. That white hot pleasure was building so close you were dizzy, then, just like that, taken away.

"Please," You choked on a sob, shaky, broken inhales racking your body. "Please, Eddie, I'll be good. I'll be a good girl, I promise."

"Oh? Just like you promised to follow my rules?" Eddie asked, shaking his head. "You're not too good on your word, baby girl."

"Yes, I am." You sobbed, shoulders shaking. "I am!" It was bratty and much more demanding than you meant it to be, but you were tired, and so, so desperate for him.

Eddie raised a brow, turning the soaked vibrator off. It was hot in his hand, the heat from your cunt mixed with the batteries working overtime. He set it next to you, and you sniffled, turning your head away from it.

Eddie grinned. "You sure you're a good girl?" He asked, teasing, mocking. Reaching for his zipper, he pushed down his pants, stepping out of them slowly.

You nodded furiously, eyes round and desperate; submissive. He'd finally gotten you where he wanted you. "Please," You whimpered, lower lip wobbling. Your eyes raked down his skin when he took his shirt off, lingering on his newest piece on his thigh.

Eddie hummed, pulling himself from his boxers before they slid down his legs. He pumped his length in his head, tip angry and red, already oozing pre-cum down the link. You licked your lips.

"I think that you are a good girl, deep, deep down inside." Eddie cooed at you mockingly.

His fingers wrapped around your arms, you'd lost feeling in, and freed them. You didn't get a chance to rub them long, before he had each wrist in his hand, pulling you towards him. You could feel his erection on your tummy, hard and prodding between you two.

"But I think you made a bad, bad choice." Eddie hissed, eyes narrowing. You whimpered when his hands tightened firmly around your wrist. "And you need to make it up to me. Show me you really are a good girl." 

You nodded, standing while he sat on the edge of the bed. You waited obediently, your eyes trained on his, until he opened his legs. You shuffled forward on your knees, eyes finally dropping to his length that was flush up against his tummy.

Eddie nodded at you, and you reached out, pumping the length of him gently, thumb circling his tip, spreading around his spilling seed. Eddie groaned, hips clenching to keep from bucking into your hand. This was your expertise, he'd decided. Using your soft hands and mouth all over him, working him until he was seeing stars. It was even better when you did it as a punishment, desperate and tedious as to make it up to him, regain his approval.

Your soft lips pressed kisses on the underside of his shaft, up and down the vein that was so prominent, down to his balls. You kissed them gently, nuzzling your nose into them, pulling a low groan out of Eddie's throat. He fisted the sheets of your bed, eyes closing and head tipping back.

Finally, you circled the tip of him with your tongue, hand rolling and squeezing his balls lightly, while you moved your head down, stuffing him deeply until your nose touched the hair on his pelvis. You breathed slow and controlled out of your nose, keeping yourself from gagging, swallowing him slowly.

Eddie moaned, ringed hands finding your hair, guiding you as you bobbed on his cock. He was in paradise. Your mouth velvety and wet, tiny gags pulling out of the back of your throat when his length touched it. It had his grip tightening in your hair.

He was embarrassed with how close he was. He'd been hard since the two of you started, cock throbbing and uncomfortable with every orgasm he pulled from you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, easy, baby, easy." Eddie groaned, feeling your lashes on his pelvis, nose nuzzling against him.

He pulled back on your hair, making you release him with a slurp. Eyes round and pleading, drool dripping down your chin. You knew better than to wipe it away, and deprive Eddie of seeing you so ruined.

Eddie smiled, leaning in to swipe at your mouth, spit mixed with his cum, gathering it on his thumb and pressing it into your mouth. You sucked on his finger obediently, eyes still on him.

"Hm," Eddie hummed with a sigh, long exhale out of his nose. "That was really good, baby." He smirked at the way your eyes lit up, posture straightening, his thumb still in your mouth, soft lips suctioning on the digit.

"You think you deserve to cum now?" Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side. "Think you can be a good girl for me? Learned your lesson?"

You nodded eagerly, and Eddie pulled his thumb away. He nodded at you, signaling he wanted a verbal response. "Yes," You said sweetly. You leaned forward, placing your hands on his knee, resting your chin on top of them. "Please? I'll be very good, I promise. I learned my lesson."

Normally, Eddie wouldn't allow you out of position, if it was a different scene. But the way your eyes rounded, begging and pleading, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Eddie couldn't resist.

"Fuck," He breathed, running a hand down your face, cupping your cheek.

Eddie put two fingers under your chin, pushing up until you stood. You started to get on the bed, when he stopped you, a grin on his face. "Nuh-uh, baby," Eddie shook his head. "I think if you want to cum, you gotta do it yourself."

You blinked, confused, before Eddie laid back, propping himself up on your headboard, arms behind his head. You pouted, face falling slightly. You were hoping Eddie would finish you out, pounding into you so hard, you were convinced he was in your brain. Instead, he wanted you to ride him.

Eddie nodded towards his dick. "Don't tell me you're surprised, baby." Eddie laughed, in a tone that made your cheeks heat. "You were such a bad girl, and you expected me to make you cum?" He shook his head, tsking at you.

"No, no, you're doin' the work this time, sweetheart." Eddie grinned at you.

You sighed, climbing onto the bed with shaky legs, straddling your thighs over each of his. The stretch was a little uncomfortable in your groin, but the aching between your legs was worse.

You planted your hands on either side of his shoulders, his hands going to your ass, spreading your cheeks apart as you sank down onto his hard length. You whimpered, closing your eyes at the feeling, head tipping back.

You sunk slow until you were filled, his tip hitting your spongey walls making you clench. "Fuck, baby, you keep doin' that 'm not gonna last." Eddie groaned, hands gripping the meat of your ass hard.

You swiveled your hips, grinding into the coarse hair at the base of him for some friction before lifting, slow and calculated. You got into a rhythm, nails digging into his shoulders while his roamed your body, your legs, hips, thighs, ass, waist, grabbing and gripping at anything and everything.

Eddie dropped his head into your neck when you slammed down, rocking your hips in a figure eight pattern that had you both gasping, moaning out. Eddie's hips started thrusting up to meet yours, and by the look on his face, eyes pinched and neck flushed, he was close.

You whimpered when your hips collided, knocking the sensitive spot in you that had you seeing stars. Eddie noticed, hips meeting again with another hard thrust that had you crying out, nails biting down on his shoulders, and velvety wet walls clamping around him. When you lifted up, Eddie's cock was covered in your creamy spend.

Eddie thrusted a few more times up into you, holding your hips up and guiding them back down as you came down from your own high, tired and sloppy against him. Eddie thrusted one final time before you felt the familiar warmth inside you.

Eddie grunted, cursing and groaning out your name, emptying himself inside of you. His orgasm was big, thick ropes shooting out into you, each one deeper and harder than the last. Normally he'd be embarrassed, hiding in your neck and muttering some kind of excuse, but this time he didn't care. It had been a long week for him too.

You collapsed into his chest, his heaving matching yours, kisses stamped along your hair line, hands roaming your sweaty naked bodies. He was still in you, softening with every breath he took in his come down.

"Did s'good for me, baby." Eddie muttered into your hair, clinging you close to him. "Always s'good for me. My good girl."

You flushed with the praise, warmth filling your chest in the post-orgasm glow. Eddie helped you to the shower, the two of you cleaning each other gently, sharing soft touches and kisses that left you giggly and blushing.

Eddie watched you rummage through your drawers, finding him sweatpants and a t-shirt he'd left over. "You still wanna watch a movie?" Eddie asked, shaking his curly ringlets out, rubbing the towel on them.

You nodded, slipping on your panties on still wobbly legs. "If you want to," You looked at him with a smile. "We can order take-out, too, if you want. Taty says the new Chinese place is really good. I've got a coupla menus in the kitchen you can look at, if you want."

Eddie nodded, grabbing your towel out of the floor, tossing it towards your bathroom hamper. You sat down on the bed, hissing before sitting up, moving the sheets to see what you sat on. Your face flushed when you lifted the vibrator, holding it in your hand as you turned to Eddie.

He smirked, arms crossing over his bare, inked chest. "Now, what are you gonna do with that, little lady?" He asked in a drawl that had you giggling and blushing.

You moved towards the bathroom, setting it on the counter. "'M gonna clean it, then it's going away." You batted your eyes at him. "Promise."

Eddie grinned, stalking over to you, resting an arm on the doorway above you. "Maybe we could use it again." Eddie suggested. "I'll use it on you, but in the way you like. Maybe tie you up, blindfold you, and see how many times I can get you to cum. Whatdaya say?"

You blushed, grinning so yours matched his. "I think that sounds like a pretty good night." You winked at him, setting it on the counter and shutting off the light. Eddie followed you down the hall, pinching your ass just to hear you squeal.

"Ya know," You started, hunched into your drawer to get the menus. "Some guys use vibrators too." You had a wicked smile on your face, one that had Eddie's mouth running dry. "Maybe I could use it on you next time."

It was Eddie's turn to blush, running a hand down his face to try to hide it as you slid him the menu, turning to grab him a beer out of the fridge.

A few weeks later, Eddie was back in your apartment, hands tied to your bed post while you worked the purple vibrator on him.

He was beginning to become more and more fond of the toy.

[celestialh4ven]

A Misunderstanding…

masterlist | Part one | part two

summary:

You and Miguel have been married for two years now, unfortunately for you he’s been a bit negligent after a few months after marriage. To keep your mind off of things you start to hang out more with a male friend you met at a coffee shop, soon Miguel realizes that you leave the house more and more to hang out with your friend and he’s now determined to make you his again.

paring: Miguel O’hara x Fem!Reader

cw: jealous!Miguel O’hara, Miguel is absolutely MASSIVE, passionate sex, smut, sexless marriage until now, slight misunderstandings - FLUFF, (SMUT in part two)

wc: 544 (it’s short Ik 😣)

—————————————————————————————

 “Buenos días, cariño,” “Buenas noches, mi amor,” “Did you eat today?” and “I’m leaving for work now.” Those are the only words you ever hear from him. You and Miguel have been married for two years, and although you wouldn’t call your marriage “loveless,” you have to admit that things aren’t going well. It all started when he resumed work shortly after your honeymoon. He began working long shifts and wouldn’t come home until late at night. You decided not to press him about it since he would usually return stressed and with a short temper. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years of him coming home late and leaving early in the morning for work. You were hurt. There were days when you tried to talk to him about it when he returned, but he would already be fast asleep before you could even speak a sentence. Eventually, you decided to keep yourself occupied to forget about your uneventful marriage, you were on a mission to find yourself a new friend.

A few months ago, you met a guy at a café. He approached you while you were sitting and drinking your usual, asking if he could sit there. You agreed, not knowing that he would soon become someone you spent more and more time with. He once flirted with you, but you declined and told him you were married. He immediately apologized, saying he didn’t know, and you continued your conversations as usual. You and your friend had a lot in common, apart from you being in a relationship and him being single. Both of you were bored, lonely, and in need of a friend to talk to and do activities with. Before you knew it, you found yourself waking up early to go on morning walks with him, going to the park in the afternoons, and taking nighttime strolls around the neighborhood. You didn’t think much of it since you weren’t cheating, and it seemed like Miguel wasn’t paying enough attention to notice. However, you were mistaken, as Miguel eventually became aware of your absence. He noticed you weren’t in bed when he came home, and he woke up to an empty bed with a note on the nightstand, saying, “Your lunch is in the fridge! Have a good day at work.” It bothered him that you were rarely home, but he never took any action, until he found out who was occupying so much of your time.

One day, he was opening the curtains, trying to let light in, when he looked down and saw you hugging a man who had given you something. You two walked off together into the distance. He was furious at the sight, but before he could do anything, he received a call from his coworker, Lyla.

📱(Lyla) — Hey Miguel, something urgent just came up. You might want to come check it out.

📱(Miguel) — Alright, I’ll be there in a minute.

He went to work, came back home late as usual, but this time he was awake. With his brows furrowed and arms crossed, he was ready to confront you about what he had seen that morning. Soon enough, you entered through the front door, smiling and laughing, until you fell silent upon seeing Miguel, visibly angry about something.

“Miguel?”

[majestyeverlasting]

A Sure and Steady Thing

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: A rainy evening in Hawkins sets your lake plans awry, but brings you closer together back at his place through a confession you didn't quite see coming.

Word Count: 2k

Features kissing and big feelings.

Relaxing into the passenger seat, you close your eyes and listen to the pattering rain. With how clear and blue the sky had been, doubting the weatherman hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d been wrong before, speaking of storms that never reared their heads. Except this evening, as dark clouds settled over Hawkins, that was far from the case. 

Eddie can’t keep up with all of the fat droplets rushing down the window but he sure does make a game out of it like when he was a kid. 

He doesn’t stop until he feels the gentle pull of you wrapping one of his curls around your finger. Wash day was two nights ago, so it’s still soft as silk. Curiosity glimmers in his eyes as he directs his gaze to your careful movements. 

You smile at him. “Remember when I used to do this in Mrs. O'Donnell's?” 

Halfway through senior year, the guy who sat behind him dropped out and you took his seat. Eddie had seen you around before, but only enough to offer nods of acknowledgement. The day you finally gave into the urge to play with his hair he didn’t tell you to stop. 

“You were in that class with me?” A smirk pulls at his lips. 

“Yeah,” you play along. “Had a big, fat crush that took you about five hundred years to see.” 

Chuckling, he looks down and begins turning one of his rings. 

Touching his hair expanded to drawing shapes on his back to passing cutesy notes. Somehow he’d still convinced himself that it was all some trick of the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t until you admitted your feelings straight to his face that he stopped holding back from expressing his. 

“I got there in the end, though,” he says as you uncurl your finger. 

Looking out the windshield, you can barely make out the line of trees before you. Let alone the trail that leads down a small hill to the lakefront. The rain showed no immediate sign of letting up, and there was only so much to do bound to a couple seats. 

“Maybe we should plan for another day,” you suggest.

“If you’re tired of sitting here with me, you could just say so.” If it wasn’t for the lilt in his voice you would’ve believed his sincerity.  

There’s fondness in your eyes as you meet his gaze. “When did I say that, hmm? Just don’t wanna be cramped in a van, is all.” 

His eyes flit down to your lips when you offer a sweet smile that’s convincing enough. The console creaks as he braces a forearm arm on it to lean closer to you. 

You melt a little when he presses his lips to yours. Your first kiss had gone something like this, just moments before he’d pulled out of the bustling school parking lot to drive you home. It was over before it began, rendering you both silent and grinning like fools under the spell of love. 

It was nothing like the kiss you shared now that was as sure and steady as the falling rain. 

There’s a tender depth to his eyes when you part. Like you’re staring straight through to an unbarred part of him that was just for you. 

“We take the long way home if you want,” you say. 

He smiles at that word. Home. 

With how often you found yourself at his trailer, it was just as much yours. Any place was capable of feeling like home when there was love within its walls. He found that out for himself the day his mom dropped him off at Wayne’s trailer with a trash bag, a suitcase, and wide eyes. He eventually wanted to go off and grow into another home with you. 

“What’s that look for?” You tilt your head. 

Instead of answering, he gives your chin a gentle pinch between his thumb and forefinger before starting up the engine again. 

•••

The streets of Hawkins are quiet and empty. Even more so than they usually are. By the time he pulls into Forest Hills trailer park, your hand has long been grasped in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze as he comes to a stop in front of his place. 

“On my count?” 

You nod, grabbing onto the door handle. 

“Three…two…one!” 

Both of you hop out of the van at the same time, weaving towards the front door. Warm raindrops immediately begin darkening your clothes and wetting your skin. Muddier parts of the ground give under your footsteps, but you’re careful not to tread too heavily. The wind picks up, thick with the sweet scent of the earth. 

You stop behind as Eddie as he pushes the key into the lockhole—or so you thought. They fall out of his grip and clink to the wooden steps as he curses. The first streak of lighting lights the sky, followed by a low rumbling of thunder.  

He snickers as he tries again. “Take two.” 

Both of you clamber inside this time around. Thankfully, it’s warm and you aren’t met with the chill of the AC against your wet skin. There’s an intimate promise in being back. Everything is just as you left it, your belongings mixed in with his and Wayne’s and almost blending in. You take off your shoes and leave them on the mat by the door. 

“I’ll bring everything in later,” Eddie says as he rubs the moisture on his arms. 

The shrill ring of the landline interrupts his next thought. 

“Hello?” he says upon answering. “Hey, Jess, what’s up?” There’s a curious furrow between your brows as you walk over to hug him from behind. 

When he peeks back at you, you kiss his shoulder. 

“And he just told you this today?...Yeah, no, I’ll be able to come in then.” You perk up in interest. 

“Really, it’s no problem, man. Shit happens.” Eddie looks down at your fingers as you slip them under the hem of his shirt, gracing over old scars. 

“Alright, see you tomorrow.” 

When he puts the phone back on the base, you make an inquisitive sound. 

“I gotta go into the shop early,” he tells you. 

Humming, you splay your fingers over the warmth of his stomach. “No staying up late then.”

A hard feat when he was with you. There were always more conversations to have, more kisses to share, another movie to watch. Time always escaped from you, if you ever had a grip at all. 

As Eddie turns around in your hold, you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“What now?” Your question is light. 

“I dunno,” he murmurs, drawn in again by your nearness and the sweet scent of your perfume. “I mean, I’ve got a couple ideas…”

You smile against his lips when they meet yours. 

It’s a feeling you get lost in, letting yourself sink and then rise up again. There’s a warmth that builds and builds, and because there is no place for it to overflow you have to contain it all. It’s the only type of burning that’s ever felt good. 

Eddie pulls away just long enough to lead you over to the couch. After he sinks down into the plush cushions, you straddle his thighs like they’re the best seat in the house. The weight of your body makes his head spin, and the way your chest brushes his as you lean in again makes him thirst like he’s gone without.

So he drinks and drinks and drinks more of you in.

For the longest time he swore the universe kept the sweetest things in life tucked away from him. Somehow you’d slipped through the cracks and found your way to him against the odds. 

A sudden gust of wind blows, and the trailer walls creek in a way that makes you pull away. As you take a look around, you realize the warm glow of the lights have disappeared. All that’s left is the soft natural light pouring in. 

Eddie watches the skin of your neck as you look everywhere but him. 

“Power’s out,” you note, voice thick. “Should we turn on the radio in case they’re saying anything important?” 

His hands squeeze your waist in what you assume to be an acknowledgement of your words. But it's really because you’re sitting so pretty with bright eyes and dewy lips. Turning back around to the sight of him staring so intently makes warmth rise to your cheeks. 

“There’s that look again,” you softly accuse. “What’s going on up here?” You tap your index finger against his temple before trailing it down under his chin, making him shiver. 

He purses his lips and shrugs.   

“Try me.” 

He squeezes your waist tighter, this time to stay grounded to earth. Outside, the storm begins to wane as if the universe is setting the stage for him. 

“You’re it for me,” he finally says. “There’s a bunch of stuff I haven’t done and a bunch of stuff I still need to learn, but I’m sure about you.”  

It feels like a garden begins to bloom within you, right down to the bone. 

Being sure about anything was a risk. It took the type of faith that asked you to walk blindly into the future, relying only on what you knew in the now. If he didn’t know anything else, he knew that life without you wouldn’t be half as worth living. The happiness you drew out of him was immeasurable day after day. He’d stopped trying to make sense of it. 

Wayne had warned him about a love like this one evening as they were looking through pictures of his late wife when Eddie was still a boy. He’d told him that one day somebody would come along and knock him off his feet in a way that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself—but in the best possible way. 

It sounded obscure at the time. Eddie didn’t want to fall or be forced to rethink anything. At eleven-years-old, he swore all he needed for the rest of his life was his guitar. Wayne had laughed at his nephew’s confidence, but still made him promise that when that type of love came around, he didn’t run from it no matter how much it terrified him. 

Eddie found himself running from a lot thereafter. All he seemed to do was run, and run, and run. It wasn’t until he officially met you in Mrs. O'Donnell's English class that he slammed on the brakes for one of the few times in his life. 

You lean forward until your forehead touches his. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” you whisper. 

Eddie laughs a little, overwhelmed. “Good to know we’re in the same boat.” 

He takes hold of your left hand and blindly runs his thumb over your ring finger. 

You were a couple of kids from Hawkins, Indiana, who’d seen the impossible, falling in love and drunk on the thought of forever—the world would’ve never thought. 

The storm has rolled out by the time the sun begins to set, and fleeting daylight cuts through the clouds in defined golden streaks. It looks like heaven has been cracked open over Hawkins. As the two of you take it all in from the front porch, you can’t help but suppose it has. 

Come the next weekend as you’re sitting beside Eddie on the shore of Lover’s Lake, you can’t take your eyes off the way your engagement ring marvelously catches the light. 

-

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