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upsidedownwithsteve · 7 months ago

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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance.

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy.

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless.

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one.

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death.

But it was closure.

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted.

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room.

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video.

It felt fresh. New. Clean.

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months.

At first, he dreamt of death.

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance.

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red.

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes.

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before.

It didn’t even really look like a gate.

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods.

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean.

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms.

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth.

Pomegranates.

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home.

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them.

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of.

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there.

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up.

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too.

He knew her. He knew her.

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before.

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you.

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it.

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap.

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came.

You were always alone.

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work.

Not yet, anyway.

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back.

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm.

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet.

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night.

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really.

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes.

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security.

Safety - an unknown feeling.

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place.

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too.

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it.

Then one night, he saw himself.

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked.

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up.

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm.

Safe.

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be.

Certainly not 1988.

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before.

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting.

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello.

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright.

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy.

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper.

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia.

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get.

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before.

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you.

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one.

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep.

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington.

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee.

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate.

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit.

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years ago

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"Okay." Danny muttered, "I have a small child. I can handle ghosts, gods and moms meatloaf. A child can't be that bad."

Only two weeks later he was proven wrong. So, so wrong. A baby required a lot of attention and as a runaway former vigilante trying to rebuild his life in a new dimention after neglecting it so long, parenting was much harder than it needed to be.

Probably didn't help that his little star seemed to enjoy screaming and would giggle at him whenever he got startled by them. Oh the joys of parenthood.

Danny had a test next Tuesday worth 80% of his grade and traveled to the Far Frozen to borrow the Infi-map to find the babies other parent.

He was not expecting them to be a vigilante too. Well, Danny was a former vigilante but he point still stands!

I don't know which would be better. Damian being an adult and having a pit demon declare him the father of thier unexpected clone baby or if the same thing happened while Robin is still tiny and very much not a responsible person to leave a baby with. So Batman gets a bundle of joy shoved in his arms instead. Danny doesn't even have to be an adult in this and I like the idea that batman sees a teen boy trying to raise a baby and Damian incredulously tells him, "Father, you are not adopting a pit demon!" Bruce later attempts to adopt a pit demon.

Either way Danny leaves with a cheery goodbye and says he'll be back in a week to pick up the kid.

Oh, and if anything happens to them." He grinned, showing off his fangs, "I'll rip out your lungs." And then he was gone, just like that.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #batman #robin #damian wayne #batfam #can be romance or crack #please be a crack fic

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milkmanxreader · 8 months ago

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１

"Isn't the new milk man just a dreamboat?"

. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

You hummed quietly to yourself as the feather duster swept over everything it could reach. Robert was out for his work, and you couldn't have been more happy. You liked when he was gone, after all. In the background, a phonograph played a slightly older, yet sweet tune. "Heartaches", by Al Bowlly. Robert didn't much care for the tune, but you found it simply darling.

A lot of the songs you had were a bit older, mostly from the '30s and '20s. But you could've cared less about the age of them.

Suddenly— a gentle, yet firm knock on the door shot you out of your thoughts. For a moment you fretted it was your husband, but he wouldn't have knocked. Upon realizing that it must've been the milk man, you sighed, making your way to the door.

The milk man was such a.. interesting man, broad shouldered, short. You opened the door— now who was this?

Instead of seeing the broad shouldered, short, blonde haired man who typically wore some grin standing in front of you, your eyes met with tired dark, dark brown eyes. He was a bit taller than you, with a long nose, a thin chin, and brown hair which was, mostly, covered by the hat you'd grown used to seeing. Only now on a different face.

Despite yourself, you had to admit the man was eye-candy. Face going a light shade of pink, you tilted your head to the side a bit, looking confused.

"Uh.. hello?" you said, though it came out sounding more like a question than you perhaps intended. The man jut out his arms, frightening you a bit. In his hands was the milk crate. "..Right!"

Although the silent man was.. seeming to be a bit odd, he was quite cute.

You took the crate, "So, stranger," you said, smoothing out the apron you wore with your free hand, "what's your name?"

The cute milk man stared at you expectantly, before speaking in a tired, drawn out voice.

"Francis. Francis Mosses."

He took off his hat and bowed a little, a gesture which caused your cheeks to flare a rosy red, and a giggle to escape from you. "I like your name," you complimented honestly. Francis nodded, murmuring a 'thank you'.

"I'm {Y/N} {L/N}." You introduced yourself with a growing smile. He put his hat back on, shot you a nod and without another word, walked back to his truck.

What a dreamboat.

Once the door was shut, you couldn't contain the big grin from forming on your face. Such a handsome, mysterious man— and you got to see him every day? Wow.

Yet again, supper was quiet. But you were in a better mood, a soft smile on your face as you stared down at the leftover meatloaf you'd reheated from last night. "How was your day, hon?" you broke the silence, albeit reluctantly.

Robert hummed, "Fine."

While part of you wanted to press on, have a nice conversation for once, you managed to hold your tongue. After all, you wanted to go to bed early instead of having a long argument, afterall— you had Francis to look forward to tomorrow.

Distantly you felt a sense of self-disgust. You were a married woman, yet felt excited by the idea of being around Francis. Perhaps not in some lewd way, but something similar, in a way.

You weren't sure if you had ever cleaned dishes so fast before now. Only twenty minutes you spent scrubbing before you pratically ripped off the yellow dish gloves and was racing to the downstairs bathroom— the only place Robert allowed you to have your "womanly" stuff. Face wash, lotions, ectera.

Surpressing a laugh of excitment, you quickly began your nightly routine, quite excited for tomorrow morning.

#francis mosses #francis #francis mosses tnmn #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor francis #francis x reader #tnmn milkman #x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt x you #tmnt x y/n

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stevesjockstrap · 9 months ago

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hallo hallo hallo, I am here to send you a prompt? If you’d like to do it? (You don’t have to, feel free to ignore this ask)

I feel like Steve would radio-in with everyone post-S4 after a nightmare or something, just to make sure he’s okay, but when he calls Eddie he sounds super upset by it even though he’s trying to play it off and act calm, and after Steve puts the radio away to go back to bed, Eddie goes “oh fuck no” and drives over to check on him in person?

Again feel free to ignore this, I was going to write it myself but I’m tired and have other fic stuff to work on so I thought I’d send it to you since you have requests open :)

have a good day 🩵

Hiiii 🖤 Thanks so much for sending this and for being patient with me!

Keep My Hands In Yours

• @stcreators event 05: dynamics whoops I forgot I was doing this

The ground shuddered under him and Steve looked frantically around at the group. “Move!” He managed to yell and leaped a few feet away, just as the dirt fissured under where he had been standing. Where they’d all been standing. He heard screaming and rushed back over to the edge, where Dustin was grappling to hold onto the edge of the crevice.

As he tried reaching for him, he turned into Robin. And then Max. And then Will. Their faces dirty, their eyes wide as they screamed for his help. As they lost their grip before he could reach for them and Steve screamed with them as they dropped.

Shooting up in bed, he was still screaming. His throat was on fire, his stomach in knots.

Knocking his lamp off his bedside table in his rush to grab for the walkie.

“All call check in. Repeat. Check in. Now. Over.” He realized when he heard his own voice that he should’ve waited another minute to calm down. Even to his own ears it sounded panicked and crazed. Oh well, as long as everyone responded he’d deal with their concerns tomorrow. His heart hammering in his chest, he waited for anyone to answer.

“Henderson clear. Over.” Dustin’s sleepy voice crackled through first.

“Wheelers clear. Over.”

“Sinclairs clear. Over.”

Steve paced his room as one by one they all checked in.

“It was a dream. It’s just a dream. They’re okay.”

“All good here. Steve, man, you alright? Over.”

A sob ripped out of his chest at Eddie’s question. After another long moment of trying to calm down, he knew if he didn’t answer he’d have everyone over here.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Uh all clear. Good night. Over and out.”

He threw the walkie onto his bed and went to the bathroom, running cold water to throw on his face and the back of his neck. Letting himself ignore the hot tears as they came.

Eddie stared down at the walkie for half a second after Steve’s shaky answer. Then he was shoving the blanket off of him and looking for pants on the floor in the dark.

He’d never heard him sound like that before. Even in the middle of the upside down he was confident, in control and solid. Something was wrong.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he went to their tiny card table to grab his keys and scribbled a note to Wayne. At Steve’s. Meatloaf in the microwave.

It wasn’t until he got in the van and saw the little blinking time that it dawned on him. Three in the morning. Steve must have had a nightmare. Called the check because it was a bad one and needed to make sure everyone was okay. He sped through town, cursing Steve’s parents in their Loch Nora cul de sac all the way on the other side of Hawkins.

He quickly parked next to Steve’s beemer and rushed to the front door, letting himself in.

The deathly quiet house sent a chill up his spine. He’d never really been here alone at night. Movie nights and pool days with the kids were never still or silent.

As he walked down the hall towards Steve’s room, he came out of the bathroom. He looked terrible. Face red and blotchy, dark circles under his eyes.

“Eds, you didn’t have to come. I’m fine,” he sighed, almost collapsing into the doorway.

“No you’re not.”

“Eddie… I-“

Closing the distance between them, he stopped his next lie with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Steve looked up at him with wide wet eyes and Eddie’s heart clenched. “D-do what?”

“Be the strong one all the time. You don’t think I have nightmares? Wake up screaming and look down surprised I’m not torn to shreds again? Huh? And I’ve only been through this shit once. You’ve-“ he reached out and took Steve’s shaking hand in both of his. “You’ve been strong for a long time. You can let it go now, okay? I’ll hold onto you.”

Steve let out a long breath and nodded, letting Eddie guide him back to his bed. This was new, but they’d been dancing around each other since Spring Break. Lingering touches and glances. Hurrying to look away before the other caught them.

Laying on their sides facing each other, their hands still laced together between them, Eddie watched as Steve’s shoulders finally relaxed from their protective hunch by his ears. His breathing slowed, but his eyes were still wide and never leaving Eddie’s face.

Taking the chance, Eddie slowly pulled their conjoined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. When he didn’t protest, he kissed across all of them before looking up into his eyes again.

“You take care of everyone else. But who takes care of you? All alone in this big echoey house.” He let go of his hand to push the wet droopy hair out of Steve’s eyes and off his forehead. Tucking the too long hair behind his ear, tracing down his jaw with his fingers. His gaze lingered on his lips, watching as they parted on a gasp.

“Eddie, please,” he breathed, so softly he may have missed it if he wasn’t staring at his lips.

“Anything sweetheart, anything you want.”

They searched each other’s eyes for a heart stopping moment before both moving at the same time. Eddie’s hands cradling the back of Steve’s head to angle his face up to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Steve was otherworldly. He could write dozens of songs about the way his lips move against his own. Eddie pulled him closer by his waist and felt his groan rumble through his chest. Softening their kiss, he pecked chaste kisses to his bottom lip then his jaw before pulling back.

Steve kept his eyes closed after Eddie pulled away. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Eddie to remember who he was kissing. He wanted to stay in this bubble, this perfect moment forever.

He received a kiss to his forehead and it shocked him enough to open his eyes.

“Hi.” Eddie was smiling softly, his lips red and wet. He looked so soft, Steve wanted to kiss him again.

“Hi,” he said, uncertainly. His throat was tight again, new tears threatening to spill over.

Eddie noticed, of course. “Stevie. Hey. What is it?” He cradled his face again, so gently, wiping the tears off his cheeks as they fell.

Clenching his fists in Eddie’s shirt, he could only hold onto him and cry as he let the fear and worry and despair wash over him. It was strangely cathartic, crying in front of someone for the first time in as long as he could remember. Usually breakdowns were saved for when he was alone in his car or the shower, where he’d not bother anyone else.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Eddie said lowly.

It sent a new wave of sobs through him. He found himself pulled against a warm chest, tears soaked up by a worn soft band tee.

When the sobs subsided, the sniffling and tears slowed to a stop, wordlessly they moved as one until Eddie was on his back with Steve’s head settled on his chest. Deft fingers played with his hair, soothing the last gnawing doubts in his mind.

He fell asleep listening to the steady beat of Eddie’s heart. Everyone was safe. And now so was he.

🖤

Title from Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, the bf has been listening to the album on repeat and this song is so steddie

#answered #mine #fic request #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #finntheehumaneater #Steve just needs so many cuddles

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0sincerelyella · 1 year ago

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Can I request one of Justin Herbert where you’re comforting him after a tough game, with lots of fluff, and it’s more of a night routine where they have dinner, watch tv, get ready for bed, cuddle! Thanks ☺️

I’m proud of you - Justin Herbert

Summary: Justin has a tough win, y/n will always be proud of him no matter what

notes: THIS IS SO EXCITING i don’t pay much attention to justin (being a bengals fan) but i do very much enjoy watching him play, so this should be fun:)

y/n turned off the TV with a sigh. she had just watched an absolutely devastating chargers loss. she couldn’t make it to the game, due to working late, and she knew it would take a toll on justin.

immediately y/n stood to start her after loss routine. knowing he’d be home in about two hours she began a quick meal.

she gathered every extra blanket in the house and sat them on their couch. she placed candles and the food on the coffee table. she grabbed his favorite pair of comfy clothes and set them beside the blankets, finally she put on his favorite movie, pressing pause, and awaited his arrival

when she heard keys in the door, she walked into the kitchen to greet him at the door. the door opened and justin tossed his duffle bag next to the door. “i’m home!” he called, a tired sound to his voice. y/n pulled him in a hug before he could even look up to see her. he smiled, taking a breath and instantly relaxing under her touch. “you did amazing justin, absolutely amazing im so so proud of you”

his hand rested behind her head and gripped her hair softly as he pulls her tighter into a hug. she knew he didn’t think so, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. he loves her and doesn’t want to hurt her “I love you” he whispers, rocking them side to side. “i love you too” she smiled, loving the hug. justin lifted his head, suddenly realizing there was a nice smell coming from the stove

“what is that smell?” he made his way into the kitchen with a happy smile on his face. “your favorite” y/n answered, holding his hand as he discovered a meatloaf in the oven, pieces already cut out of. “y/n, baby you didn’t have to” he looked as he was about to cry.

football meant a lot to him, he wanted nothing more than to bring his team to victory every game. but unfortunately it didn’t happen. the standard he held himself up to really hurt his ego sometimes. but every time without fail, y/n is at home, with his favorite food, his favorite clothes, and his favorite movie. she’s always there to take care of him, she’s his favorite girl.

justin grabbed the clothes off the couch and instantly changed like a kid ripping open a Christmas present. his smile got even bigger when he realized y/n was wearing matching pjs with his own. “oh my goodness” he said, picking her up and spinning her around in an excited happy manner. “i love you till the ends of the earth” justin held her so tightly, plopping them both on the couch.

“i love you justin, i love you so much it hurts” he kissed all over her face. y/n reached up to turn on the movie, high school musical, and they both leaned back on the couch.

justin held her to his chest as he recited the movie. he has seen this movie a million times and knew it like the back of his hand.

y/n traced hearts on his arms as she layed on his chest. justin kissed her head over and over in between every pause to sing the songs. justin stands up excitedly

“we’re sourin!” he pointed to y/n

“flyin” she started quietly

“there’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach”

justin picked y/n up and sang to her like some stupid cheesy romance movie.

even though he lost his game today, he had his girl right by his side. he could care less, win, lose, he did what he loved to do and he had the girl of his dreams.

after the movie was over, y/n yawned, curling into justin’s side. “tired?” he asked, looking over at his girlfriend. she shook her head, barely able to keep her eyes open.

justin laughed, scooping her up into his arms much to her protest. she wiggled around in his arms and giggled. “put me down!” he shook his head, and ran up the stairs. he sat her on the bathroom counter and kissed her forehead “get ready for bed” he said, walking away and shutting their shared bedroom door.

“justinnnn!!!” she called, slouching in a pouty mood. “brush your teeth!” he called, presumably busy with something unknown.

y/n did as told, brushing her teeth and washing her face, she put her hair up and ran to the bedroom door, knocking like a mad woman “justin! i’m done and i’m tired let me in” justin waisted no time in letting her in, and she was met with blankets apon blankets stacked on the bed in a cozy nest, her favorite cartoons on the TV, and her favorite stuffed animals in the nest.

y/n squealed, running and jumping into the nest. she cuddled herself into the blankets, leaving justin at the door. “your such a jerk” he laughed, crawling into the blankets with her.

“i love you sweet girl” he said, kissing her face

“i love you too justin” she smiled, “oh and,” she turned around to face him

she placed a kiss to his lips with a soft

“i’m proud of you”

#nfl fluff #nfl fic #nflying #nfl fan fic #nfledit #nfl imagine #nfl lb #nfl vlog #nfl players #nfl #nfl football #simone biles and jessica simpson… meet the nfl wags welcoming taylor swift to the team #nfl videos #nfl picks #justin herbert #los angeles chargers #la chargers #i’m a car whizz… ev chargers are a nightmare – motorists are inconsiderate and hog the spots

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

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Hob's little diner in the backend of nowhere is enough for him. He serves the locals and an occasional lost tourist. He makes comfort food that's not your typical meatloaf and mashed potatoes, wakes up early to bake the bread, and lives out back in a dinky trailer. He knows he's not necessarily a catch, but he's sure his person is out there and they'll find him in due time.

Dream just thinks he's lost on the way to an art show -- with 30lbs of sculpture in the back of his busted trailer. He tends not to like people or non-city spaces, but Hob makes him laugh?! and this whole small town place is making him feel creative!?

Oh these guys are FUCKING.

Hob is all flannel shirts and jeans with rips at the knees, and he's got all these little scars on his hands and crow's feet by his eyes. And Dream is all black jeggings and a nice crisp shirt, and clay under his fingernails. It takes them less than 12 hours to be tearing each other's clothes off in Hob’s claustrophobic trailer which actually rattles and rocks gently under their combined movement.

Hob has fucked a lot of men but never one who wanted to fuck him. He spreads his legs for Dream and wonders vaguely if he could keep him there. Those boney artist's fingers prying apart his hole, soothing muscles and brushing his prostate as soft as anything. Dream moves on top of him like the grass down by the sea: sinuous, one velvet body, shivering whenever Hob bucks his hips.

And it's really a shame that Hob doesn't get fucked more often, because he's so good. He blooms for Dream, comes apart on his cock and begs to be fucked again. It's a kind of neediness that Dream would die for.

Well, you know what they say. Men who make you laugh are the ones who steal your heart. And is there anything more inspiring than the nude form of your lover spread between your thighs? Dream could be staying in this town for a good long while...

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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slocumjoe · 2 years ago

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What about NSFW facts? About every companion?

He's being very popular lately so I'm eager to know something about Gage.

Actually, I posted a while ago that I wanted to do more risqué stuff. I got, like, 6 different people screaming DO IT DO IT DO IT, and now I have you, and a handful of other people going 👀 where is it👀 wheres the nsfw👀 you said you would 👀

Lol. Enjoy your Gage content.

Warning; you can probably pinpoint which companion i...think about more...

Cait; Mostly a top, will power bottom however. Her partner is in danger while going down on her. Those legs are weapons. You're very brave. Will find lingerie for her partner regardless of gender. Tits are tits and she found a cute bra for yours. Give her a strap on and she'll put a baby in you through sheer will. Has a kink for, oddly enough, knight/princess shit. She likes the idea of a chivalrous knight (her) saving a beautiful, dainty princess (Sole, regardless of gender) from a dragon (deathclaw) and taking them to a marriage bed (fucking on a bench out of nerves and triumph).

Curie; Curves for days. Girl is stacked. You need a snorkel to faceplant in her tits. Finds medical roleplay deplorable, but...she likes a uniform...and there is something sexy about handcuffs...Most likely to wear lingerie behind [REDACTED]. She's great with her hands but doesn't understand that a prostate is a delicate organ and needs to be used sparingly. Forget stars, you're gonna see alien civilizations. If she learns what a titjob is, RIP. Down for anal.

Danse; Submissive, service top, pillow princess bottom. Moans like a pornstar. Extremely sensitive chest. If you boss him around as soon as you'll praise him, he's not going to last long. Really into being tied up. Most likely to cry during sex. He's touchstarved, he's lonely, and he's eager to please. Blushes at the slightest mention of sex or kink. Still nods and goes along with whatever you want. Overstimulation and edging kink. Not into roleplay, but especially can't get into roleplay that involves inappropriate workplace relationships or otherwise dubious consent. If a cop/doctor/knight ever did that, they should have been fired. That's completely unacceptable, there's no way that could be– [muffled sounds of Sole kissing him to shut him up]

Deacon; Most likely to wear lingerie. Does it as a joke until he realizes Sole is actually into it, unironically. Does some crazy things with his tongue, could tie together a whole ass fishing net. Really sensitive thighs. Fav position is anything partially standing. Not quite wall-sex, like...kind of half-over a desk, or leaning against a counter. Not into spontaneous sex, likes to plan ahead. I've said before, big on roleplay, and he needs to have a script ready. Open to all kinks except 69ing, not even for the bit. Gets nervous about the idea of both of them being in anyway gagged, or otherwise silenced. Also...he's a biter....so maybe not the safest...

Gage; Moan in his ear and you can forget walking for a week. Very...auditorially motivated. Is that a word? It is now. Has a thing for chubbier people. Raiders are lanky, walking skeletons or roided up meatloafs. There's no softness to them. So some flab, anywhere on the body? You can bet he's gonna sneak some feels whenever he can. Gage is a thigh guy. Usually pretty dominant, prefers having control, but like...if you push, he's folding. What, he's gonna argue, say no, you can't ride me into the sunset? Will never admit, but if, for whatever reason, his partner laughs during sex, he's fucking smitten. It just...does something to him.

Hancock; Give him oral and he'll melt. Eats ass/pussy like a man starved. The skin feels really weird. Knifeplay kink, blood kink, really into 'dangerous' roleplaying. Public sex is also a yes. Swears up and down he used to have an ass. He did not. Swears up and down the ghoulification made his dick bigger. It did not, was already that size. Has a thing for deep voices. Carries so many condoms on his person because he doesn't want to irradiate any partners. Has a soft spot for sitting positions. Has a hard spot for BDSM. Said it before, but way too into dirty talk. It...gets weird...

MacCready; Ultimate jack-off material is a fantasy of riding the Silver Shroud, back to chest, while the Mistress of Mystery rides him. But he did have a pretty intense crush on KL-E-O for a while...mostly because it had been a while, and she's outwardly flirty...had nothing to do with the build of Assaultatrons. Totally. Nope. Not even a little. Gravitates towards shorter women and taller men. Also has a thing for dark hair and eyes, less attracted to other blondes and other blue-eyed people. Noisy as shit, will bite his lip bloody to keep from cussing. Doggy style is his favorite position but good luck getting him to admit that.

Nick; Again, needs gloves. Dickless, his only option is hands. Lacks a tongue. At least, a...pleasurable one. Begins viewing nice gloves as a kind of lingerie, since they're more visually appealing to his rubber glove and oven mitt. Sex with Nick is a challenge. Also auditorially motivated. He doesn't have anything else. Used to like oral and—bizarrely—pet play. Used to have a sensitive belly and neck. Now, Nick has some wires that give him an interesting jolt when tugged on. Recommended only for the robotically inclined...then again, you wouldn't be here if you weren't, huh?

Piper; Is a loud and proud tit woman and isn't afraid to say it. Will snap necks getting too into face-sitting. Really enjoys having the reigns, actually. Her hips move on their own accord, you may as well sit back and let her body do as it pleases. Ultimate sexy fantasy is...something she's really embarrassed about. The idea of hooking up with a best friend who's already taken, but by a shitty partner, really appeals to her. Will never admit this, God forbid act on it. Semi-public, we-could-get-caught sex is also thrilling. Also a biter and scratcher.

Preston; Weak for shoulders and collarbone. Also, prominent veins. Had a hoe phase when he first joined the Minutemen. Everyone who would know is dead now. Isnt sure he prefers it that way. Likes his partners face-down. A lot more bossy than you'd expect. Pretty vanilla, but shower sex is such a turn on, you'd think it was some deep, dark fetish. Can keep you up for hours without losing stamina. He takes his time with his partners, really explores them and what they like. People who go to bed with always want a second encounter, then a third, a fourth, so on. Shame most of them are dead. Could probably take over Goodneighbor with one 'night on the town.'

X6-88; Throwing my Ace headcanon aside for now. A sexually interested X6-88 is a wildcard. Considers the act a test of physical capabilities. He's a courser. He loves his physical capabilities being tested. Every single time is...more than the last. He wants to get a better grade, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. First time is standard, the 50th, God knows where you'll be. You might be fulfilling the fetish fantasy of a pre-war basement dweller whose computer X6 read through one time. The activity he most enjoyed took 6 hours of edging and every comic book Sole had collected up to that point. Fun fact; Sole can't read with something inside them. X6 finds this strange—he's had knives and bullets inside him, and he could read just fine. Maybe it's a courser thing.

He's curious, not kinky. That might be worse than kinky.

#fo4 #fallout 4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #piper wright #nick valentine #x6-88 #robert joseph maccready #companions react #hancock #porter gage #for the one codsy fan in the back; the flamethrower is shaped like a dick. maybe could be used like one

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just-another-busy-fangirl-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Meet-The-Boyfriend, Sterek, 100w, teen [AO3] @sterekdrabbles 11/10/23 (poke, puncture, hat)

“I can’t go to dinner like this,” Derek growled.

“Well of course not - change out of those bloody, ripped clothes. Then you’ll be right as rain!” He poked Derek in the stomach with a smile, trying to get his boyfriend to smile back.

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly. “I won’t be fully healed. I don’t want to bleed on our meatloaf.”

Stiles looked at the puncture wounds still oozing on Derek’s neck and head. “You could… wear a hat?” Derek glared. “Or we tell Dad the truth. We can’t cancel - this is the meet-the-boyfriend dinner!”“He’s already met me…” Derek grumbled.

#sterekdrabbles

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rodolfoparras · 2 years ago

Text

Thinking about how Soap would never outright confess to you.

He likes you and he knows (hopes) you like him too. He’s funny, charming and handsome. What’s there not to like? (everything according to Gaz but he has no say in this) However, you two have yet to confess your feelings to each other, and truth be told Soap expects you to bite the bullet first.

The bullet must be thick as shit because woho boy is this taking too long for his liking.

So rather than doing the logical thing which is talking to you about it, he instead conjures up the great plan to make you jealous. He’s never seen you jealous before so he doesn’t know if this will work but he’s also never tried to make you jealous before. What could go wrong? (Everything if you ask Gaz but Soap has made it his mission to ignore the man)

He squishes down any doubts he might have a sets this great plan into motion.

However he quickly learns this plan is doomed to fail and Gaz has to bite his tongue so that the words “I told you so” don’t slip past his lips.

At one point he’s on the verge of ripping his Mohawk out because why aren’t you paying attention while he’s getting chummy with another soldier (sure you have to make sure the recruits you’re responsible for don’t shoot someone’s head off but still!) and why do you barley react when he mentions the name of someone back home (sure he may be talking about his pets or intimate objects here but you don’t know that) and why are you comfy with people feeling all upon him (sure they’re medevacs and he’s injured but hey how can you be so calm with their hands on his chest?)

But weeks pass and nothing has really happened. He’s starting to have his doubts and they only grow when you’re one day sitting with 141 in the mess hall and out of nowhere mention this one friend from back home. You had received a package from them and there’s no hiding how ecstatic you are about it. On top of that most of the conversation is about this friend and the fond memories you have with them.

Soap is quiet, unusually quiet; head in his hands and playing around with the food on his table (more than usual). Gaz nudges him subtly and gives him a look as if asking if he’s okay. Soap just shrugs in response and goes back to playing with what he thinks (hopes) is meatloaf.

You do notice he seems a bit off though especially when you’re going back to your rooms but when you try to talk to him about it he just shrugs you off and shuts the door in your face. You just chalk it up to him having a bad day and decide to give him space. But the bad day doesn’t last for 24 hours, instead it lasts for a whole week.

People think you look like two dejected puppies walking around on base but for some reason you refuse to talk to each other?

One more longing look from the two of you and Gaz is smashing his face in so he decides it’s time to step in, corners the both of you, shoves you into some storage room until you have resolved your issues.

There’s no use arguing, Gaz won’t let you out til you have resolved this so you decide your only option is to talk.

“So…”

“Soo..” he parrots back to you.

“How have you been?”

“Good” he says, while rocking back and forth on his heels.

“That’s good” is all you manage to conjure up in reply. You don’t know what else to say and he doesn’t look like he wants to talk anyway but all of a sudden you hear him say

“So how’s your friend?” He’s not meeting your gaze and you fear that if he keeps up with his rocking motion he’ll tumble over. “My what?” You say confusion dripping from your tone but your hand has subconsciously found its way to his shoulder in hopes of preventing the fall that’s bound to happen.

He stops his rocking motion, gaze falling to the floor and this time he speaks in a much lower tone “the one that sent you the package”

“Oh! Good..? Why-“

“Do you like them?”

You momentarily blink at him before you find the words to respond “w-what?”

“It just seems like you like them -“

“What? No! I like you!”

“What?” Now it’s his turn to be surprised, not only that but he almost falls back and you quickly grab onto his waste to hold him in place.

“I thought it was clear ?”

“Well you- you never got jealous when I talked about someone else or when I hung out with that one soldier or- “

You’re silent as you think back at all those moment that you had brushed off as friendly interactions and innocent mentions.

“Well I didn’t see why I should be jealous when I know I’m the one you like” you say, plain and simple.

He’s blushing, absolutely burning head to toe and he thanks everything under the sun for the weak bulb light because he probably looks like a tomato “o-oh alright”

His hands subconsciously raise to cover his face but before he can do so you grab onto them. Although you chuckle at his shy reaction you cant help but melt while looking at him. He looks up at you under those long lashes, cheeks flushed and eyes glimmering and you think that he just looks so pretty. “Can I kiss you?” You ask him. He has the mind to straight up rip out the light bulb because there’s no hiding how red he is. However all those thoughts dissipate when he sees the anticipating look on your face, the way your gaze shifts between his eyes and lips and the way you’re now standing a tad bit closer to him. “Sure “ he says, swallows hard before his lips meet your own.

“Thank fuck” you hear Gaz’s voice through the door. You even hear the celebratory sound of a fist hitting the door before he leaves the two of you alone.

“We’re still locked in..”

#john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x Reader #John soap mactavish x male reader #call of duty #alec writes #this turned out so long #see I never stop #rambling #anyway once again Male Reader ISNT specified but I am #writing it so yes it’s male reader #big kisses

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aliypop · 9 months ago

Text

I'm Coming Home

Word Count: 1,051

Writers Note: I had this idea while I was at work

Warning: Language/ SMUT

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: March 8th, 1960, the biggest arrival that Cecelia could wish for, but with tension and high stress she almost misses the G.I. she'd been waiting for

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

@your-nanas-house

@zayurir

@60svintage

@sillybookmarks

@leapresley

@everythingelvispresley

@dreamondina94

@elvismylove04

@pocketfulofpresley

March 8th, 1960, Graceland

"Carlotta, did you put the punch on the table?" Cecelia asked as she nodded. They'd been up for two days prepping for a surprise welcome-back party for Elvis,

" Rosa. Midge, did you get the Guitar cake?"

"Shit..." Midge sighed,

"Please get that cake, it's important!" Cecelia sighed. She had made every dish on the table thus far with the help of her mother, Delta, Minnie, and others in the house, "Where do you want the balloons?" Denise asked as Cecelia smiled, "By the door." walking back towards Vernon's office to check on him, she couldn't help but hear his phone call. He'd been busy with the press lately, but this was different.

"I'm happy he's back, but If he didn't go, he wouldn't have killed his mother the way he did..." Vernon said as if a knife twisted in her heart. Cecelia was there the day Gladys took her last breath, and she was there when Elvis cried endlessly. When Vernon looked over, he saw Cecelia, who had a worrying look in her eyes,

"I'll call you back... Say, Cecelia, how can I help you,"

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Presley, I came to check on you. However, while I respect you as my future father-in-law, let's not forget I'm protective of your son, so if you even think of that bullshit of Elvis killing Gladys at the party, I will rip your kneecaps out and beat you with them do we have an understanding?" Vernon gulped and nodded as he looked at Cecelia, "Good, now Papa Vernon, where do you think the Meatloaf should go?" She asked as he stuttered. After a while, the guests started to pool in, and Cecelia made sure everyone was okay and comfortable, "May I have your attention?" She said as people turned to look at her. "Thank you. Uh, I want to say once again thank you all for coming. Though before we get started, a few rules," She said as everyone sighed. Her mother was proud that she sounded like a hostess. And soon-to-be wife,

"One, no mentioning Mrs. Presley, he's still grieving, and it's a soft spot. Two, no industry talk he's readjusting, and three, please be civilized!" She said as she took a deep breath, "Okay, you may now all continue," Cecelia could hear the fans from outside the gates cheering as she slithered into the kitchen to check on the pies and the cakes. She hadn't noticed everyone fleeing to the car outside. Because she was too focused on everything being just right for Elvis,

"Alright, Pie over here and cake...Who took a slice out of my..."

"I might've..." That southern accent made her heart race as she looked up at him, "ELVIS!" Cecelia tried to hug him as he gestured to the pastries, "Oh, right..." Setting them down, he picked her up and spun her around,

"I was supposed to yell surprise and then-" Elvis kissed her as he pulled away slowly,

"Cil... It's perfect, " He kissed her nose and she blushed,

"You think so. I made all your favorites, a-and, shit the cake!"

"The guitar one?" He questioned as her blood pressure went down, "That was clever," He winked as he pulled her closer, "Oh Elvis, look at you all handsome an whatnot." Delta said as she ruffled up his hair. Elvis laughed as he chuckled, "Come mere, you got family who ain't seen you since you know..." She looked at Cecelia and winked. Cecelia laughed, watching her G.I. go around the house as if he were a bouncing ball, "So...You excited?" Midge asked,

"About what?"

"Getting married."Cecelia looked at Elvis, her lip between her teeth, focusing on how he moved in his uniform,

"I take that as a yes..." Midge laughed as Cecelia watched Elvis walk towards her,

"Cece, can I uh see you for a second?"

"Sure thing, sugar."Taking him by the arm as they walked toward the kitchen. Elvis pinned her against the wall as he kissed her deeply with a firey hunger,

"El...Here..." Cecelia blushed,

"Would'ja prefer the stairs..."

"Mhmm..." The two ran up as far as they could so no one could see them. Elvis lifted up the skirt of her dress as he removed her petticoat, pleased at the fact she was wearing pantyhose,

"Planning for this, huh..."

"I don't know what you mean..." She smirked as he slipped in a finger. A sigh left her lips as her body shivered,

"Oh, you don't..."

"Elvis..." Cecelia's eyes were hazy as he smirked. She heard his belt unlatch as he whispered, "Hold on, darlin," Cecelia held onto the railings as she felt him slip inside her, her knees buckling from the two years without him inside her,

"Mmm, I missed you..."

"I missed you too, El~vis..." She gasped as she felt him move a little,

"God, I missed this..."Elvis groaned in her ear as she nodded. His hips began to pick up the pace as her moans were stifled,

"I wanna hear you, baby..."

"But what about-"

"Who cares..." He began to reach deeper inside her as she let out a loud, whining moan. Her body yearned for him in need. And in want, as she turned to look at him, his lips on her neck leaving love bites as she gasped. He had missed how wet and warm she felt and the sounds she'd make with every thrust,

"Oh! Oh!Oh!" Cecelia began to rub her clit as she felt herself getting closer. Elvis was almost there. He could taste it. He could feel just how tight her walls were gripping around him and nearly trying to drain him dry. He needs one more thrust, one more-

"HEY E YOU UP ..."

"Uh..." Cecelia and Elvis looked like deer in headlights as he pulled out. Elvis turned to face the wall as he zipped his pants back up, and Cecelia flattened out her dress.

"Joe, how've you been..." Elvis coughed

"What were you two doing..."

"Uh... resting..."Cecelia smiled,

"Mhmm... Well, your dad's lookin for ya."

"We'll finish this tonight," Elvis whispered as Cecelia nodded,

"Welcome home, Elvis." She kissed him,

*Bonus*

"You know tanks, rock and roll quite a bit." Elvis laughed as Cecelia watched from outside Vernons' office. She was happy to see him home where he belonged,

#oc #fanfiction #new stuff #new #romance #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #1960s #60s elvis #army elvis #cecelia valmos #elvis smut #Spotify

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