#thank you op this is glorious

[ariadne-mouse]

@outquisitor I hope you're pleased with yourself. I know I am.

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

PERFECT

*FKGHDYTUUU I CAN'T-*

What if Higgs takes off the Amelie mask and there’s no tattoos or eyeliner and he’s got eyebrows. He’s just normal.

And Sam knows something is different but he can’t put his finger on it because he’s clueless to everything else.

[daniclaytcn]

.

[only-luce-the-goose]

The Prank

A/N: my first formula fic!! My requests are open if you have someone you want me to write for!

Arthur Leclerc x Norris Reader

Trope: Dumbasses (best friends to lovers)

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, nothing else really

This is based of something I was on Twitter (I refuse to call it X): person a says “I came up with a good prank”. Person b asks what it is, a says “we should kiss”. B says “I don’t get it”, a says “imagine them walking in to see us kissing and just being like “WHAAAAAT??” B says “oh, that’s hilarious. We totally should”

Synopsis: You and Arthur have been best friends since he saved you from a bully when you were kids. You grew up in the Leclerc household, so they knew you very well. You followed Arthur around the world for his racing career. You guys had been given the nickname "Terrible Two's" for all the pranks you pulled around the paddock. Sometimes you pulled them on each other, sometimes you teamed up and pulled pranks together but there was one prank that really topped off the rest of your pranks.

"Y/N!!!" Arthur shouted from the shower in your shared bedroom. He walked out as you hit record on your phone, filming as he appeared. He had his towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist, his hair was dyed a deep red with remnants of the dye dripping down his chest. "Seriously?" he scolded "I have to go to the Ferrari pit tomorrow and my hair is bright red!" You could see the fury in his eyes as you laughed. "Yeahhhh, you're gonna be matching the cars". He crossed his arms over his muscly chest and scowled "Stop filming me, idiot" you rolled your eyes and chucked "Whatever, moron" you said as you stopped recording. You posted it to your story, with the caption "Ready for @ scuderiaferrari tomorrow!" and tagged him in it.

You heard Arthur's phone buzz from the vanity in the bathroom as he headed back in to dry off. You stood up to pack up a bit from your day, getting as ready as you can for tomorrow. This time he came out in a pair of checkered sleep pants, saw you stand up in front of your suitcase and lunged at you, tackling you into the bed. You shrieked as he started assaulting (tickling) you. "St-st-op Art- arty" giggled out. "You turned me red, then posted it for the whole fucking world to see. You deserve this" After successfully kicking him onto the floor, you noticed your phone vibrating in your pocket.

You swiped accept on the call as you answered "Ah, my favourite Leclerc brother. What can I do for you Charlie?" You heard Arthur shout and "Oi" from the floor, making Charles laugh. "I just needed to see Arthur's hair" he grinned. You flipped the camera around and showed a Shirtless, red-haired Arthur lying on his back on the ground. Charles burst out laughing "good to see the support, brother" he got out in between laughter. "I'll leave you to whatever you're doing, y/n. Thank you so much for Arthur's hair" he chuckled as you said goodbye and he hung up. You leaned over the side of the bed, making eye contact with the boy on the floor "wanna get Charles tomorrow?" you asked him. "The day I say no is the day the world ends" he replies. You laughed as you rolled under your covers, Arthur standing up and getting into the bed next to yours, agreeing to come up with the prank tomorrow.

I was lying awake in bed, I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was how Arthur came out of the shower earlier, his glorious torso on display, towel so low you could see his v-line. All I wanted to do was go over and kiss him silly, he’s so hot when he’s cranky. My crush on his has lasted years and he has no idea. I couldn’t ever tell him, it would ruin our friendship and I don’t ever want to lose him. If we’re friends forever then so be it. I put my earbuds in and put on a good playlist, drifting off to my favourite song.

I woke up the next morning with a crushing weight on my chest and hair tickling my nose. It wasn’t until I felt the fingers tickling my ribs thats I started wriggling around, trying to get the giant on my body. “Arty what the fuck” I grumbled “I was having a really good sleep you prick”. He chuckled and rolled off me, lying next to me a pulling me body into his. I looked up, nearly bumping his nose with mine. I was really hoping he couldn’t feel how fast my heart was beating. “We have a prank to plan”

After you finished getting ready, you hopping in the car with Arthur and headed towards the paddock, brainstorming pranks in the car. “I came up with a brilliant one” Arthur tells you. “Ooo what is it?” My curiosity peaked. We haven’t been able to think of any good ones for Charles all morning. “We should kiss” he said nonchalantly. If I had a drink I would have choked on it, instead I stuck to internally freaking out while my heart started beating out of my chest. “Umm what? I don’t get it. How is that a good prank?” I stutter.

Arthur laughs “just think about it. He walks into his drivers room to find his younger brother and childhood best friend making out, our hands all over each other. You could sit on my lap and we could really go to town, Charles would walk in and freak out. He might even faint!” It hurt a little to think that Arthur only wanted to kiss me for a pranks, but there ain’t no way I’m passing up and opportunity to kiss my crush, even if it isn’t supposed to mean anything.

“Ohhh I get it, that’s would be fucking hilarious. We just have to time it really well and make sure no one sees us go in there” I add on. Arthur agrees “that’s it then, the perfect prank” I chuckle at his declaration. We pull up the paddock, scan our passes and make our way in, making small talk with people but never straying too far from each other.

We saw Charles doing some media before he needed to go in and change into his fireproofs and race suits. I tapped on Arthur’s and should and pointed at his brother, explaining my thinking. I agreed and we rushed inside the Ferrari garage, making our way to the drivers room. I hung around the front of it, keeping an eye out Charles so we could start making out at the perfect time.

A huge group of people made their way, signalling that Charles was moving closer. You could hear him and Carlos talking about the track as they came closer. I quickly slipped into his drivers room, finding Arthur already sitting on the bench. I walked over to him as he patted his lap, “hang on” I semi whispered. I could hear that Charles and Carlos had stopped walking, they couldn’t have been too far from the doors. Once I could hear Charles getting louder I looked back at Arthur, “you ready Arty?” I asked. He nodded and pulled me into his lap.

I moved me knees to go on their side of this body, my right hand slide to the back of neck, sliding my hand though his hair and I grabbed a handful of his fluffy hair. My left hand sling around his broad shoulders. His left hand dipped under my shirt to hold my waist, his other hand wound around my neck. He offered me a kind smile as he used the hand around my back to guide me towards his lips.

It started with small pecks, quickly moving to Arthur slipping his tongue into my mouth, exploring while he got the opportunity. Moved myself closer to him, gripping his hair harder which caused him to let out a low moan. I heard the door to the driver room open as I kept making out with my best friend. The hand around my neck moved to ass, moving me to grind on him a bit.

Charles and Carlos stood in the doorway, dumbfounded before Carlos turned to Charles and said “told you they had a thing for each other, cabrõn” and walked off. Charles stared at his friend as he walked off. He looked back at us, still making out as he walked in. He slammed the door shut, making us jump. “What the fuck is going on? Why are you making out? Why are you doing it in my drive room? Oh my god I need to sit down” he rambled.

I got off Arthur as we started cackling, Arthur turned to me and said “told you it was a good prank, he’s absolutely freaking out” I laughed and looked back at Charles. He looked at us like we just old him Santa wasn’t real. “Wait, this is a prank?” He asked as we nodded “I thought I wouldn’t have to listen to Arthur whine about you anymore y/n but this is going to make it so much worse” I was about to ask something when Arthur grabbed my arm and dragged me out.

Once we got outside the garage I stopped Arthur. “Hang on, Arty. Just stop for a second” he stared at the floor. “What did Charles mean when he said you were whining about me?” I asked him. He tried to deflect the question and walk off. I grabbed his hand, turning him to me and lifting his head the make eye contact with me, asking my question again.

Arthur sighed, putting his hands on either side of my face and kissed me. It wasn’t desperate like the previous make out. It was slow and loving. “I don’t really know to say this, now that Charles has outed me, but I’ve liked you for years. The more than best friends kinda like. The reason I came up with that kissing prank was to get the chance to kiss you, even if it is supposed to be to mean nothing.”

Arthur kept rambling, struggling make eye contact. He looked at him, then smashed your lips into his “I like you more than I best friend should too. I have for years” you smile against Arthur’s lips as he kissed you.

[elodieunderglass]

To be fair to Jack Glass, an AI facemorpher app was never going to produce someone with any kind of alternative or queer energy whatsoever. It's just not how they're trained. I mean, that haircut is not a reflection of Elodie + T, that is the haunting spectre of ~60k random white guys whose data they scraped off Facebook to make the model.

Right fine FINE since we feel so strongly about the sheer provocation of poor old guysona Jack Glass let’s HAVE HIM BACK FOR A MOMENT, let’s chew on him SOME MORE, with his PODCASTER FACE APPARENTLY !!!!! Christ!!!!

MmmmmMMM I think , with all the love for humanity in my heart, that no matter how hard we might try to scrungle him, this is just A Good Man. it is A Good Man of a different species to myself. but ecosystems are beautiful and balanced places; full of things that are not my business, natural wonders that don’t need my opinion, and mysteries beyond my power to plumb. WHATEVER, it’s FINE. Am I not the first person to fight for the rights of the Bob? Do I not myself champion that there is no such thing as “looking queer” ? Have I not said before that such beliefs damage our whole community and hurt our people?

Nobly did I stand for the rights of the Bob, but I had not considered that but for a twist of the sliders, I was also capable of being a Bob all along!!

(Also I was kind of doing a bit, since the point of OP’s post was a celebration of trans people who are having a damn good time leaning into their inner Bob, as everyone should.)

However, the lessons that Jack Glass has to teach us are many, and one of them is: if a dark mirror showed you that inside your bi bitch self there was a guy who was, detectably, some sort of straight-looking guy with a DnD podcast and the ability to reverse parallel park as well as opinions on loading the dishwasher: can you be chill? Can you face up to the fact that a different brow line would simply make you appear extremely opinionated about fly fishing? And if not, why? Ultimately I do feel that I can be chill, with room in my heart for my inner Jack, even as I lay facedown on the floor thinking about how i BET he does his own oil changes. and that was the spirit I shared him in. The belief that because there is mundanity in the beautiful queer, there is beauty and indeed queerness in the glorious mundane.

And what came of it? Well, much condolence and sympathy, and many shared stories, and many people saying that while it may be very hard to face up to Jack Glass, what is important is that he looks kind. And that is another beautiful lesson of Jack Glass, which is that no matter who your dark mirror is, they are lovable to someone; whether this is helpful for people transitioning or simply helpful to hear in a psychological way, it is worth saying.

Thank you for this 🤝 and to everyone who, with charity and kindness, told me sincerely that they believed in his latent bi energy 😤 and may his lessons, whatever they are to you, be a blessing to those who need them.

[lycorogue]

[Image ID:

PNGs of the three cat paw colors used for "booping" during the 2024 April Fools Day event. The orange paw print with brown toe beans is coming from the viewer's left. The black paw with gray toe beans is coming from the top of the post. The white paw with pink toe beans is coming from the viewer's right.

/end ID]

idk if Tumblr will keep the boops going after today, but through the power of discord emoji, you can boop your friends in a server. or idk, paste them in someone's askbox.

[peggyao3]

Pt. 31 - Pegging

A/N: Wohoooooo, I actually finished kinktober 🥳🥳🥳 and only burned myself out a tiny bit. SUB!FEYD IS BACK for the final belated day and we're going out with a bangggggg (literally)

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, mega sub!Feyd, slight mommy kink, slight praise & degradation kink, anal sex, fucking him until he says it's too much but she keeps going and he likes it, mentions of past dub-con done to FMC by him

WORD COUNT: 740

"My silly boy, do you even remember your own name, hm? Or have I fucked you stupid?"

Feyd-Rautha lets out a pitiful noise and all the glorious muscles of his arched back shiver under her touch when she trails her fingertips up his spine. His bound hands, which rest against the small of his back, try to reach for her, aimless and sluggish and she snickers at the pathetic attempt. Demonstratively, she leans over him, one hand curled around his flank, the other tickling the nape of his neck.

"Hmmppff—" Feyd huffs into the pillow. Triceps and trapezius muscles bulge under his sweat-damp skin when the thick shaft of the phallus strapped to her pelvis sinks into him fully, forcing a delicious shiver through his wrung-out cock.

She is so deep, he could cry.

"Look at me," she demands and her deceptively gentle fingers curl under his neck, searching for his chin in the heap of spit-damp pillows. Like a dog after a bone or a boy after a piece of candy, Feyd-Rautha chases after his darling's hand.

Deviously sweetly, she indulges him when his blotchy face appears in profile, cradling his soft cheek which is still red from the backhand she had given him earlier, when he deserved it. "There's my boy, so pretty."

His pink lips stand apart, shiny with spit, black teeth only made visible by the glossy reflections on them. An hour ago, when they had started and she first had him speared on the artificial cock, those dark eyes had been glinting with impotent rage. Ever since then, she has unraveled him, stroke by stroke, thrust by thrust, and his tight hole had loosened up to her and he had shivered in pleasure, giving her climax after climax. The bed linen beneath his pelvis is mottled with inky seed.

"You can give me more, baby, wouldn't you like that?" She swipes her thumb along the corner of his wet mouth and cants her pelvis, rocking the thick head of the toy into Feyd-Rautha's prostate.

"Aahh," he moans pitifully and his lids droop. She picks up the pace, short, deep thrusts due to the small range of motion. Feyd's torso is longer and broader than hers and she wants to keep his pretty cheek in a cradle.

"There you go. Mommy's little slut."

"Ahahah—" Moans curl into drowsy giggles; a scrunch of his hairless brows. His glutes flex against her pelvis and his nails bury themselves into the crescents he has already dug into his fleshy palm.

"I did fuck you stupid," she purrs and presses her free palm against his back. "Lower."

Feyd-Rautha obeys, smushing his torso into the sheets with his ass still elevated enough. She folds herself over him, breasts coming flush against his shoulder blades. Resting most of her weight on him, her palm slides around his flank and the hard, twitching planes of his abdomen before cupping his painfully overstimulated cock.

The jerk that runs through his muscles is vicious and she retorts with an equally vicious squeeze of his throbbing cock. Her merciless hand then wanders to his bruised balls, tugging and squishing like he's only a toy. 

"Sto-o-op," Feyd whines and finds his pathetic pleas stifled by a thumb pushed against his tongue. Instinctively, his lips wrap around it and he is almost thankful for it. What sort of man would he be if he couldn't endure the same abuse he had given her over and over?

"You're so sweet," she coos and he is glad that the phallus isn't made of flesh and blood, or else she could have felt the needy clench of his hole.

Each drag of the obscenely thick toy is like a punch into his guts. This is absolutely, definitely too much. But his darling doesn't even think of stopping. Feyd has a feeling she's going to keep him here and cumming on her cock like a bitch in heat until he is bleeding down his balls.

Release creeps up on him in painful waves and the contractions of it have his muscles thrashing under the soft cage of her body and his teeth sinking into her thumb as he screams his lungs out, voice ground into hoarse, grating roars. The next thrust has his knees buckling and his cock is crushed by the weight of his own body. 

Blushing in shame, Feyd feels each pathetic squirt of seed directly against his navel.

A/N: If you would like to read more from me in the future, feel free to check out my ongoing Feyd x scientist!FMC fic Relic or my Masterlist for numerous oneshots ❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[youkaiyume]

Very sad to read about that deleted scene of bee showing op a pic of charlie but it confirms my headcanon that he has indeed been insufferable about her for 7 years so

p.s.: i love your art so much thank you for the glorious content 😭❤

IT'S TRUUUUUEEE I die.

[saint-vagrant]

for the love of god stop with these Rational Thinkers' paragraph + italicised "VOTE!" posts. is anyone moved by this? i've seen "vote for whoever you like, but just vote" VOTE FOR WHOEVER BUT JUST DO IT? BRO! that's somehow more pathetic than demanding that you back biden or else you're too young and too old and too stupid and too academic and ultimately a traitor if you came to a different conclusion and act, to your best ability, in accordance with your ethics.

like yeah you'll do whatever and so will i, i guess. but it's psychically painful to see this totally coincidental influx specifically since october 2023. people calling leftists (well specifically anti-imperialists &/ communists) "russian/chinese/3rd party agents" who are "lying to you to stop you from voting." it's been worded as "your friends are lying to you." that is so cool. it's like 2016 in here. yday i saw "voting isn't about which leader will sign off on your glorious revolution" which is such a snide misunderstanding of... most things, i think? it's giving "proudly launching headfirst down stairwell." more than half the time i check out OP, they're openly a zionist, or end up there by default in the sense of being a bland milquetoast etiquette-obsessed "let people enjoy things" centrist who's so mistrusting of information or pattern recognition that if you possess either you're corrupted by "ideology."

why would it be necessary to lie? what purpose for a big convoluted conspiracy? for whom IS this simplistic, condescending, dispassionate shit anyway??? surely not for the people whose families are burning alive, thanks to the american government who robs and brutalises its own people in order to fund further massacres. because how could you look that person in the face and tell them "no, you don't know fuckall about how things run around here. now is the time for political decorum" ?? there must be such a sense of comfort in the idea that those people are "over there." like i think it's pretty unfortunate that a lot of these posts begin by citing some ~dramatic~ ~babybrained~ "take" committed by disgruntled "western" posters (who are spies) but when i heard the source, or when i go find it, it's by a palestinian or muslim person or just someone from whom it like, kind of makes sense why they feel the way they do! but then it's characterised in such a vague wussy ass way! huh??!!! like it seems very convenient to ignore WHO is organising/mobilising/criticising, WHO is protesting and abstaining, so that these posts come off more sound and reasonable than the leftist sleeper agents who appeal to emotion over sense. and i'm not even telling you not to vote! i'm wondering why it's so impossible to conceive of a reality where a marginalised person or group concludes that the health and safety of their community will be sought and achieved through other means. you really can't imagine that? that's dumb to you?

so i guess i, too, don't care what the hell you do with your precious little life, but it is So Fucked to talk down to people about genocide like it's a petty, inconvenient wedge issue we have to sidestep for the greater good. fwiw voting isn't wholly irrelevant to me, And Also, i understand being against a system means, for many, abstaining from its approved tools and pouring efforts into direct action. this is not a new approach! greater good is sought and achieved mainly and actively on the ground— not from above. moreover, there is no good greater than opposing and ending genocide for fuck's sake! jesus!

[clothless-sock]

keep at it boys

Will introducing Nico to different cuisines: This is shrimp fried rice

Nico in awe: you’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice??

Percy in the kitchen commanding the shrimps: keep at it boys

[scoops-aboy86]

This is a belated happy birthday fic for @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson! Chubby Steve fluff, with a little bit of stuffing and spice thrown in at the end. 😘

Eddie watches blearily from his hospital bed as Steve, hands on his hips, bickers with Dustin over what is and what isn’t appropriate hospital visit etiquette. Namely, “You can’t just try to hug a guy who just got out of major surgery, dipshit!” 

It’s absolutely the drugs—Eddie hasn’t asked what he’s on yet, it’s sure as shit the good stuff though—but all that’s running through his head right now is, I’m gonna marry that man. 

He’s been trying to convince himself not to fall for Steve Harrington for years, ever since he’d accidentally caught a school swim meet and nearly wiped out walking into a trash can at the sight of so much mole-speckled skin on display. Seeing that again in the Upside Down’s muted lighting while Steve killed one of those bat things with his bare hands, even obscured by grime and blood and the most luxurious chest hair that Eddie has ever personally witnessed, seems to have sealed the deal. 

“Steeeve,” he whines, interrupting their argument. “I want a hug. From you,” he adds quickly, then points a finger in Dustin’s general direction. “Not you, Henderson. You’re not my type.”

Steve’s face goes red while Dustin snorts in half-offended amusement. Three minutes later Eddie has somehow persuaded Steve to lay down in the bed with him—carefully, because Eddie is still connected to a lot of stuff—and cuddle up. He tells Dustin in his best ‘benevolent lord’ voice to “fetch grapes so that I might feed this beautifully warm vision of loveliness by hand” and the kid actually leaves the room, though god only knows if he’ll honor the request. 

“Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?” Steve asks for the third or the twentieth time. “You nearly died, man, I don’t want to… squish you or whatever.”

With a hum, Eddie tugs him closer. (Or tries, anyway. At the moment he has all the strength of a newborn kitten, but it’s the thought that counts.) “Sweet Stevie, jewel of my heart,” he says, and part of him does know that he’s going to be incredibly embarrassed about this later but for now Steve isn’t telling him to fuck off and that’s glorious, “you could never squish me. Your presence sustains me. With you at my side, Death himself can’t help but agree that I’m already safely tucked away in heaven and destined to forever thrive in the glow of your light.”

The way Steve blinks at him, face flushed and lips slightly parted like he’s trying to think of a reply but coming up empty, is perfect. Eddie coos and kisses his forehead, and Steve shifts to hide his burning face against Eddie’s shoulder, heat bleeding through the paper-thin hospital gown. But he doesn’t get up, is the important thing. 

To Eddie’s surprise (and only half because he’d forgotten in his muddled state, thank you very much) Dustin returns with an armload of vending machine snacks. “Steve doesn’t like grapes,” he announces, and dumps the snacks over the blanket next to Eddie’s non-Steve side. “I brought some stuff he does like. Don’t pull any stitches or I’ll tell Robin you’re trying to steal her boyfriend.”

Steve snorts into Eddie’s shoulder, mumbling low enough that only Eddie can hear, “Wouldn’t want that.” But he lets Eddie feed him pop tarts and pringles and various candy bars for the next hour, or whenever Eddie dozes off again in another post-op nap. 

~

“Dustin sent me in here to break up a love fest,” Robin says as she enters the room, smirk quickly changing to raised eyebrows as she takes in the scene on the bed and, just as quickly, shutting the door behind herself. “Which I didn’t expect to actually find, wow.”

Steve, wrapped up in Eddie’s sleeping embrace, rolls his eyes. “He wanted to feed me grapes.”

“Uh huh,” she replies slowly, taking in the scattered wrappers. “But you don’t like grapes.”

“Only when they’re room temperature and squishy, but that’s not the point, Rob.” He tries to shift, only for Eddie’s weak grip on him to tighten a little. Immediately, he freezes, but the other man just hums in his sleep and settles back down. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits, looking back up to his best friend with deer-in-the-headlights eyes. 

“Because you’re stuck in the grip of a metalhead koala?”

Steve gives a tiny shake of his head against Eddie’s shoulder, where he’s obligingly curled into the man’s side. “Because it’s nice,” he whispers.

“Oh, Steve…”

~

The next several months as Eddie recovers are… interesting. Since his uncle is staying in the local motel and Steve’s parents have all but washed their hands of Hawkins, it’s agreed that Eddie should stay at the Harrington house. As soon as someone floats the idea, Steve is quick to tell him that there’s a first floor guest room with an en-suite and his name on it. 

Wayne comes over whenever Steve has to be at work; the plant was destroyed in the earthquake but Family Video, for all its faults, is somehow still standing, and goddamn if people don’t want their hot and cold running entertainment after surviving a ‘natural disaster.’ At night, though, Steve stays in Eddie’s room out of concern that he might not hear the bell he’s given to Eddie to ring whenever he needs something. He’s not that heavy a sleeper, for the most part—not anymore, with the nightmares and the headaches and the difficulty sleeping alone—but it eases something in him to know that Eddie is right there, alive and breathing. 

Eddie, for his part, never stops asking Steve to help keep him warm. At first it was still the drugs, which absolutely did a number on his impulse control. But weaning off of them seemed to only make him more clingy, just… in an irritable way, which Steve figures is fair. His own bites itch like hell while healing up; Eddie has it way worse, the constant prickle of healing skin and deeper injuries. 

One day when Eddie is snapping at everything, Steve starts to ask, “Do you want me to get you more—”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Eddie barks, glaring at first but then rubbing both hands over his face with a groan. “It’s a slippery slope from ‘use as needed’ to ‘use whenever the fuck you feel like getting high,’ Steve. I’ve seen it. I’m not gonna do what my parents did to me to you and Wayne.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment after that, Eddie avoiding eye contact while Steve tries earnestly to make it. 

“Okay,” Steve says finally, and settles back down. He’s at Eddie’s side again, on what’s steadily becoming his side of the bed because Eddie has started exasperatedly telling him to just come lay down whenever he starts to nod off in the armchair in the corner. 

Eddie’s eyes flick over, catch on his. It still amazes him every time that Steve is willing to get this close, given Eddie’s public record as a freak, a drug dealer, and a three-time high school senior. And, last but not least, the actually very true rumors about his sexuality, can’t forget that! He keeps waiting for the bubble to pop and Steve to announce that enough is enough, but it keeps not happening. 

Not sure what else to do, Eddie pushes a corner of the grilled cheese Steve had made for him against the other man’s lips until he takes a bite. And another. Steve makes him take at least one bite to each of his two, and between them they gradually make their way through the sandwich, several Yoohoos, and various snacks. 

~

“He said he’s not going to do that ‘to you and Wayne.’ How come he said me first? Does that mean anything or was it just because I was in the room with him?” Steve says into the phone, and pops another Pringles chip into his mouth. With Eddie constantly pushing food on him for some reason, he’s gotten in the habit of snacking even when his charge is taking a midday nap. 

“Steve,” Robin sighs. “I mean this in the least chauvinist way possible, but you sound like a teenage girl right now despite being literally neither of those things. But I’ve gotta tell you, like I told my friend Becky when she was desperate for Adam Hurley to notice her…” She sighs again. “From the depths of my soul, I do not know.”

Groaning, he lets his head thunk against the wall next to the phone. “You’re supposed to be my gay wingwoman here, Birdie. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“And you think I do?! Steve, you’ve kissed thousands—”

He makes a wounded noise. 

“—Hundreds?”

He groans again. 

“Whatever! You’ve kissed a lot of girls and I have kissed zero, despite wanting to very, very much. You’ve kissed zero boys, and guess what! That’s also my number, and I have no desire to ever let it go any higher. My fields of expertise are so far away it’s not even on this map.”

Steve lifts his head again with a sigh. “Unless you need kissing practice before a big date,” he offers absently while running a hand through his hair. 

“That is—No, Steve, no. That’s not a thing. Who have you practiced kissing with?”

“Uh, Tommy, when he was trying to get the balls to ask Carol out the first time.” He pauses, thinking. “And the second. Apparently he underperformed.”

“Oh my god. First of all, oh my god you have kissed a boy, so shut up. Second, oh my god is that not a heterosexual thing to do with your guy friends, I can’t believe it took you so long to realize you might be bi. Third, oh my god Steve.”

He’s almost snickering at her by the time she’s done, audibly flailing and dramatic in a way that eases the anxiety twisting his stomach. (And another stack of Pringles helps too.) 

~

With Eddie still needing help when it comes to… bathroom activities, there isn’t a lot of either of them that the other hasn’t seen. It just doesn’t really occur to Steve that this goes both ways until he first starts realizing that the swim trunks he dons for helping Eddie in the shower—basically he’s a glorified safety bar, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling except for when he helps wash Eddie’s everything from the shoulders up—are getting a little snug. 

Kind of a lot snug, actually, and when did that happen?

Steve ponders this long after noticing it. Hair dry and camped out on the couch, watching some nerdy fantasy movie with puppets that he’d brought home from work because he’d thought Eddie might like it. Meanwhile, Eddie is stretched out over most of the couch with his head pillowed on Steve’s thigh, completely enthralled. But that isn’t stopping him from occasionally holding up the snack cake in his hand for Steve to take a bite. Or a handful of buttery popcorn. Or some of the Twizzlers that Eddie doesn’t even like, they’re Steve’s favorite. Or or or. 

Eddie is always feeding him, is the thing. Especially after they’ve smoked up, which they have today. (Hawkins’ premier dealer might have been forced into early retirement, but Argyle is amazingly generous with his stash.) And Steve keeps letting it happen because, really, he gets it. Going from independent to needing help with literally everything is a pretty big blow; he knows that from all the times he’s been looked after post-concussions, getting frustrated with all the hovering even though he understands why it’s necessary. So while Steve is taking care of Eddie, if Eddie wants to balance that out a little by taking care of him in some way, fair enough. Steve is all for whatever keeps him from being a cranky patient, because he gets the feeling that an Eddie actively trying to be difficult is not something he wants to endure. 

And it’s… It’s nice. This might be the rose colored glasses of his awkward and embarrassing crush on the guy talking, but Steve likes Eddie’s little attempts to take care of him. 

“Mountain Dew?” Eddie asks, shifting his head and holding up his can with the bright red crazy straw in the shape of a guitar. Steve had seen it at Melvalds, next to a blue one in the shape of a race car, and bought both on a whim. The latter is still in his empty Coke can on the coffee table; he hadn’t wanted to disturb Eddie by getting up just to grab another one. 

“Thanks,” Steve says genuinely, because the saltiness of the popcorn has really made him thirsty. It’s nice to think that Eddie noticed, even if it might just be a coincidence. 

~

It’s not a coincidence.

Eddie wants Steve to be able to relax. Sure, he’s the one who nearly died, but he’d only had to deal with the Upside Down for a week before supergirl ended things for good; Steve has been living with this for years. It’s stamped into the nightmares that Eddie knows Steve gets too, and the way he goes far away and thoughtful sometimes, and the nailbat that goes in the umbrella stand by the door when he’s home, the trunk of the beemer when he’s not. 

So Eddie pays attention to what Steve likes and makes sure he gets it. Snacks, extras, and treats. Weed to take the edge off every once in a while; if it also keeps Eddie from crawling out of his skin on days when the pain gets bad, so much the better. And asking Steve to make heavier dishes (because Eddie’s doctor recommended rich meals to build his strength back up) at the end of the day means they both have a heavier sleep, fewer bad dreams. 

When the signs of all those indulgences start to show on Steve’s body, Eddie welcomes them. They share a bed every night now, and often Eddie wakes first just to linger against Steve next to him, lightly run both hands over his friend’s softer torso, and smile dreamily to himself because it’s a reminder that all the awful shit is over and done. 

Which is why he also pretends to still be asleep on the mornings when Steve wakes with a jolt and surreptitiously checks him over for open wounds. Steve was the one who held his bleeding, ruined body together on the frantic drive between the former Munson trailer and the hospital; it left an indelible mark. That’s why they spend so much time together, Eddie figures. All that trauma bonding is powerful shit. 

And also, his continent-sized crush.  Which he’s trying to rein in, but honestly? He really does want the Greco-Roman fantasy of lounging around feeding grapes to Steve Harrington. Firm ones, still fridge-cold, because that’s how Steve likes them. And day by day, Steve seems more and more open to just. Letting him do that. 

It’s driving Eddie crazy. When the tips of his fingers touch Steve’s lips, he has to wrestle down the urge to slide them inside, wet them, slide them slickly over the other man’s skin on the way to grabbing his chin and pulling him into a kiss. When he rests his head on Steve’s lap for movie time, reveling in how those already bitable thighs are becoming even more comfortable beneath him, it’s all he can do not to forget the movie and roll over to nuzzle at Steve’s growing belly, to say ‘Look at this. Look at us. We’re safe now, it’s okay, you can keep letting go. I like it.’

But alas, they’re not an ‘us.’ And Eddie doesn’t feel physically up to the task of rolling over without help. And Steve is probably straight. 

~

“Steve’s straight, right?” Eddie asks Robin bluntly one night, in the gap between movies while the man in question is in the kitchen making more popcorn and heating up Bagel Bites and jalapeno poppers. It’s not going to take long, so he doesn’t have the time to beat around the bush.

Robin blinks at him. “What?”

“Because I’m not,” he continues, popping carefully up on his elbows to see her better in the easy chair across from the couch. His pulse picks up a little because he doesn’t exactly have a lot of practice coming out—but between a recent near death experience and Robin pinging his gaydar, he can soldier through. “And you know how we’re living in each other’s pockets right now, I know you’ve seen it and there’s no way the two of you haven’t talked about it because you live in each others’ brains. It’s kind of killing me to not know if it means anything. So if he’s one hundred percent, not even slightly on the fence, not even within sight of the fence, please, as one Upside Down survivor to another, please tell me right now so I can back off and give my heart a break. And please never tell him I asked because if the answer is no I will make absolutely sure it’s not a big deal. I don’t want to fuck things up by being off-base about this. Okay? Just, hurry up and just tell me because he’ll be back in any second, Birdie, please.”

It’s a word-vomit worthy of… well, the person he just unloaded it on. But to her credit, she only stares at him for another moment before fully processing it all and un-dropping her jaw. 

“I’m not either,” Robin says in a low voice, “and Steve knows, and he’s cool with it. Officially, that’s all I can say.”

Eddie grits his teeth against an impatient groan. “And unofficially?”

Her eyes flick towards the kitchen and back, mouth twisted in conflicted thought. “... He is aware of the fence,” she says finally, quietly, and as much as it looks like it pains her to betray that confidence, Eddie can also tell she’s holding back a smile. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers half to himself, not bothering to restrain his own smile at the prospect of having even a sliver of a chance. A few months ago he would have considered that wholly impossible, right up there with alternate dimensions brimming with eye-less creatures full of teeth and malice controlled by a ballsack-looking evil mind wizard.

It’s funny, the effect a little perspective can have. 

He’s still propped up and grinning like a maniac when Steve comes back in with snacks, setting a plate and the popcorn bowl with another plate stacked atop it on the coffee table before sitting down with a quiet grunt. “What’s with you?” Steve asks, even while absently patting his thigh for Eddie to lay back down. 

Eddie happily obliges, in no small part because Steve is wearing shorts juuust short enough that leg hair tickles his nose when he snuggles his face in. “Oh, you know me. A mood struck.”

Robin, already reaching for the popcorn, snorts. If they had that same apparently psychic link that she has with Steve, he’s pretty sure she’d be broadcasting ‘Nice save, weirdo’ and a heavy eye roll at him right now. Or she might be anyway, because it’s coming through loud and clear. 

But in an amused way, he thinks. The power of lesbian-gay solidarity.

“Anyway,” Eddie continues, reaching for a Bagel Bite and blowing on it to cool it enough that he can feed to Steve, “what are we watching next?”

~

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie whispers that night, and Steve, though already halfway to asleep, is instantly on alert. 

“Huh, yeah?” he asks with a yawn, starting to sit up. It feels like he’s moving through molasses. “Do you need your meds? Or like… new pillow?” 

“No man, just wanna tell you something.”

Oh. He lets his body drop gracelessly back down, like a puppet with his strings cut. Thank fuck, because if he’d had to walk somewhere in this weird half-asleep, half-addrenaline-buzzed state he probably would’ve run into some doorframes. “M’kay, shoot.”

In the dark, Eddie chuckles at him. “You really are an action first, figure it out later kinda guy, aren't ya?” There’s a shuffling noise, and Steve feels a fun sized candy bar from Eddie’s bedside table being pressed into his hand. Presumably as an apology for startling him from almost-sleep. “Listen, uh… I came out to Robin earlier today, and she came out to me and said you know too. Figured I should keep you in the loop. So… I’m gay.” And even though there’s not enough light in the room, Steve can tell he’s doing something showy with his hands, a silent ‘ta-daaa.’ It’s very Eddie. 

Steve unwraps the candy on autopilot and puts it in his mouth to keep his heart from leaping up his throat. He may be new to the whole being into guys thing himself, but it’s a good sign that his crush at least has the capacity to like him back. He’d been worried about that, no matter what Robin had to say about vibes. But, hey, it turns out she’s right—which he fully intends to use against her when it comes to Vicky, because who’s to say he isn’t right about Robin’s crush too? Maybe that’s why they were destined to become soulmates with a capital P, because on their own they’re hopeless but together they at least have each other’s backs.

“Oh,” he says belatedly, remembering he’s supposed to actually respond to something like this. (“Steve? You OD over there?”) “Thanks for telling me, man. That’s really cool.”

Eddie chuckles again, gentle and close. “Not really the popular opinion around these parts, but I appreciate the sentiment, Stevie.”

“No, I mean… it’s cool that you told me,” he whispers back. He’s blushing, and wonders if Eddie can tell. Because it’s dark, but maybe it comes through in his voice, or something? And they’re so close, Eddie is always burrowing into personal space left and right like it’s a mere suggestion—not that Steve minds, he’s just not sure if it means anything. He hasn’t known Eddie long enough, or in more context than either having the worst week of his life or bedridden, to be able to tell. “And, like, that’s cool by me, in case you were worried.”

It makes him feel trustworthy, when he knows that three years ago he wouldn’t have been. Not with something like this. 

It makes him feel like the least he can do is show the same confidence in Eddie. 

“I, um.” Steve clears his throat. The taste of chocolate is thick on his tongue, sweet like a promise. “I’m bisexual.”

In the long pause that follows, Steve wishes that he’d waited for daylight, or even just rolled briefly to one side to turn on a lamp. He should’ve waited until he could see the other man’s face and maybe brace himself in whatever reaction flickered there first. It’s the same impulse that had sent him sliding beneath the partition between stalls in the Starcourt bathroom when he’d told Robin he liked her; she hadn’t answered right away and he’d needed to see—

“Ow! Sorry, needed to pinch myself there,” Eddie whispers, sounding like it does when he hides behind his hair—but in the good way, Steve’s pretty sure. “Really?”

Despite the dark and the blush on his face, that makes Steve crack a smile. “Yeah. Girls and guys.”

Their arms bump, a deliberate move on Eddie’s part since rolling over to face him requires too many of the muscles that were chewed on by bats, would mean putting pressure on the healing skin grafts on his side. “Any guys in particular?”

Which makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat because… he hadn’t expected Eddie to ask, let alone in such a hopeful tone. 

Because, sure, Eddie just told him he’s gay. That doesn’t mean he likes Steve, the same way Steve’s reputation of liking any girl that walks and talks is complete bullshit. First of all, there’s that reputation. Second, they have nothing in common except living space, the kids, and a few near death experiences. Third—and this one really makes Steve want to squirm—he doesn’t exactly look his best these days. There are the scars, and the way he’s been putting on weight lately that pulls awkwardly at the puckered skin, making irregular stretch marks bloom in weird, unpredictable squiggles and curves. He’s getting a belly, something he’d kind of half figured out was inevitable based on his dad and the story told across years of professionally taken family photos, but it’s coming in about a decade sooner than he’d expected. He’s only twenty but looks like he’d imagined he would at thirty; has already had to size up his clothes a couple times and everything.

Well. At least with Eddie close by every night he’s been sleeping fairly well, so the bags under his eyes aren’t as dark and deep as they had been. And none of the men in his family, either side, have receding hairlines, so at least his best feature is safe. 

“Just one,” he murmurs, blood roaring in his ears.

“Yeah?”

And Steve has never been one to hold back, so he takes a deep breath. Figures they’re close enough friends now that even if Eddie doesn’t feel the same way, he’ll be more flattered than weirded out and they’ll be able to get past it. Hopefully, anyway… Steve has too few friends his own age as it is. 

“I kinda have a crush on you, Eds.”

After a short pause, Eddie shifts a little next to him and—

“Ow!” Steve hisses, twitching his arm away from the sudden pinch. He’s still whispering, even though there’s no one else in the house. “Dude, what the hell?!”

“Sorry,” Eddie whispers back. “I needed to make sure you aren’t asleep before I accidentally made things super uncomfortable.”

“How would you—” And then he feels a tug, the other man’s hand fisting in his sleep shirt and pulling him closer. Not that Eddie has the arm strength to actually do that right now, but it’s such a surprise that Steve just goes with it, leaning over until their mouths bump together in the dark. 

It’s a whole new kind of shock, a bucket of ice water and hot sparks flickering along his spine, zinging nerves and chapped lips. Steve gasps into the fumbling press of lips, sways back, then ducks forward in a more coordinated effort and kisses Eddie for real. Sinks into the moment as a hand, ringless for the night, twines into the hair at the base of his skull, blunt nails scratch lightly at his scalp as Eddie curls his fingers into Steve’s hair, and it’s… it’s everything. 

He has to be careful not to sag into the kiss, mindful of Eddie’s injuries even though he wants to sink in closerthanthis and never leave. Can’t remember the last time something so simple lit him up like this, because everything but the immediate present is blurred out, insignificant. And Eddie’s other hand finds his hip, pressing in where he’s gotten softer but tugging weakly, undeterred. Steve takes the hint and shifts until he’s cautiously plastered to the other man’s side. 

“This okay?” he breathes against Eddie’s lips, still close enough to taste the traces of chocolate that Eddie sucked off his tongue. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not hurting. You’re healing me, baby,” Eddie coos into his mouth and guides him back in for more.

~

The next morning Eddie wakes to breakfast in bed. It’s not an unusual occurrence, but instead of propped up on pillows against the headboard, he leans happily back against Steve while he eats chocolate chip pancakes and feeds him two bites for every one of his own. 

“They’re supposed to be for you,” Steve tries to protest, the first time Eddie nudges a syrup-sticky forkful against his lips. 

“And I’m enjoying them a lot, sweetheart,” Eddie replies with a smile. “But you made me a stack that’s practically two feet tall and I am but one man. So be a dear and help me out here, hmm? I’ll even throw in a smooch to sweeten the deal.”

Steve mutters something about his sweet tooth being taken advantage of here, but accepts a bite without the next time Eddie brings it in, this time with a little vroom vroom here comes the airplane. Smiling around the sticky mouthful and protesting in a muffled, faux-aggrieved tone that, “Planes don’ go vroom Ed, tha’s cars.”

Grinning so wide it makes the scar on his cheek pull, not exactly comfortable but he doesn’t care, Eddie gives Steve the promised smooch. Like their first kiss last night, he tastes like chocolate. 

“Shush,” he chides playfully, licking at Steve’s sticky lips. “You’re mine now, Steve Harrington. I’m gonna take as good care of you as you do of me, and I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“O-oh.” Steve blushes. The sight of red filling in behind his constellations of freckles and moles is captivating. 

“Yeah, oh.” Eddie kisses him again. “You just wait until I’m all healed up, big boy, and I’ll show you how hard I can rock your world. Trust me, you’ll want to keep me around and once you get the full Eddie Munson experience.”

Despite still being visibly flustered, Steve swallows and shakes his head at him with a laugh. “Okay okay, Jesus. Put the lines away, you’ve already got me.”

“Yeah? You promise?”

Steve returns the kiss with a happy hum, lets Eddie pepper more kisses on his cheek. “Mm. Hook, line, and sinker.”

And Eddie meant it about rocking his world; what he wouldn’t give to writhe beneath this gorgeous man right now, nuzzle into luxurious chest hair, bite at his nipples until they’re red and pebbled, rub and squeeze his softening belly and thighs and arms and jawline, roll him over and ride him into the mattress. Or pound him into it, he’s not picky. He can see it in his mind’s eye, feels the banked fire it stokes… but he’s sore all over. The ache in his body has the pervasive depth of chewed-up muscles and lifesaving sutures, and it dams up that want long before it can get all the way to his dick, so. 

It’s a little frustrating, but for the most part he’s content with what they have so far. Steve’s never done this with a guy—and Eddie’s never done this period—so taking it slow isn’t the worst idea. 

He snuggles into Steve’s cuddly embrace a bit more as resumes making a dent in their shared breakfast. They can figure everything out together, one step (and one bite) at a time. 

~

It takes a year. Eddie does all of his PT exercises religiously, and he still has to walk with a cane but that’s miles better than being carried or wheeled everywhere. His Stevie is still strong enough to lift him, of course, but now that Eddie is back to a healthy weight it takes more out of him, and Eddie is prone to pouting when that’s the reason for Steve huffing and puffing. 

No, he likes it much more like this, in Steve’s room because he has finally made those goddamn stairs his bitch. Cozied up to his boyfriend after dinner, dirty dishes stacked on the desk to deal with later, Steve panting a little as he focuses on digesting. Eddie loves every second of it as he reaches down to unbutton his sweetheart’s jeans for the day, noting how they’re already straining and mentally adding the next size up to tomorrow’s shopping list. Because he can show his face in public again, name cleared and everything, and buy whatever they need with the government payout that finally came through. 

“Think I… overdid it a li’l,” Steve mumbles, his voice strained and airy. He rubs a slow hand over the top of his belly to try and ease some of the pressure. Sighs as Eddie helps by gently peeling down the constricting denim a little more in front, letting the bit of tummy still tucked into his briefs to bulge through. Steve brings his other hand up to stifle a burp behind one loosely curled fist. 

“You’re fine, sweetheart,” Eddie assures him with a smile, pleased to the brim that he’d enjoyed the meal so much. “Need anything?” 

Steve smiles back, but there’s a hint of self-consciousness in it that just won’t do. “Nah, I’m good.” 

Even after a year of safety, Steve still has a hard time being doted on sometimes. It comes from years of low-key parental neglect, Eddie thinks, and a lingering instinct to ‘be a man’ and fill that protector role twenty-four seven. But that, Steve has agreed, is no longer necessary now that the Upside Down is gone. So he tries to relax. 

Sometimes that looks like Eddie laying him back in bed, sweetly fussing him into the perfect position, and making sure he eats his fill and a little extra. On those nights, Steve’s gaze goes soft and unfocused while still opening his mouth for whatever Eddie wants to give him, knowing—trusting—that it will be good, that he isn’t taking too much. 

But tonight, Eddie can tell that he needs a little more to hang onto. 

“Baby,” Eddie starts, clambering around not-so-gracefully-(but-at-least-he-can-do-it) to kneel between Steve’s splayed legs. “You are perfect, you know that?” Scooching down, he leans in and kisses the soft swell of Steve’s lower belly where it rolls out over the top of his underwear, bare where his shirt had long ago ridden up. “Always have been, always will be.”

Steve shivers beneath his continuing kisses, cheeks reddening as he looks away. “Not really the popular opinion. First of all, everyone knows I was a douchebag in high school.” He bites his lip and drops his gaze back to Eddie. From this angle, head inclined to look down, he has a full double chin beneath his round face, pretty face. “And I… I know I…”

Eddie waits for a moment after he peters out, then finishes it: “You’re beautiful. Whatever you look like, because you’re you.” And reaches up, turning Steve’s face gently back when he tries to look away again. “It’s all you, Steve, and I love you.”

Steve’s hazel eyes go wide, breath catching. It’s not the first time Eddie has said it, not really… Not like this, with the exact words and making direct eye contact and in his knees, kissing and nipping gently, devotedly at mole-dotted skin. But it’s also the first time Steve touched on this insecurity that doesn’t always come so close to the surface, the one that takes too much and makes it literal. 

Eddie stares him down while kissing over the tight jut of his full stomach, his soft sides and chest, murmuring nonstop praise along the way. Hands stroking along behind and coaxing out moans and burps until the tension in Steve’s body shifts from self-conscious back to that heady space of more, more, more. “Wanna feel you all over, Stevie, every inch. You drive me so fucking crazy you don’t even—” 

He cuts himself off with a claiming kiss at Steve’s panting mouth, tasting. Savoring. More. 

And that’s when his own need peaks, crests, and sends his hands back down to the waistband of the straining briefs. Snapping it just enough to draw a gasp and a wobble from his boyfriend before yanking them down, shoving hard. Shoving the jeans with them, rewarding Steve by licking devotion into his mouth when the other man takes his cue and rocks to lift his ass one wide cheek at a time. It’s enough to get the clothes gone, so Eddie can reach and take him in hand where he’s hard and flushed, wet from how much he’s leaking. 

Steve was trembling already. He shakes harder the second Eddie begins to stroke, spreading his thick legs as wide as he can—not very, these days. But still, he’s too full to jerk his hips into the ringed grip that's wringing an increasingly louder series of “ah ah ah”s out of him. Plump and jiggling body stuffed to where he could move, but doesn’t want to, just lets the sensations wash through him, lets himself be swamped by it, overflows into Eddie’s hand. And Eddie gets to watch, gets to feel it as Steve shudders, lips parted in a seemingly never ending moan that reverberates out from the depths of him, low and hot. 

Eddie wants to swallow it. Bottle it. Fucking get drunk off it, like he has almost every night (and some mornings, and some afternoons) ever since he started feeling up to it again. Shove it back to Steve, pumping into his hungry body—like everything else he’s given his boyfriend. His love, his food, his dick…

Then Steve is sucking on his tongue like it’s a lollipop, and Eddie is sinking against him to grind the hard-on still trapped in his own jeans against Steve’s soft body, making him grunt, and Eddie is gone. Comes so hard his vision whites out and he cries brokenly into Steve’s mouth. Sees goddamn stars. Just barely remembers to roll to the side instead of dropping his full weight on Steve, but plasters himself to the other man’s side all the same, face tucked in tight to Steve’s neck to taste the heady scent of him on every inhale. 

He drifts for a little while, mind hazy and buoyed up on all the feel-good hormones of an award-winning orgasm with a better partner than he ever could have dreamed of finding. Imagining what Steve could look like wearing a second year of his love, and a third, and— God, he’s still feeling the aftershocks, and even though it veers him immediately into so overstimulated he can’t hold back a whine, Eddie clutches tighter and grinds against Steve’s plush hip, just a little. 

Give him a few more minutes and he will get going again, desperate to spill his load directly on his boyfriend’s skin this time, over his belly or buried in his navel, and then clean him up with his tongue. Feed it to him in an insistent kiss and then finger one of them open for round three. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the things you do to me,” Eddie whimpers, prompting Steve to chuckle sleepily and wedge a thick arm beneath him to hold them together close. 

In a minute, Eddie will get up and clean both of them up. Help Steve to roll onto his side and get the weight off his lungs so he can breathe better, fall asleep and digest. And Eddie will cuddle up behind him until Steve is practically molded to Eddie’s front, chest to back, hips to hips, Eddie’s knees tucked into the bend of Steve’s. 

For now everything is perfect and still and warm, and Eddie knows, blearily but happily, that he’s going to make an honest man out of Steve Harrington the second it becomes legal. 

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr

[yuurei20]

Hello! I was wondering if you know if there's ever been a name given for the MMORPG Idia and Lilia play together? I tried looking into it, but haven't been able to track down anything on EN that gives a name for it 🤔 Thanks!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! ^^

I am not sure that the game has been named anywhere as of this post!

Idia says he is "not cut out for co-op multiplayer games," with the game he played with Lilia being an exception. There is a niche, multiplayer "shoot-em-up" game that is mention in Book 7, but it might be different from the MMORPG that we see Muscle Red and Gloomurai discuss so often, and I do not believe that we ever get a name for either of them!

Idia also might play gacha games, but I think the only video game he names outright is the video game adaptation of the anime "Sled Over Heels" (JP: Love Sled)

Idia also mentions playing unnamed dating simulators ("I can map out all the flags and speedrun my way to the end of the route. *sigh* Yikes, that was top-tier cringe even for me."), reading unnamed manga and a "top tier toy collection."

What kind of toys he collects might never be specified, but he lectures Ruggie on figures during Glorious Masquerade ("Well-made figurines aren't just toys. They're works of art.")

As for his other interests, he seems adept at 3D puzzles, a fan of idol group idol group "Precipe Moirai" and of a classic horror B-movie called "Creepy Hollow" (JP: Pumpkin Hollow).

Idia seems to enjoy board games as well and is a member of the board game club, along with Azul. Azul's school uniform vignette is all about Idia trying to get him to play a dice game called "Magical Life" instead of a strategy game ^^

[sanakimohara]

https://www.tumblr.com/sanakimohara/764854221641236480/need-dad-pics-of-chan-but-not-like-the-funny?source=share

You ask, I deliver

first pic: he's college professor

Secound pic: he's feared wanted Mafia boss

Third pic: he's a police officer

He looks like a dilf in all these pics so here take them 🤗

You’re a life saver, love! *smooches you* I shall add these glorious photos to my collectionnnnnn thank you !

P. S. That last photo and fit he’s in reminds me of a COD skin so much and I still think about writing a little headcannon fic about him being a COD op sometimes just because he looks like he’d fit in there.

The stance? The tactical accessories?!!? The body?!!?! it’s giving Lieutenant Christopher ‘Chan’ Bahng of a special forces unit and I’d fall in line to his every command so quick !! 🖤😭

[teddybeartoji]

@aimfor-theheart @kisstoru

pls draw more wolfwood he looks so dreamy and pretty in your artstyle <3 love ur art as a whole btw

sir yes sir. roger that sir. he's the love of my live sir

[apomaro-mellow]

OP's post

As far as jobs go, this gig wasn't too bad. Eddie wouldn't call him a connoisseur of the fine arts by any measure, but he knew how to appreciate passion that went into every work. He wasn't there to gawk though. He was there to guard. A friend of Wayne's worked the night shift and had gotten Eddie the job during the day.

So he got to patrol a pretty swanky art museum and broaden his horizons. And the pay wasn't half bad either considering how cushy it was.

Like most art museums, the exhibits were divided by era and country of origin. Sometimes whole side rooms dedicated to a single artist. There were mostly paintings and statues housed here, with the occasional odd exhibit like masks or minature figures. There was an annex building across the street that held the collection of modern and post modern art.

Eddie typically preferred the kookier stuff there but he enjoyed being around the classics. Especially the statues. Especially Steve.

In the hall for marble statues, there were many the depicted the human form in all its beauty, but none were as beautiful as the one simply titled 'Steve'. That definitely seemed like an underwhelming name for such a magnificent piece. But in the couple of months he'd been here, Eddie had grown to love the simple name.

Steve was carved in a lounging position and when Eddie first saw him it looked like he was waiting for a lover. There was a cloth carved into him that draped in such a way to only just barely give him modesty, leaving the rest on display. Had it not been stone, it looked like the slightest breeze would expose him. Like most of his peers, Steve's body looked strong and sturdy. And yet the way he was posed and positioned made him look soft.

Eddie didn't notice the first time he looked but after passing through and looking enough (leering, gazing, obsessing) he realized Steve even had a glorious patch of hair on his chest. Now that was rare. All these bare chested figures and very few of them showed any body hair outside the one atop their heads.

And that mane of his. Thanks to policy, Eddie had to keep his own locks in a tight bun under his hat. Steve's hair, thick and luxurious flowed freely. Eddie thought more than once to touch it, sure that despite the marble it was as soft as it seemed.

Another eye catching feature was the scarring on Steve's back. To make something so exquisite and then put the suggestion of violence... Sometimes Eddie wanted to look up the history of Steve's creation.

So greeting Steve became a normal part of his guard route. Even when he technically wasn't supposed to be in that wing, who was gonna stop him?

"Morning gorgeous", he'd greet some mornings as he passed by, coffee in hand.

Sometimes, when the room was mostly clear, he really would just stand and stare, taking it all in. He could look at most of the art for only so long before he lost interest (except for some of the landscapes, some of them were breathtaking and literally took him to a different world) but Steve.... Steve was something he could look at for hours.

And he would've if the crowds didn't come by to get a gander as well. So he did his job, made his rounds, kept people from getting too close to the art and then clocked out around 4.

"Night Stevie", he said on his way out, even though Steve's pedestal was out of his way to the exit.

It was all pretty nice until they switched him to the night shift unexpectedly. Eddie was a night owl by nature, but he preferred to use that time leisurely. That and he was more likely to come across an actual thief at night.

And also museums were kinda creepy at night.

He took a deep breath and leaned on a statue of the goddess Nike.

"Let's make a deal. I do my job, you slice and dice anything that comes through those doors."

As he bargained with the stone goddess, he thought he heard voices down the hall. Must be the other guards. For sure. Besides Eddie, there were like, five other guys doing patrols or watching the cameras. They were all Wayne's age though, so not a lot in common.

Needing a balm for his nerves, he ventured towards Steve's way.

"Heya beautiful. I knew comin' to see you was the right choice." The moon came in through a sky light and made Steve glow. "I'll come back for you Stevie, probably more than once if I have a choice."

Eddie was walking past Steve when he heard a voice reply to him.

"I'm glad you came tonight."

Eddie froze, and carefully turned.

Steve was looking over his shoulder.

"You....you're...."

Steve got up from his lounging position to stretch his arms and back and it sounded like rock grinding gently on rock. Eddie could hear similar sounds all around him. All of the statues were moving. All of them.

Eddie was still frozen solid in place. Almost like he and Steve switched places. Steve was sitting upright on his stand, that cloth still just barely covering him.

"Did you mean all those things you said?", Steve asked.

Eddie didn't know what he meant but he never lied so he just nodded.

Steve curled in on himself, bashful looking and Eddie wanted to wrap him up.

"You really think I'm beautiful?"

Eddie found his voice because if there was one thing he could say right now it was what he thought of Steve.

"Like an angel. Like a vision. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." This time Eddie stepped closer to Steve, still in shock but not afraid. "So, I am in fact totally mesmerized by you and by what's happening, but what the hell is happening?"

Steve held out a hand and Eddie took it without question. It was still cold and the surface was hard like stone but somehow flexible like a real hand.

"I'll explain on the way", he said, stepping down so that he was on his feet. He was about the same height as Eddie.

Eddie had about a million questions. But Steve's voice was as attractive as the rest of him so he could listen all night.

[ereardon]

That Summer Part Nine [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Synopsis: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, angst, violence, alcohol

Chapter summary: Bradley escorts Y/N to the debutante ball. All is going well until an old classmate, still hung up on Y/N, gets drunk and starts trouble.

Wordcount: 3.8K

Series masterlist here; Part Eight here

Bradley stood at the bottom of the stairs, his palms slick with sweat, nerves racing. Next to him, your father stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Bradley fought the urge to fiddle with his bowtie, to tug at his too-tight starched cuffs, to shuffle in his shiny new shoes. 

He felt like a fool. He was going to walk in and they’d know within a half second that he was a fraud. An imposter. They’d know he didn’t have a dollar to his name and that his skin was tan from working outdoors not lounging and that he didn’t know which fork to use for a fish course. 

And then you rounded the corner, one hand on the wooden bannister, and every worry Bradley had flew out the window. 

All he knew was that you were the most perfect thing he had ever laid eyes on. That nothing, not a single thing, not a glorious wave or a tender raspberry or his mother’s laugh or a cool sip of water on a hot day had ever for one second been as perfect or as right as you were in that moment. 

You grinned, eyes locked on his, descending the stairs in a swath of satin and pearls, hair pulled back softly into a bun, lips cherry red, fingertips encased in silky gloves, curves perfectly visible while also still hidden beneath the smooth lines of the dress. 

Your father cleared his throat as you stepped onto the last step and Bradley tore his gaze away, trying desperately to calm his heartbeat. 

“Pumpkin,” your father said, stepping forward, pressing his lips to your cheek. “You look great.” 

You smiled and held his hand tightly. “Thanks daddy.” You turned to Bradley and he felt every cell in his body light up. “You look nice, Bradley.” 

Words. He had to say words. But he was starstruck. Finally, he unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Thank you. You look perfect.” 

Your father narrowed his eyes as you beamed, his large, aged hands still holding yours. “Sure you kids don’t need a ride?” 

You shook your head. “No thanks, Daddy. We’ll meet you there.” 

He nodded curtly and you tipped your head toward the door, Bradley following on your heels. You handed him the car keys and he opened the passenger door, helping you into the seat before making his way around, revving the truck to start. 

Bradley pulled the truck out of the driveway, turning out onto the street before holding out his hand over the middle console. You took it and he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your glove. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered softly. 

You blushed. “Thank you.” “I mean it, Birdy. You’re perfect.” 

You leaned back against the chair, gripping Bradley’s hand tight as the two of you sped down the road. 

Past the valet, you sucked in a breath. Bradley’s hand was tight in yours and you dropped it, looking at him. 

“We can’t look too close,” you murmured as two men in uniform opened the double wooden doors, ushering you inside. 

He nodded. You held onto his arm, entering the lobby. 

The club was beautiful. Historical, with giant ceilings and wide wooden panels. The main hallway spread out as far as the eye could see, and it was lined with portraits and stupidly small silk couches that somehow never got stained or even touched. 

A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks and you grabbed a flute of champagne, downing it in a few sips before discarding it on a lacquered side table. Bradley winced. “Birdy,” he murmured. 

“I’m fine,” you said but you were only pretending. If Bradley could only hear the thoughts in your head. Feel the way the blood buzzed in your veins. 

If only he knew how absolutely terrified you were. Because you knew that there was the potential for everything to come crashing down. 

“I have to go upstairs,” you whispered. “Escorts gather by the stage there. We walk down, do the dip, then I grab your arm and you walk me over to our table.” 

“What the fuck is the dip?” he asked. Someone turned their head nearby and glared and you yanked his arm, pulling him down the hall a little faster. 

“Shh,” you whispered. “They’ll hear you.” 

Bradley flushed. He was fucking up already. “Sorry.” 

You looked up at him. “It’s OK,” you said softly. “I just, we have to be good. This has to go well.” You paused. “My parents are going to be here.” 

Of course he knew that. It was part of why he felt like jumping out of his skin. He couldn’t screw this up. The whole summer he had been under the microscope but tonight felt like the final test. 

The two of you were at the end of the hallway. Beyond, it spilled out into a large ballroom with a staircase along the far wall and a dance floor that has been cleared. Bradley swallowed, hard. Each table was round with a large, tall arrangement of white flowers and greenery. Everywhere he turned, fancy men and women were milling around holding stemware. 

You rubbed his arms, turning to him. 

“I love you,” you whispered, so quietly only he could hear. “Remember that.” 

How could he forget? You were the one thing holding Bradley Bradshaw together. You were the only reason he would ever consider being at something like this. You were the only possible reason that he would have to stand in front of hundreds of dressed up society folks wearing an uncomfortable tux and dancing to a slightly offbeat band. 

Bradley nodded and you grinned, skittering up the stairs and around the corner, out of sight. He let out a sigh and looked around. Everywhere he looked, there was another stranger. And even though he was dressed the part, he was convinced that they would be able to see right through him. 

“Hey.” 

Bradley turned. The pinched voice came from a blond guy a few feet away who had his sparkling blue eyes trained on Bradley. Bradley raised his eyebrows. “What’s up?” 

“Are you here with Y/N?” he asked. 

Bradley nodded. “I am.” 

Blue Eyes studied him for a moment. Then recognition flashed over his features. “Oh! You must be the Sullivan’s friend. Here for the summer.” He put an emphasis on friend that Bradley didn’t like. It was clear what he meant: charity case. “I’m Pierce. Pierce Lasseter.” 

Bradley resisted the urge to throat punch this kid. Instead, he held out one tanned hand. “Bradley Bradshaw.” 

Pierce held Bradley’s hand for a moment too long before slipping his smaller hand away. “So, how do you know the Sullivans?” 

“My father used to fly with the Admiral.” 

“And what does he do now?” 

“He’s dead.” 

Pierce stuttered. “Shit, I mean, sorry to hear that.” The silence was deafening. He looked up at the wooden staircase that had been carefully wrapped with tulle. “So you and Y/N?” 

Bradley shook his head. “Like I said, family friends. I’m just staying here for the summer.” 

“Where are you going to school in the fall?” 

Pierce said it like he wanted to bait Bradley while also brag about his plans. Bradley knew that he had to play along. “UVA. You?” 

“Yale.” He said it with a deep-rooted annoyingness that with one word unsettled Bradley’s stomach. 

“Nice. Listen, man, I should go find my table.” 

Pierce narrowed his eyes but nodded. “Nice meeting you, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley nodded, dipping his head low and making his way out toward the rest of the room. He spotted your parents almost immediately. Your father wore a tux, similar to Bradley’s, and your mother had on a pale pink ensemble that he thought would have fit someone just a little bit younger. 

A bartender passed by and took notice of him. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. 

Bradley looked up. “Yes, God, please.” 

The bartender nodded sympathetically. “I get it.” He sized up Bradley silently. “First time?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“I’ve just been doing this a while,” he said. “Gets easier to read people.” 

“Yeah.” Bradley tapped his foot, anxiously waiting for the night to end. “Does it ever get better?” he asked. 

“No,” the bartender replied. “Those girls turn into those women,” he added. “It’s just a vicious cycle. Never stops. Unless you leave Texas.” And then he was gone, heading for the bar to make Bradley a drink. 

Bradley looked up at the empty stairs wrapped in tulle. You were leaving Texas in just a few weeks. Maybe he really could go with you. Maybe there was a chance it could all work out. 

Maybe, just maybe, his mother had been right. Maybe you were the one thing that would change what Bradley had already thought was written into his history. Perhaps you were the one thing that would change it all. 

***

The other girls were nervous. You could tell as you stood in a line at the top of the stairs. There was anxiety ricocheting off them and bouncing around the light blue wallpapered walls and white wainscoting. 

You rocked back and forth in your heels, smoothing the silk of your dress beneath your gloved fingers. 

“I love your dress.” The girl behind you smiled. “I’m Leah.” 

“Y/N.” You smiled back. “Thank you.” 

“It’s so chic,” Leah added. “My mother chose mine.” She toyed with the bulky skirt and sighed. 

“Well I like it,” you said and Leah lit up. “It’s giving Princess Diaries.” 

“Thank you.” Leah paused. “Who’s your date?” 

“Oh, um, he’s a family friend. He’s not from around here. What about you?” 

“Pierce Lasseter.” 

You stifled a groan. This poor girl. 

But she seemed to sense your shift in attitude because she added, “I know. But he’s a family friend, too. And I waited too long, all the good ones were snapped up.” 

“I get that.” 

“Your date. What’s he like?” 

How could you distill Bradley in a few words? A sentence? A speech? How could you take someone who had managed, in a manner of months, to mean everything and reduce him down to a series of nouns and adjectives? 

He was everything you thought would never come along. He was nothing you ever expected. He was quiet and shy and introspective and hurt. He was sparkling and intelligent and emotional and caring. 

And above all, he loved you. 

You were lost in thought. Leah smirked. “That good, huh?” 

Your lips quirked up in a smile. “He’s the best person I know.” 

“You’re lucky,” she murmured. “Pierce smells like gas station food.” 

You stifled a laugh as the woman at the front of the group started to bark instructions. Below, you could hear the music beginning to swell, filling the room. 

Your heart was racing in your chest but you weren’t sure why. 

Downstairs, in the main ballroom, Bradley sank into his seat as the lights dimmed and a spotlight appeared on the stairs. 

“Bradley.” Your mother’s whisper was tense. 

He whipped around. 

“You have to gather there,” she practically spat, pointing one jewel-laden finger toward a gaggle of other guys in tuxes, including Pierce. “And escort Y/N after she makes her debut down the stairs and does the dip.” 

“What’s the dip?” he asked again. 

She shook her head. “Go!” 

Bradley scurried around the edge of the darkened room, toward the hoard of other escorts. “Debutante?” A woman with a pinched face and a beak-like nose eyed him suspiciously. 

“Y/N Sullivan,” he said. 

She nodded, grabbing his arm and dragging him to second to last place in line. “Stand here. She’s ninth.” 

Bradley wasn’t sure why but his heart was in his throat. The room dimmed even darker than it had and the music softened. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am very excited to be with you tonight at the centennial anniversary of our beloved Artillery Ball. This year’s debs are an esteemed group of young women. So without further ado, let’s welcome our debs!” 

The lights swung to the top of the stairs and the first girl appeared at the top, all big blonde hair, wide eyes, a puffy dress that looked ready to swallow her whole. She floated down the stairs, fingertips tight on the bannister. Bradley had a fleeting moment where he was afraid this girl would tumble down the stairs in her literal cupcake of a dress but she made it all the way to the base platform. 

He thought that was it. But then she curved around the base of the stairs, stepping gently off the platform and out onto the main dance floor. Bradley watched with rapt attention as the girl began to stretch her hands out long on either side of her body, hinging at the waist, sinking so low she came almost into a crouching position only a few inches off of the floor, her head bowing down toward the shiny ground. It seemed an improbability that she hadn’t toppled over. 

She righted herself gently and smiled, and the crowd erupted in clapping as her escort stepped into the spotlight, collecting her in the light and walking her over to an edge of the dance floor. 

“And that,” the guy behind him whispered, “is the fucking dip.” 

The other guys nodded in agreement. Bradley watched with fascination as the other girls followed in the same footsteps, floating down the stairs, curving around to the middle of the stage to do the dip before being met by their escort. 

Finally, the guy in front of Bradley stepped forward into the spotlight. Bradley inched forward, his eyes trained at the top of the stairs, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. 

And then you appeared next to the wooden banister. Even though there was music, Bradley couldn’t hear a thing. It was simply a dull buzzing in his ears as he watched you step forward, one slender hand on the banister, white glove trailing over the wood as you reached out your first foot, making your way onto the staircase. 

You gazed out into the audience before turning and finding Bradley on the sidelines. Your smile grew and your eyes were locked on his as you made our way down the stairs. The other girls had floated. Or so he thought. But you were light as air. 

It was just the two of you. It didn’t matter how crowded the room was or how hot the lights were or the fact that Bradley truly believed his bow tie was on a murder mission for his jugular. The only thing that mattered in that moment were your eyes on Bradley’s, the soft smile dancing over his lips, the way that even from ten feet away you could read his mind. 

Finally, your feet hit the hard platform at the bottom of the stairs and you tore your eyes from Bradley. In the crowd, you spotted your parents. The lights circling the stage were bright, almost blinding, and you made your way out into the middle and sucked in a deep breath. 

Carefully, under the silky a-line of your dress, you crossed one leg over the other, thrusting your arms out to the side for balance, sinking down low until one knee hit the floor, the other stacking over it softly as you bowed your head. When you pulled your face up, you caught your father’s eye. He grinned, hands clapping furiously. You smiled, pulling yourself upright. Bradley was right there to take your arm, helping you to stand, and you turned to him with a grin. He led you silently to the edge of the stage, his eyes never leaving yours, your fingertips warm on his arm. 

As soon as the two of you were shrouded once again in darkness, the final deb making her way down the stairs, Bradley whispered into your ear. “That was insane.” 

You giggled. “I know.” 

A few couples down, Pierce glared at the two of you as Leah watched the final couple with rapt attention. 

“Here we go,” you murmured as the couples filed back onto the stage, hand in hand. 

You and Bradley glided around the dance floor. Apparently two weeks of practice in the tower room had been sufficient because before you knew it, the song was over. 

Bradley’s eyes never left yours. Not as you swayed in his arms, not when you drifted apart, only to quickly come back together like magnets clawing their way back no matter what. He only had eyes for you. 

Pierce watched with heated annoyance. 

He watched as you and Bradley laughed together, heading back to your table. He watched as the two of you spent the evening in close conversation, leaning close. He couldn’t see your hand on Bradley’s thigh beneath the table, but he had an idea. 

He watched you, and he drank. He went straight for the bar, ordering rum and cokes and gin and tonics and in the end straight glasses of bourbon until his eyes blurred. Leah swatted his arm as he nearly tipped over in his seat. “Pierce! Jesus. Are you drunk?” 

“Shut up and eat your cake,” he slurred, digging a spoon into the vanilla sheet cake that had just been served. 

Later, once the plates had been cleared and coffee had been served, couples and groups filed back onto the dance floor. You held out a hand and Bradley accepted it with a grimace, a small smile peeking out as you led him toward the dance floor. His hand on your waist was warm and it grounded you. You stepped closer, snaking one hand up onto his neck. “Thanks for coming,” you whispered. 

Bradley softened. “I’d do anything for you.”

Pierce spun Leah in circles, never taking his eyes off of you and Bradley. “Ow!” she complained as he whipped her once again, his eyes settling on the two of you. “Pierce, what’s going on?” 

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, dropping her waist and walking away. Leah crossed her arms over her chest and watched as Pierce moved steadily toward you, putting one hand on Bradley’s shoulder until the two of you turned in confusion. “Can I step in?” he slurred. 

Bradley’s eyes darkened. You took in Pierce’s intoxicated state. You knew him well enough – he was volatile, in the worst kinds of ways. You nodded, eyes trained on Bradley. “Of course.” 

He reluctantly dropped your waist and Pierce stepped in, clammy hands clumsily finding your waist, his breath hot on your ear as he tugged you in close. “So are you fucking him?” 

You leaned back, aghast, face pale. “What? No, of course not.” 

“I see the way you two look at each other,” he hissed but it came out louder than expected. A few couples around you turned. You looked over at Bradley who had started dancing with Leah, but whose eyes remained narrowed in your direction. “His fucking hands all over you.” 

“Your hands are all over me,” you spat back quietly, “and we’re not fucking.” 

“Yeah, why is that, Y/N?” he asked. “Because you’re too busy falling in love with the fucking help?” 

“He’s not the help,” you hissed. “You’re drunk. Let’s get you some water.” 

Pierce’s hands tightened on your waist. “Never heard you deny it, Y/N,” he whispered and his voice was sour, menacing. You looked up in fear. 

“You need to stop,” you whispered. “Go back to dancing with Leah. She’s nice.” 

“She’s not you. No one is you.” His fingers were digging through the silk of your dress into your waist. You thought you might bruise. His eyes were locked on yours, mouth ajar, practically foaming. “You’re such a tease, Y/N,” he muttered. “You want me, too. You can admit it. You’re just using him to make me jealous, right?” 

“Let me go,” you begged, trying to step backward but Pierce’s grip tightened and you rocked side to side in your heels, trying to find your balance as he pulled you nearer. 

“Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” he whispered into your ear. You closed your eyes, willing it all to end. You couldn’t make a scene. Even though all you wanted to do was shove him away. 

“Pierce, please.” 

“Let go of her.” 

Your eyes snapped open. Bradley had split from Leah and stood only a foot away, his presence hulking compared to Pierce. 

“I said, let go.” 

People were starting to stare. Pierce looked up and laughed. “Fuck off, Bradshaw. It’s one dance. Besides.” He looked between the two of you. “You’re just friends, right? Not like I’m dancing with your girlfriend.” 

Bradley’s hands balled into fists at his side. You begged him with your eyes. Please. 

And then Pierce laughed. His hand dipped low, grazing the top of your ass. “Missing out, though,” he whispered. “Bet she’s tight.” 

Bradley took a step forward, his face only inches from Pierce. You watched terror seize the smaller man for a second. “Hands off of her,” Bradley whispered menacingly. 

Pierce grinned but it was manic. Wild. “Make me.” 

The air felt frozen. You hadn’t even realized how much of a fuss it was all making, when your entire intention was to keep things low key, not to draw attention. Your mother was going to be furious. She was going to bite your head off. 

You tried to push yourself out of Pierce’s grip but he was strong. Panic started to rise in your throat. 

“Pierce,” Leah pleaded. “Let her go. She obviously doesn’t want to be with you.” 

You felt hot. Like you were upside down on a jungle gym and all the blood had rushed to your head. 

“Pierce,” you whispered, “please. Let’s go outside and talk.” 

“I’ve wanted you for two years,” he said, “and now this guy comes along and you don’t care about anyone else. What does he have that I don’t have? Not money, obviously.” 

“You’re confused,” you whispered. “Please, let’s get a drink and talk.” 

He shook his head. “Not until you tell me why you’d want some fucking kid from the streets over me.” 

You looked at Bradley. Pleading. He stepped closer and put one hand on Pierce’s shoulder. “Let her go, man.” 

Pierce whipped around so quickly you almost didn’t see. His hand shot out to brush Bradley off of him and in the process he clipped your cheek, sending you flying to the left. You grunted, stumbling to the ground, a chorus of gasps filling the dance floor. 

As Pierce stood in horror above you, Leah falling to your side instantly, Bradley grabbed him by his lapels. “You’re going to pay for that.” 

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