#I call it my hope fic

[stevebabey]

nine facts, one lie

summary: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways.

Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong… [16.5k]

[one sided enemies to lovers — you hate steve and by god, does he want to change that] dedicated to my dearest kenny

Fact #1: You did not, under any circumstance, like Steve Harrington. 

It doesn’t matter what Dustin says nor the smug roll of Robin’s eyes, you knew it yourself even if no one else believed it; you did not like Steve Harrington. 

From everything you’ve ever heard about the guy, it was a surprise that he still had any friends — especially with the likes of your friends, a fact that makes you gag when Robin brings it up.

Robin, lovely best friend Robin, who completely betrayed you by associating herself willingly with Steve.

Since the beginning of high school, the two of you had been thick as thieves. Gossip was spilled between the two of you frequently, juicy enough to make even Carol Perkins’ head spin — you talked often enough that it got you split up during class time constantly, giggles too loud to be contained. 

Being at the bottom of the social food-chain —or maybe worse, completely unseen to your peers— there was nothing like sharing snarky remarks between you and Robin about the dunderheads who ‘ruled’ the school through idiotic popularity. 

Robin had a particular dislike for Tina Burgess ever since she’d started the rumour that girls in band were freaks in the sheets and would put out to anyone who would ask. You weren’t sure what had been worse: the obvious dig that Robin wasn’t getting any or the slimy guys who believed it and had the guts to ask. 

You, however, distinctly despised the likes of King Steve.

It was impossible to pinpoint what about him grated you so much; maybe, it was how he seemed to have girls in and out of his bed like he was playing a game, trying to rack up as many points as possible. Or maybe, it was that even you, invisible and not even on his radar let alone on his list, could see the appeal. 

Even better than easy on the eyes, Steve Harrington is one of those guys that makes you understand the word gorgeous.

It doesn’t help that he’s rich as well, with a huge house with a pool and even a swanky car to pick you up in. A complete daydream. Swept away into sheets softer than yours at home, you’d get to spend a night in the arms of the most popular guy in school and if you’re really lucky, he’ll still pretend to know your name the next day. 

What had really stuck with you was gossip you’d happened to overhear, head stuck in your locker as you fished around for your books and papers. Tommy H and Steve were 3 lockers over, at Tommy’s locker, and sharing the details of Steve’s latest conquest. 

So was she any good? Tommy had been asking. I always assumed nerdy chicks weren’t as good- they practically cream their pants considering no one’s ever kissed em’ before.

Steve had laughed along too. Yeah, man. She was all over me. Had to keep picturing someone hotter though, you know those geeks aren’t the prettie— Your stomach had curdled and you had slammed your locker door louder than needed, just to shut him up. You were sure they both saw you leave. 

It drove you insane. And even though Steve likely knew nothing of your existence — didn’t matter you had once been chem partners, nor the fact you shared English class— he was probably as close to an evil nemesis you’d ever get. 

Hence the utter betrayal of Robin’s friendship with him.

Originally, when she’d told you over the phone, gleeful and gossipy, that King Steve had just been hired at Scoops Ahoy, the two of you had snickered. It hadn’t been enough to watch him drift from his other asshole friends, something in you burned deliciously hearing he’d fallen from yet another pillar. 

It had only gotten better. Robin recounted countless stories where he had flunked out with girls — you’d nearly lost it hearing about her whiteboard, tallying up his ‘hits & misses’ when trying to score a date. It finally seemed Steve Harrington was somehow more of a loser than you. 

On the 4th of July, 1985, Starcourt Mall burnt down — and the strangest thing about it all was that Robin suddenly didn’t seem to mind Steve so much. 

They were friends. You’d been a little miffed at her quick change of heart as she doused your gossipy mood in an instant, insisting that Steve wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. 

Rather reluctantly, your teasing remarks about Steve were brought to a halt as Robin retaliated each time, urging you to give him another chance. And while you agreed to be civil, especially considering you had to see him every time you visited Robin at work. But what could you do? Old habits die hard.

Fact #2: Steve Harrington is trying to be a better person. 

Okay, you didn’t know that one, but Steve certainly did.  

It means even though Robin had dropped several warnings and a few premature apologies, Steve was prepared to be absolutely lovely when meeting her other best friend (the other being himself, of course). Robin still seemed tense about the two of your meeting — so far you’d specifically come to visit her at Family Video when you knew Steve wasn’t there. 

But a few shifts had been swapped around and on her late night Thursday shift where you always came by to keep her company, Robin was readying herself for the collision of her two friends. 

Despite all her convincing, she could tell you weren’t sold on the new Steve she claimed to love and you hadn’t come by when he was there, meaning all your experiences to do with Steve were rooted back in his days of assholery. 

It didn’t matter to Steve; he loved Robin and he had lots of practice trying to gain the ‘wow, you’re not a douchebag anymore’ gold star. He had this in the bag. 

The janky chime of the door buzzer announces the arrival of someone in the store and being the one at the counter while Robin tends to the shelves, Steve’s head pops up, ready to greet. 

“Hello! Welcome to Family Video!” 

It sounds far too rehearsed, recognizing the customer service voice you put on at your own job. You nearly smile at the cheery greeting, taken aback by Steve’s handsome grin and his floppy hair, messed from the force of his movement. Then you clock yourself and have to fight off an urge to scowl. 

Eyes already searching over the aisles for Robin, you’re just wondering if she’ll come save you from this conversation when Steve seems to realise who you must be. 

“Oh, you must be y/n.” His easy smile, hands leaning forward onto the counter that separates you, takes you aback.

In your peripheral, you can see Robin spot you and head in the direction — but she doesn’t come quick enough to stop Steve from bungling the whole conversation with his next sentence. 

“Robin’s told me a lot about you. I’m Steve,” His tone is friendly and at your silence, he continues. “Steve Harrington.” 

Oh my God. He doesn’t even remember you.

Over Steve’s shoulder, you can spy Robin burying her head in her hands and muttering something to herself. Any annoyance you had pushed down springs to the surface. You school your expression as neutral as possible, though you’re sure your brow crinkles in irritation. 

“I know.” 

Okay, that was meaner than you intended, especially as you recall Robin’s plea to be civil at the very least. You clear your throat, unsure if you can completely hide your distaste for him.

“We were chem partners, freshmen year.” You remind him, attempting a smile. It might be a grimace. “And I was in your English class your senior year.”

Steve seems to realise his mistake, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes widening almost comically — fuck, way to go, Harrington. All of his pep talks, amping himself up to be so friendly to you and then he goes and ruins it by not remembering you.

It’s embarrassing. Hawkins is a small town and practically everyone knows everyone, with the exception of popular kids who didn’t think they needed to. He winces, frustrated that his past has come back to haunt him yet again.

“I’m sorry.” He says, more sincere than you’re expecting. Well, you’re not expecting an apology at all — the Steve you remembered would’ve laughed it off, claiming that he couldn’t forget a pretty face and trying to brush over the fact he forgot you at all.

“Seriously,” he reaffirms at the hint of surprise on your features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to forget your face. I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason I passed that chem class.”

Robin seems to sense your internal battle, baffled by his apology but still irritated by the fact his memory didn’t deem you memorable enough. She also wants to jump on the spot and say ‘told you!’ because the surprise you’d shown means you hadn’t believed her.

A part of her feels bad, knowing the battering Steve’s taken to his head too many times has undoubtedly knocked a few memories loose; but it’s not that they could explain that to you. 

“I’m just shelving — want to come sit?” She offers, taking the conversation away from you and Steve. “We watched Highlander today and I could sit and explain the whole plot to you?” 

It’s the usual activities you and Robin did when you came to bug her on her shift. You loved listening to Robin talk as she possessed a unique ability to turn a 10-minute retelling into an hour-long debate. Each subplot in the film needed to be discussed, with bad analogies that came out of left field and made you laugh til your sides hurt. It wasn’t a bad Thursday night all around. 

Just as you’re about to respond, Steve cuts in and speaks instead. 

“Robs, you’ve only got two hours left. It’s a Thursday, you could take off if you wanted? I don’t mind.”

Robs. Somehow the nickname for your best friend coming from Steve is more jarring than the polite offer he’s extended. Steve’s eyes shift back over to you, offering another weak smile and you wonder if this is a continuation of his apology. 

“Really?” Robin’s excitement is evident. Bunking off early means you two will sneak a movie and have time to grab some greasy food for an actual hangout. “I mean- are you sure?” 

Steve nods sincerely then cracks a grin, shooting a sarcastic smile at Robin. “What think I can’t hold down the fort for a couple hours?” 

Robin is already peeling off her Family Video vest, digging under the counter to pull out her school bag. “I don’t think it, Steve. I know it.” 

He laughs, meandering his way back to where Robin has left the returns cart and, furiously, you have to admit he’s being awfully nice. Robin nearly trips coming around the counter, her hand grasping your arm tightly to keep herself upright and she beams at you. 

“C’mon!” She says, pulling you out the door, the buzzer chiming again as you both leave the store. Once outside, she pauses and you can feel her stare burning into your temple. She doesn’t say it but you can feel the beginning of an i told you so building in her throat. 

“Don’t say it.” 

“Say what?” She plays clueless but her grin gives her away. She links an arm through yours. 

“Don’t say anything.” You say with a scowl, the two of you beginning to stroll down the stairs out the front. The crispness of the night makes you tug her a little closer. “I still don’t like him.” 

Fact #3: Steve Harrington still likes to flirt. 

In the beginning, the compliments are because Steve really wants you to like him. 

He sees more of you with the change of shifts and perhaps, he gleefully thinks, you aren’t completely avoiding him anymore. You’ll come to see Robin in store even if he’s working as well and inadvertently, conversations spring up between the two of you. 

The first time he tries to slip in a compliment casually, he’s not entirely sure what reaction he gets. On this day you’re waiting for Robin to finish out back, packing up some of the schoolwork she’d done in the backroom, and to Steve’s delight, you’ve opted to wait up by the counter with him. 

You’ve already exchanged an awkward couple hello’s and now silence falls between you. Steve clears his throat and tries to earn his not a douchebag star. 

“Did you get a haircut?” 

You blink. Without thought, you bring up your hand and run it over the silky strands — cut fresh from yesterday. Surprise sprouts in your chest at the fact he noticed.

“Yeah,” you nod, tucking it behind your ears. “I did.” 

“It looks good.” He compliments, pairing it with a genuine smile. “It like,” he gestures with a hand, hoping his ears aren’t as red as they feel. “Frames your face better. You look nice.” 

For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and the simple act of a compliment from an attractive guy makes your lips twitch into a smile. Robin bundles out of the back room before you remember to say something snarky, like What and my hair looked bad before? 

Instead, it hangs in the air and when you leave behind Robin, you really consider smiling over your shoulder at him. 

But it ruminates; the compliment loops in your mind until your insecurity unstitches it and it warps into something else entirely. His motivation is the question on your mind.

In what world does Steve Harrington flirt with you? 

It has to be a joke. He must be making fun of you because that’s exactly what Steve used to do and if he’s not, that means he has changed and you’re suddenly worthy of his attention.

You recall the locker-room talk, his jeering tone and everything about his compliment turns sour. 

Somehow, Steve’s worried he’s managed to make it worse.

His compliments dropped here and there — commenting on film choice, saying he likes your sweaters, all it seems to earn him is scowls. Your scrunched nose and heated glare from your distaste either means he’s worse at flirting than he remembers or it’s a painful reminder that still you see him as King Steve.

He’s not — he knows he is not. King Steve wouldn’t have bothered looking at the film you’d picked out, his comment would’ve been on your body not on the clothes you choose, and he certainly wouldn’t have noticed something as trivial as a haircut.

And because Steve is nothing if not a whinger, he tells all this to Dustin when the kid comes in to visit.

“I mean, I know I was bad but,” Steve cut himself off with a scoff, following Dustin through the aisles. Dustin didn’t even look as though he was listening, eyes trained on the shelves intently. “I apologised for not remembering her, like, an actual genuine apology— and that was years ago! I don’t get why she doesn’t like me, man.”

Dustin, who had indeed been listening to the rant of his older friend, promptly stopped and plucked a film off the shelf with a quiet aha!

“Are you even listening to me, Henderson?”

“Yes, Steve.” Dustin spun, eyes narrowed as he stared up at Steve intensely enough to unnerve him. “From what I’ve heard, you were pretty damn bad so I’m not surprised some people hold a grudge!”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you didn’t remember her. Maybe you did something rude in high school and completely forgot about it?”

Steve waved his hands dismissively, shaking his head in disagreement. Without noticing, you had slipped in the store up front, usual conversation struck up with Robin. However, you’d been quickly distracted as you searched the store for Robin’s other half and were baffled to find him following around a child.

“Looking for Steve?” Robin jibed when she noticed your gaze wandering across the store, your attention going with it. 

You ignored the jab, rolling your eyes with a light laugh. “He wishes. Is he talking to a kid?”

“Who Dustin? Don’t let him hear you call him that.” Robin warned with a roll of her own eyes, shuffling about some stock room records in her hands. “He’s like Steve’s best friend. He was, uh, in the mall fire with us last year.”

The mall fire. Robin doesn’t talk about it at all, a hollow expression taking over her features that freaks you out far too much to push it. Pushing past your surprise, you decide to focus on the other part of her sentence.

“They’re friends?”

As if to prove your point, the two of them head to the front of the store in the middle of a bicker — Steve lags behind a bit, hands waving dramatically as Dustin calls over his shoulder, tone righteous and just a tad smug.

You catch the end of Dustin’s sentence— “Not every girl has to swoon over you, Steve, you know that right? So what if she doesn’t—” cut off when Steve shoves his shoulder, having spotted you.

Dustin looks as though he experiences a ripple of emotions; annoyance, as he whips around, ready to cuss Steve out for the shove, which quickly turns to confusion at the wide-eyed look Steve is staring down at him with. By the time he’s facing you something has clicked as he looks at you with renewed interest.

“Dustin.” He introduces, stepping forward with one hand held out for you to shake. “Dustin Henderson.”

Unwittingly, you peer over his shoulder and connect eyes with Steve — who gives a shrug in response, an awkward smile on his face. Taking Dustin’s smaller hand in your own, you smile and introduce yourself, unable to keep the hint of confusion out of your words.

“I’m Steve’s best friend.” The curly-headed boy explains, gesturing over his shoulder and Steve’s smile gets a little more awkward. He feels a smidge nervous considering there’s no telling what will fall out of Henderson’s mouth next. Steve’s a little relieved when it’s a typical plea for a ride, spinning back round to him.

“Andddd as my best friend, he’ll be totally happy to drive me to the Byers’ right now. Robin can handle the store for 10 minutes without you, can’t ya Robin?”

He slides the tape he’s grabbed onto the counter as he says it, a silent ask to check it out. Likely under Steve’s account which Dustin says it’s for the employee discount — which makes Steve scoff, considering he pays for it anyways.

All eyes move to Robin who freezes at the sudden attention, papers paused mid-shuffle in her twitchy hands. She narrows her eyes at Dustin and you find yourself watching Steve as he has a silent exchange with the girl — another halfhearted shrug that means he’s happy to take him if she doesn’t mind.

Robin swipes the tape and types the details into the computer hastily, waving them both off. “Yeah, yeah. y/n can always get behind the counter, worst-case scenario.”

Dustin fist-pumps, taking the tape back from Robin as she hands it over. He heads to the door and calls out to you as he goes, “And you’d look better than Steve in the vest too!”

It makes you laugh when Steve scowls, sidling up to you to lean over the counter and snatch up his car keys. He pauses, eyes roaming your face and looking as though he wants to say something to you.

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice pierces the glass and you look to see him waiting on the top step, hands raised, expression unimpressed. 

Steve sighs, muttering the word dickhead under his breath and then he’s out the door.

Fact #3: You may have misjudged Steve Harrington.

It’s been just over a week since seeing Dustin in the store with Steve and though you’d never admit it aloud, it has shifted the way you see Steve.

A minuscule shift, you huff to yourself, tiny and not enough to completely dissolve your built in dislike for the Harrington boy. But you find the thought worming into your brain frequently, tripping over it in surprise when you realise you’re thinking of him again. 

It’s just… it didn’t make sense.

Just like the flirting, it didn’t compute in your brain unless you rationalized it back to some asshole motive.

But Dustin had introduced himself as Steve’s best-friend, which was sort of weird enough on its own but you figured it had to be some insane trauma bonding from the mall fire. 

Even if they had been the same age, Dustin didn’t seem like the company you’d expect Steve to keep— but neither was Robin, you thought after a moment of contemplation.

Robin’s knowing grin outside Family Video a couple of weeks ago that screamed i told you so floats up in your memory; you might have to concede she was maybe, potentially, just a little bit right. 

The thoughts weigh on your mind as you wait in the kitchen for Steve’s car to pull into your driveway. A couple months ago you would have outright refused to accept a ride from King Steve and you still weren’t sure if you thanked him for his generosity tonight, whether it would come out snarky or genuine. 

But he did offer, unasked.

You and Robin wanted to see a rerun screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show that was showing a few towns over. Robin couldn’t drive and neither could you, which meant when she’d seen the poster, it had only been a fleeting moment of excitement before you realised you didn’t have any means of travel.

She must have been moping about it at work that day because it was sometime in the evening after she got off work that your phone rang and she nearly shrieked down the line that Steve would take you both. 

So, here you were; waiting for Steve to pick you up. 

God, even the sentence sounded odd in your head. A flash of amber headlights on the street grabs your attention and before you can delve into the flip of your stomach, you duck out of the house and slip into Steve’s car. 

You take the front seat. Mainly because it would be too weird to get in the back, as though he was your chauffeur — though you suppose for tonight, he is. Steve smiles when you get in and you find it easy to mimic it. Gravel crunches as his tires pull away from the curb, gathering speed as he heads for Robin’s house. 

Eyes out the window, you don’t see how he steals glances at you every couple of moments. The air feels tinged with awkwardness and Steve swallows, wondering if he’s allowed to break it. You’ve been a little warmer to him — I mean, hell, you just offered him a smile.

As he pulls the car up in front of Robin’s house, engine idling, he pushes out a breath and dredges up his courage.

Yes, in the beginning, the compliments were because he wanted you to not see him and scowl. Tonight, it’s because you look beautiful and he wants you to know it.

“You look—” Oh god, and now you’re looking at him, eyes a little wide before they narrow in suspicion. “—uh, pretty.” 

“What?” 

“I mean, you always look pretty!” He amends. “But, y’know, you look lovely tonight. Pretty.” Stop talking.

“P-Pretty lovely.” It falls off his tongue in haste, delivered so terribly he’s surprised he doesn’t cringe immediately after. God, it was like whatever flirting skills he had flew out the window with you. 

“No, Harrington, I mean— why do you keep saying these things?” 

Steve feels utterly lost, shown on his face as he blinks, once, twice, and doesn’t say anything. Your insecurity bubbles up, mixed with anger at the thought he might indeed be messing with you. 

“I don’t know if this is funny to you, to- to like, joke that you like my clothes or- or to pretend to think that I’m pretty but it’s not. And I—” 

“Woah, wait — who said I was joking?” Incredulity taints each word, his brows pulled high in surprise. Steve’s stomach twists, feeling his heart recoil at the complete seriousness in your words — you think he’s been making fun of you. 

“Well, why else would you call me pretty?” You ask pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Because you are?” It’s faint, Steve’s voice suddenly a lot softer. 

You’re not sure you can contain the ripple of emotions on your face, his words sticking you in the throat so you have to swallow thickly. It’s like a switch is flipped, each compliment of the last couple of weeks shifting into a new meaning in your mind.

It’s overwhelming and you find yourself searching Steve’s face desperately, drinking in his sincere expression, brows drawn together as he offers a weak smile. Fuck, you think and along with it, dozens of apologies fester and churn — god, you’d been so rude and—

“Um, backseat please!” A sharp knock at your window scares you, nearly jumping out of your skin and breaking your focus on Steve. When you turn, Robin’s standing on the sidewalk, bent at the waist to peer at you through the glass. You stare at her dumbly for a moment til she wiggles her eyebrows with a grin and it makes you crack a smile, finally reeling yourself in enough to move. 

Unclipping your belt, you’re rather thankful to be shoved to the back of the car. Hidden in the dark, you shift to take the seat behind Steve. Your eyes spy a sliver of his neck, exposed skin about the collar of his jacket and it fixates you for a moment. 

Because you are? Steve’s words follow you, plaguing you in the shadows of the backseat — you purposefully ignore how it makes your heart sing ever-so-slightly.

Fact #4: Bradley O’Connor is not to be trusted.

“Guess who came into my work today?”

It’s said all gleeful, your hands gripping the counter as you nearly launch yourself over it in your excitement. On the other side stands Robin, doodling in her notebook — or she had been, til your arrival had been announced by the door chime, her ‘Welcome to Family Video!’ cut off by your sudden commotion.

“Um,” Robin begins indignantly, brows raised high. “Half of Hawkins? You work at Bradley’s Best Buy y/n, like the whole town shops there.”

Her sarcasm bounces off you, undeterred in your good mood; it was like the sun was shining just for you today. You didn’t even mind Steve obviously listening in on you two, his hands frozen above the keyboard as he eavesdropped from his seat at the computer.

“Yeah, speaking of Bradley’s...” you grinned at Robin, hoping your hint was enough. It was, her expression shifting into something more enthusiastic.

“Bradley Bradley?”

You nod at her question, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip in an attempt to contain your giddy grin. But it’s hard when your long-term high school crush Bradley O’Connor came through your till, flirted like there was no tomorrow, and insisted you jot your number on his receipt.

He didn’t even seem to care that you worked at a supermarket. You knew well that he and all his friends lived in the cushy tax bracket which meant the first job they ever worked would be after college. Kids like you and Robin, stuck working hours in dead-end jobs to help pay rent, were often easy pickings for teasing.

It just made you lean into your naive feelings more, swooning at the fact he didn’t care. You had been too elated in your feelings to notice the piles of his friends waiting outside the store; if you had, it might’ve made you more cautionary.

“Bradley O’Connor?” Steve butts in, swiveling in his chair to question you. The way Steve says his name, tinged in disbelief, makes you narrow your eyes.

“Is that so hard to believe?” You say defensively and chose to not acknowledge Robin’s deep sigh. Eyes widening, Steve splutters for a moment as he shakes his head.

“What? No, not like that! I just mean—him? Really?”

You can’t quite pick what’s hiding in his voice, eyes instead following Robin as she whirls around and delivers a glower that makes Steve reconsider his tone, swallowing.

“I mean—” He starts again, clearing his throat, cheeks a titch pink now. “I didn’t realise he was... your type.”

You stare at Steve, your expression skeptical as you try to pull apart whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. When you can’t figure it out in a moment, you ignore the comment and turn back to Robin and ignore it.

“Asked for my number.” You lean closer to Robin, wiggling your brows as you lead her along the excitement you’d felt earlier today. “Insisted on it actually.”

Robin’s brows manage to raise even higher, nearly disappearing into her hairline and you’d be a bit offended if her grin didn’t match your own.

“Oh. My. God.” She says, her pen punching down on the pages of her notebook to punctuate each word. “Oh my god.”

You don’t bother trying to hold back your grin, nodding along, some form of a squeal escaping you — it vaguely occurs to you should rein it in with Steve listening in, but you can’t find it in yourself to curb your feelings for his sake.

“Finally!” Robin manages to break her script of oh my god’s. “You’ve only liked him for—what? Two years?”

You flush automatically at the admission, your grin becoming a grimace as you shoot a glare at your best friend. She means well, but you’re not exactly lining up to let Steve Harrington in on all your secrets.

Your eyes flit over to where he sits, still watching the conversation. As if he can read your unease, he mimes turning a lock over his lips and tosses the key behind him blindly in an exaggerated motion. You’re in a good enough mood that it makes you laugh lightly, breaking back into a smile and comforted that at the very least, Steve won’t go ratting out your affections.

“Hey, as happy as I am for you, aren’t you supposed to be helping your Mom today?”

Like a bubble bursting, Robin reminds you that, alas, the world exists outside the perfect moment of exchanging digits over the cash register at work. Your eyes widen, a little horrified as you spin around and squint at the clock on the wall. Shit.

“Shit.” You verbalize the thought and you’re out the door before you remember to call out your goodbyes. 

Steve watches you go, your purple wind-breaker flapping behind you wildly as you all but sprint around the corner and out of sight. It’s a bit too comical and he can’t help but chuckle. The sound draws Robin’s attention and all too suddenly, Steve feels as though he’s been caught doing something wrong as she whirls around to face him.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Steve wonders if he’ll have to remind her that despite the jokes they both make, he can’t actually read her mind.

She breaks the silence. “What was that?”

“What was what?” It’s genuine confusion, Steve’s head tilting to the right an inch.

“I didn’t realise he was your type.” Robin mocks, her voice high pitch and hands gesturing somehow sarcastically. “That! What was that?”

Steve frowns, defensiveness creeping up in his tone. “That was nothing!”

Okay, so, that sounded way less casual than he hoped. Steve clears his throat, spinning on his seat to face the computer again. It was nothing. Robin was being a vulture, picking at remains, picking at nothing — absolutely nothing.

“Nothing at all.” He mutters, beginning to type again and Robin snorts behind him, voice still doused in sarcasm.

“Mm, for my own sake, I’m gonna ignore the fact you’re clearly interested in her.”

Steve hits a wrong key in his surprise, an annoyed beep! coming from the computer. It sums up how he’s feeling. He turns his head back to Robin, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “What? No, no way.”

“Yes, way.”

“Robin, no. Even if I did—not that I do but even if I— look, I’m not stupid enough to get a crush on someone who hates me.”

This puts out the fiery retorts for just a moment, Robin dimming as she recalls the bitterness you harbor for Steve. Well, harbored — she knows you back to front and she’s willing to bet money that if you stopped hating him for just a second, you’d probably like the guy.

“She doesn’t know you.” She lands on eventually, features softening as she recalls the bitterness on Steve’s face whenever some idiot from high school dragged up his past — usually, in an attempt to humiliate him.

“Look, I’m not interested in her.” Steve reiterates, though a little weak, waving his hands wildly as if it will help drive the point home. “Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen. “

The door rattles as it’s opened by a new customer. Robin and Steve both cease their conversation immediately, turning to greet automatically — and who should it be Bradley O’Connor, himself. He doesn’t spare a glance at the front counter, sauntering straight into the action movie aisle.

“In fact,” Steve begins, an idea formulating in his mind. He spins back to Robin with a grin. “I’ll happily help her get her next date.”

“Steve, don’t—“

Steve ignores her protest, sidling out from behind the counter and tracking Bradley down to where the rom-com section starts.

“Welcome to Family Video!” It’s a bit cheery and it makes the boy jump in surprise, surprised by the new voice. Steve continues. “Anything I can help you with today?”

Bradley chuckles stiffly, a little affronted at the enthusiasm Steve’s to help a customer. He clocks the double take he does, the glance down at Steve’s name badge giving away that Bradley’s well aware of who he is. Exhaling, Steve hopes he won’t bring it up.

It looks as though Bradley weighs something up in his head, taking another once over at Steve before he speaks. “Yeah, actually. You know what movies chicks dig?” 

Steve can tell in the way Bradley says the word chicks that he’s an asshole. Not thinking of girls as people, more like scores: notches in his belt. It makes him tick, jaw clenching.

But he was like that once. Nancy Wheeler had found a genuine spot in him and coaxed it out. You — you could do the same.

So, Steve says, “Yeah, man. Anyone in particular? Usually depends on the girl, honestly.” 

Bradley sniffs, one hand nudging under his nose as he skirts his gaze around the store. He lands on Robin, who thankfully, doesn’t look like she’s trying to eavesdrop at that exact moment.

“Do ya know y/l/n?” He jerks his chin in the direction of Robin. “Buckley’s friend?”

Steve nods, glad at the easy segue; now, all he had to do was talk you up. And Steve Harrington was nothing if not a flatterer. He halts a moment later with a frown, realising what a noncommittal date it was. You deserved better than that, Steve thought.

“y/n? You can’t just rent out a film for a girl like that. She’s a total catch, dude— you gotta do the whole nine yards, yanno? Cinema, popcorn, be a gentleman and all.”

He pairs his suggestion with a usual charming smile, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Bradley seems to pick up on the extra interest and his brows quirk up.

“You got like, a thing for her or something?”

His pink cheeks nearly give him away. Steve, to his credit, manages to not blunder his next response. It’s almost like Robin’s line of fire earlier prepped him for this moment. 

“Nah,” he replies, coolly. “She’s just a friend.”

The next words are a little less casual, Steve straightening up as a surprising amount of protectiveness curls in his gut. “And as her friend, I’m just looking out for her.”

Bradley swallows, breaking eye-contact as if Steve could puzzle out his ill intentions if he looked long enough.

“So, be nice and take her out all proper.” Steve lets it sit in the air for a moment, then smiles, a polite way that’s well practiced in his line of work. “Can I get anything else for you?”

It might be the quickest customer Robin’s ever checked out, with Bradley managing to get the film rented and be out the door in under 2 minutes.

Thankfully, Robin is chuckling when he wanders back behind the counter. He had been harboring a thread of anxiety, worried he had really overstepped by thinking he knew best — it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. On top of that, Steve really doesn’t want this to bite him in the ass, especially considering it was to help you. 

“Don’t—” Robin starts, a smile curling her lips. “—let this go to your head, but that wasn’t nearly half bad.” 

Steve tries not to feel smug, settling instead on pleasantly content. He was in your good books after this, for sure.

When you call the store from home, wire twisted in your fingers and talking loud enough in your excitement that Steve could hear it from beside Robin, she makes sure to mention the good word he put in for you.

Fact #5: If you call Steve Harrington from a pay-phone on a Friday night, he’ll pick up.

The bleak cold of the night air isn’t anything compared to the shame that’s building in your chest. You’re trying your best to ignore it, to not give in to your anxious doubts — what did Bradley say on the phone?

It was supposed to be a movie night at his place — that was what he’d suggested when he toyed with your feelings at work, a handsome smirk on his face. You’d tried not to sound disgruntled at the hurried change in plans, instead trying to lean into your excitement that tonight went from casual to a definite date.

Bradley O’Connor didn’t just invite anyone to the movies with him. And he’d said 7 on the phone, you huffed to yourself.

7 o’clock. The showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off that was playing at Hawk cinema. Though, he did sound a bit distracted on the phone, his voice sounding distant.

You glance at the clock above the ticket booth. 7.13pm.

Heaving a sigh, you tuck your coat closer around yourself and wonder how long you should wait before it goes from sad to truly pathetic.

Five more minutes, you think, Give him five more minutes.

Because you hopelessly want his flirts, his coy smile, and charming winks to be real; you want to be swept up in a teenage daydream and have it all work out for you for once.

You swallow, picking at your fingers as you dredge up your hopes, convincing yourself he’s coming — because if he doesn’t...it means Steve and his confused tone were fucking right. That Bradley wasn’t the type to go for your type.

You shouldn’t have waited the five extra minutes.

Technically, you think bitterly, you were right. Bradley does show up.

You’re stepping out, wondering if you should brave the walk home in the dark — but a familiar group of raucous boys in Letterman jackets heading for the cinema freeze you in your tracks.

“Holy shit, she actually came.”

It’s not said kind, not in awed disbelief as you’d hoped. It’s cruel — jeering explodes in the group of boys, unkind laughs and snickers resounding off the bricks as they smack each other, all in on the joke. The realisation sinks into your stomach, staining it black.

Bradley looks smugly satisfied — a pompous conceited piece of shit that you should’ve known better than to believe.

You don’t even want to look at him, a hot sting of tears burning behind your eyes. You don’t want to give him a chance to taunt you. Your feet take you forward, barging through the group and smacking your shoulder against Bradley’s shoulder, hard. You hope it hurts.

“Tell Harrington thanks for the suggestion to take you to the movies!” He calls after you like he knows how it rubs salt into the wound. It does; it stings maybe more than the initial humiliation. “Guess he’s not an idiot all of the time!”

The boys laugh, a series of oohs that finally break your floodgate. Tears streak, hot and fast, and you brush them off before they reach your chin, sniffling. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The humiliation is coating you, sticky and clinging like a fog and you squeeze your eyes closed as you inhale quickly. You round the corner fast, feet not stopping til you’re at least four blocks from the cinema, further downtown.

You feel dumb. Scratch that, you feel like a fucking idiot.

A stray tear escapes without permission and the next thought is that you want to go home. Blurry eyes scanning the street, you clock the phone booth and head for it, fueled by the urgency of your thoughts: get home, then fall apart.

The glass is cold as you push the door open, creaking and weathered. You close the door and turn, staring at the phone. Who do you call?

Your mom is the first thought. She’d driven you in — though, you’d told her you’d get a lift home with Bradley since he had a car. You’re not up for the coddling you’ll get when she sees the state of you in the slightest. Besides, she’d mentioned heading to a friends for the evening.

Robin is the next thought. And you would, except she can’t drive so all she’d do is ply you with a combination of questions and furious insults directed at Bradley.

Your next thought...No.

You sigh, leaning your head against the glass, not caring about how grimy it might be, and smack your head against it a couple of times. No, no way were you about to call Steve Harrington for a lift.

Not when he fucking set you up. Not when he’d just taken the shred of trust you’d granted him and torn it up immediately. Especially not after crying because you believed a date like that with a guy like Bradley O’Connor was genuine.

You were not calling Steve.

The Harrington household number is easy to find in the paper phone book.

It’s under Steve’s father’s name, some prick with big money who’d likely report you to the police for harassment if he picked up the phone. You stare at it and then at the phone, a frown set on your brow as you weigh it up.

Steve didn’t work Friday night — you know, because it used to be a night to go visit Robin, back when you avoided Steve.

A stray thought floats up, bringing back the words of Robin on the phone as she had celebrated the news. It’s a bitter memory now, made entirely worse as you recall what she had said. Steve talked you up, her voice crackled down the wire, when O’Connor came in. Put in a good word for you.

A new emotion surges in your chest and you’re relieved to shrug off some humiliation for anger. God, you feel even more stupid for thinking Steve would’ve actually talked you up.

As you punch in the number, the keypad taking a bit of a beating, you huff and think at the very least, he can owe you a ride for ruining your evening.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve.”

“Harrington.” You spit it out with venom. On the other side of the phone, Steve recoils a bit, surprised at the tone.

“y/n? I thought you were—”

“I’m on Cavendish Boulevard, right by Tony’s. Come pick me up.” It’s fierce and clipped. You don’t really want to unleash your anger on the phone, lest he leaves you stranded and you have to ring around your mother’s friends just to find her. You just want to go home.

Steve makes a noise of confusion over the phone, a bit slow on the uptake. “But I thought tonight was—”

“Harrington.” you say again, a little softer, your emotions leaking into your voice involuntarily. Fuck, you sound pathetic but in the moment you can’t bring yourself to care. You plead, “Please.”

“I’m coming,” He says, voice indicating he’s caught on to why you might be calling. “Yeah, I’m coming, just sit tight.”

Fact #6: When Steve Harrington says he ‘knows a spot’, he doesn’t always mean Skull Rock. 

You’re angry.

That much Steve can tell. Steve’s reminded too much of the last ride he gave you when you pop the door, sliding almost uncomfortably into the passenger seat and turning your clenched jaw towards the window.

Unrest torments Steve’s head, unsure if he’s gained enough trust to ask what went wrong this evening. On the other hand, you had called him. At the very least, you trusted him to come and get you.

The tires groan as he drives out of Tony’s parking lot, the hood of the car dipping to the gutter and rolling out onto the quiet roads.

“Am I allowed to ask what happened?” Steve drives slow so his eyes can flick over to you, watching the way you smooth your hands down your thighs, a self-soothing motion. It makes his chest twinge, a tad more worry than he’s probably warranted to considering you are barely friends. If that.

“Depends.” you finally turn to face him, a pinch in your eyebrows. “What did you say to Bradley?”

Steve detects the cynicism of your question in a heartbeat. Even though he knows he was all charm, Robin even affirmed it, he still rehashes the conversation, scrutinizing it for what he had said wrong.

You take his silence as admittance. Scoffing lightly, you focus back out the window, eyes boring into the streets. You’re in the middle of a mutter, something like I was so right about you when Steve manages to find his voice.

“I—” Shyness has crept up inside, Steve suddenly worried you’ll find his comments odd and not endearing. Worse, you’ll think he’s being in-genuine again. You’re just quiet, waiting. “I told him that he should take you to the cinema, instead of just renting a film. That you deserved a better— a proper date.”

He shoots a look in your direction, trying to see how you take in the words. Your shoulders have bunched up stiffly, your body turning further away but he can still see the furrow in your brow, angry emotions emitting out in every direction from you — you don’t believe him.

“I swear,” He continues, more desperate to prove himself. “I said something about— that you were a catch and- and you can ask Robin, I swear to—”

“Steve, stop.”

Horror churns through his gut when Steve realises you’re crying, soft tears dripping off your cheeks. As if you can sense he’s about to talk again, ready to rattle off his insistence, you speak before him.

“If I believe you,” you inhale shakily, pushing your palms into your eyes hard. You don’t want to cry in front of Steve. “If you’re telling the truth, then that means...”

Your teeth chew on your lip, hiding its quiver as you relive the humiliation of earlier all over again. “It means, I was actually stupid enough to believe him.”

Painfully, Steve can feel the embarrassment rolling off you in waves as you bury your face away. He swears under his breath. He’d detected asshole from Bradley two words in but this? This was not even in the ballpark of what he’d considered happening tonight. How fucking childish to ask someone out as a joke.

You seem to be slipping into a ramble, uncaring that you’re pouring your feelings out to Steve — Steve who you hate, or at least you did. Steve who you were ready to verbally pummel a minute ago. Steve who is looking at you so gingerly that you might consider he actually cares about you.

“He- all his friends were there.” You admit, words wobbling and tone revealing your utter mortification. “It was just a big fucking joke.” 

For a minute, the car is silent; you stare at the road and watch it get swallowed beneath the car.

“I’m— I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve starts again, feeling like he’s managed to take one step forward and fifteen backward with you. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I had no idea he would do that, I swear, I wouldn’t have—“

He cuts himself off, apparently out of words to say, or taking your silence as a cue to shut up. His apology sits in the silence and you know now, he means it. Bradley’s smugness compared to Steve’s sincerity leaves no contest; you’d been too in your own head to realise you’d muddled them up.

You’re faintly aware that Steve has been driving absently, guzzling up gas so you can have a moment suspended away from reality. But he seems to grip the wheel tighter, with more purpose, and instead of looping the block again, Steve picks a route.

You wipe under your eyes again, sniffling through your clogged throat. “Where are we going?”

Steve adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a glance at you.

“Where I go when I’m upset.”

A snarky retort rises in your mind on instinct, the hurt part that wants to lash out, make someone hurt like you’re hurting. You think about saying something like what does rich, popular Steve Harrington get upset about? when he says, “Helped me a lot after the, uh, the mall fire.”

You swallow the words on your tongue and guilt stains your throat.

It’s a short drive; Steve drives so comfortably that you question how many times he’s traced this route. Too plagued by horrid memories, forced into his car and driving until he’s tired enough to sleep without nightmares.

You can’t say you’re expecting the stretch of road that crawls out to Skull Rock. For a moment you regard him, wondering if he’s daft enough to try to get lucky right now. But the car veers off track, driving down a less traveled path.

He doesn’t stop til you’re surrounded by timber trunks — there’s not much room to open your door when Steve puts the car into park.

Normally, you make a witty comment — “You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, right? I can’t see how that would make me feel any better.” — but you bite your tongue. You feel too downbeat to be witty now.

Steve rounds the car and pops the trunk, leaning over it with one hand still gripping the top. He rummages for a moment, moving junk around til he pulls out a couple of items: a baseball bat, some bag that clinks noisily, and a few other items, stuffed quickly into the bag. He tucks the baseball bat under his arm.

“C’mon,” he murmurs and waves you to follow him, after shutting the trunk and locking the car. Again, you’re eerily aware that this route is well-familiar to Steve. You stumble to keep up, eyes on your feet so you don’t get a face full of dirt.

Eventually, the trees give way to a clearing littered with various junk, glittering broken glass all around making Steve tell you to watch where you step.

He makes his way towards a rotten tree trump in the centre of the clearing, poorly cut and barely a flat surface on it. Still, Steve digs around in the bag and fishes out an empty beer bottle. You think you can guess where he’s going with this.

Carefully, he manages to balance it on a slanted surface and as expected, he draws the bat out from under his arm and offers it to you.

The wood is warm from being pressed against his side and you curl your fingers around it, sapping it into your hands. He digs around in the bag for another moment, revealing a pair of safety glasses — damn, he’s really prepared.

Steve unfolds them and steps closer, offering them out to you — but you don’t remove your hands from the bat, instead jutting out your chin to indicate for him to put them on for you.

It makes him pause. Steve regards you for a moment, eyes unsure before he steps even closer.

It steals your breath, the intensity of his gaze as he pushes the glasses up your nose, his fingers tracing along the rims and down the arms of the glasses, tucking any stray hair behind your ears. It’s oddly intimate, watching him through the plastic, his expression focused, breath fanning over your face. He looks handsome — the shadows cutting his jawline nicely and you can smell his cologne when he’s this close.

When he steps back, you have to remind yourself to breathe — the scent of him still swirls in your chest.

Even though you know what he’s brought you here for — the bottle, the bat, the open junkyard already doused in broken litter — you still don’t make a move.

Steve gestures to the bottle. “Hit it. Hard as you can.”

It’s a soft instruction; you know if you wanted, you could turn around and he’d drive you all the way home, no questions asked. But then you’d spend the rest of your evening drowning your sorrows, wallowing in a pint of ice-cream and sniffling over the phone to Robin.

You turn to face the bottle, lifting the bat, and readying your grip.

Holy shit, she actually came.

The bat connects fast with the bottle, a loud crash pistoling off and filling the clearing — the brown glass dissolves into the night, pieces are thrown in every direction and you’re suddenly very grateful for the safety glasses.

You heave in a breath, surprised by how that felt. It’s thrilling. You whip around to look at Steve and choke on a laugh at what you see — he’s put on a ridiculous pair of sunglasses.

They’re not at all the usual stylish ones he’s worn to parties before. It’s likely didn’t want that pair damaged but still needed to protect his eyes. Instead, these pair look like women’s sunglasses, with big wide round frames. It’s a bizarre sight, Steve Harrington is women’s sunglasses, at night-time no less.

“Nice glasses.” The tease falls off your lips instinctively, a laugh contained in the words. 

Back to poking fun at him — a definite sign you’re feeling better. He sighs, playing it up, popping his hip, and planting his hands on his sides.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “Be thankful I gave you the cool ones. Normally, it’s just me up here anyways.”

It’s somewhat of a lie. He’d bought two pairs of the safety glasses, one for Robin as well, but she hadn’t liked the loud noises of broken glass when he brought her with him.

But Steve thought the stupid oversized glasses his mom had tried to dump — he was going to offer them to Robin but it had slipped his mind — would be a better choice. You wouldn’t be thinking about fucking O’Connor if he’s in women’s sunglasses.

It’s surprisingly effective; a giggle titters out of you again and you cover your mouth as if it’ll help hide the sound. You’re a bit bewildered at how easy it feels to laugh so soon.

Steve pushes the glasses up onto the top of his head, his hair sticking up at odd angles and he narrows his eyes at you. His smile gives him away. He bends and roots through the bag, finding another bottle for you to smash. The sunnies slip back down to cover his eyes as he sets up the next one. 

It wobbles precariously on the stump but you don’t wait for it to settle, baseball bat swinging and shattering it in a second.

“Fuck!” You scream and the curse is swallowed up in the splintering sound of glass. Steve whoops, looking almost like a suburban mom, cheering from the sidelines. The scream helped — hell, swinging with all your might and channeling your rage into demolishing a bottle was definitely helping. You don’t feel upset, you feel enraged.

The stump isn’t empty for long, Steve dutifully scoops up another bottle and places it out for you. He pauses, sunglasses back in his hair, and points at the bottle as he fixes you with a determined look.

“This one’s O’Connor.”

You meet his eyes, his brows knitted together and an expression that says he wants you to destroy it because he’s angry with you — angry for you. He steps back.

When you hit it, an earsplitting crack thunders out. The bottle fractures,  fragments careening off in every direction. A wild grin sweeps across your face, knowing that whatever comes at school next week— whether Bradley went back to ignoring your existence or used tonight as fuel for taunting — you could just picture how you felt as you shattered that bottle.

“That felt good.” You breathe out, turning back to Steve. Your teeth graze your bottom lip, sinking in to stop from grinning like a lunatic. A delirious laugh wrestles itself out of your chest and you let your head drop back, eyes turning up at the inky sky, laughs petering out.

Steve tries to ignore how the sound lights up his chest like a Christmas tree, some part of him burning with glee with the knowledge you’re feeling better because of something he did.

He watches your gaze rove across the sky, searching for something he doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he should dig out the next bottle or whether this was it — that now, he’d take you home now and he’d be back to just a brief hint of a smile from you if that.

Head dropping forward, you offer back the baseball bat and Steve’s heart sinks.

Reining in his dejection so it doesn’t show, Steve takes it from you and pulls a polite smile; at the very least, he’ll get some credit with Robin for cheering up her best friend.

As he moves to tuck it under his arm, he freezes at your own motions. You’re bending down, rummaging through the bag, and scoring a bottle — this time, a big champagne bottle, left on the bench from the last time his parents had been home. Four? No, five days ago.

You plant it on the stump, hands hovering around it as it quivers for a moment, only dropping them when the bottle finally settles. You step back, look at him and Steve finally understands what you’re doing.

Surprise sprouts in his chest, his lips parting. You’re giving him a turn?

“Well?”

He’s been gawking a bit, he realises and Steve remembers to close his mouth. He shifts the bat out from under his arm and then pulls the sunglasses off his head. He offers them to you, with a nod.

“Swap. I’ll miss the bottle completely with these on.”

“But that’ll make me laugh.” You point out, tone cheeky as you pass them over regardless.

Steve slides them on, a dramatic eye-roll as he steps up to swing. He’s usually only here when his anger is feeling uncontrollable, like hot lava boiling over and burning him from the inside out. He’s calmer tonight, with no emotions running rampant — well, maybe not any bad ones at least.

He scrounges his brain to think of what’s annoyed him this week; Keith, as always. The champagne bottle on the stump, the only bitter evidence his parents had been home in the last week. The agonizing wobble in your voice as you’d cried in the passenger seat of his car.

There’s a familiar burn in his muscles when he swings, another bottle sacrificed to anger and destined to a life scattered in the dirt. You whoop loudly, just as he had, and Steve can understand why you’d laughed at the sight of him in those sunglasses. They’re huge and you look nearly bug-like, shiny round domes of black staring back at him.

“Nice glasses.” He grins cheekily, a copy of your own words. He doesn’t need to see your eyes to know you’re rolling them at him.

The bat and safety glasses get passed between you two, equal turns until the bottles run out. Steve’s only sorry he didn’t bring more, drinking in the giddy and wild grin that overcomes your face when another bottle meets its fate.

When you pack it in and stumble back to his car, Steve revels in the closeness you seemed to have gained. No longer three steps behind, your shoulders brush his on the walk and when you stumble over a root, your hand shoots out and grips his arm, steadying yourself. You hold it for a moment longer than you should.

The skin of your hand still tingles as you slide into the passenger seat. The air of the car is more comfortable now, cozy even, as Steve cranks the heat and the trees pass you in a blur as you drive out. Bruce Springsteen’s Hungry Heart is warbling on the radio, the volume turned low and you can’t help but stare at him.

You were so wrong about him.

You were so astronomically wrong about him; it’s the only thing you can think of as you drive home, amber streetlights illuminating the streets of Hawkins. The clock on the dash reads 9.57pm — meaning you’ve been with Steve for nearly two hours. The fact nearly draws an awed sort of laugh, but you press it down til it’s only a smile, hidden as you turn back to the window.

He drops you off by 10.14pm, insisting on buying you a milkshake to complete the night.

Honest, I get one after every time I smash shit. It’s hard work you just did! He’d said as he ordered. One chocolate shake for you, one vanilla, for him. You gotta, like, replace electrolytes and all. The fact you don’t think he’s said it to make you laugh, makes you laugh even harder.

The milkshakes sustain the silence on the final drive home and you quickly understand immediately the importance of the shake. After all the frustration, the sugar is near soothing as the cold sweet dances on your tongue. 

The engine idles as Steve brings the car to a halt by the curb outside your house. You eye it, astonished by your reluctance to end the evening and you wonder if Steve can tell.

You don’t know if you want him to notice it or not; reading into your hesitancy feels like a whole new can of worms. The porch light is on, waiting for you.

Home. What you’ve been yearning for since 7.15pm this evening — finally, the roller-coaster of emotions has wrung you out and tiredness seeps into your bones. But you can’t leave without a goodbye. Not without telling Steve what tonight meant to you. 

“Thank you.”

You don’t mean to murmur it, but it’s nearly a whisper as you take your eyes off the house to turn to Steve in the driver’s seat.

Steve somehow manages to soften more at the quiet words, an easy smile pulling on his lips. He nods. It means of course like you don’t even have to thank him for it. The car purrs beneath you, filling the silence with a quiet rumble.

You want to say it again, louder because it’s not just a thank-you — it’s thank you, I’m sorry, I was wrong about you, can we start over? I hated you for the longest time but do you ever think you could like me?

The last thought punches a breath out of you and it sets you in motion. You couldn’t be having those thoughts; not with the tension in the air, his closeness so enticing now you’ve tasted it once. You couldn’t be having those thoughts at all.

You’re on the sidewalk, about to close the door before you remember to squeak out a ‘goodnight!’. The walk to your door is short enough that you shouldn’t feel the cold of the night —  besides, you’re too warm inside, emotions churning wildly to notice anyways.

It doesn’t help when you reach the porch and peek over your shoulder, the maroon BMW still waiting by the curb, amber headlights shining, for you to make it inside okay.

Fact #7: You’re way too wasted right now.

You’d started with vodka and that had been, what? An hour ago.

An hour ago when O’Connor had made his entrance with his buddies, stupid cheers erupted from the crowd of high schoolers that were stupid enough to worship the likes of him.

Or maybe, you’re the stupid one for hoping you wouldn’t see him tonight.

But if the open invite to Melody Carter’s house for a late-night Saturday party meant the likes of you and Robin could come, of fucking course O’Connor would be there.

You had been only planning on one more drink, the one you’d been pouring when O’Connor showed face, but his smirk across the room had you finishing it instantly. It burned as you swallowed it down, your hands already moving to pour more liquor into your cup.

Two more shots down of — what was it? The label tells you it’s tequila — and you’re thoroughly drunk. Which, honestly, might not be a great move considering the number of people at this party. There are a lot of people here.

What had started as a party for only the senior year had quickly snowballed, kids older and younger showing up. Hell, you were pretty sure you’d seen Aaron Bright pass through the front door, a boy two years out of high school.

Did that mean Steve was coming?

Oh-kay, that had to be the tequila speaking.

But once the thought is in your head, it spins out, unstoppable, careening and building up your hopes before you remember to crush them. You weren’t hanging out to see Steve; quite the opposite in fact.

The bottle-smashing adventure you’d shared with him had been just over a week ago and maybe your thoughts had strayed to him a couple of times. A couple of times might be putting it lightly.

You just— you didn’t know how to act around him anymore.

Without the shield of ‘Steve Harrington is a douchebag’ to give a reason for your scowls, you had to admit he was utterly charming.

You couldn’t tell if it was the shift in your own perception or if Steve really was this nice, each sentence flirty or teasing — either way, it meant you were as good as reduced to blundering through any interaction with him.

So, naturally, you’d resorted to avoiding Family Video instead, which, hey, might not have been your best idea.

Robin had tracked you down after you didn’t show up to two of her evening shifts to hang. Gossip flowed as you divulged her in your Friday night, the prank O’Connor had pulled, and the subsequent tears that had followed. With a guilty smile, you let Robin get wrapped up in her anger and forgive your absences — too distracted to even ask how you’d gotten home.

Technically, you hadn’t lied. You had just... omitted certain facts.

Besides, you were feeling confused enough about Steve all on your own. You had no doubt that adding Robin, the mutual best friend between you two, and her opinion would make it all the messier.

Or maybe she’ll tell you what you don’t want to hear. Something in your head whispers, the tequila burning a little fouler in your stomach. That you can’t have him. That she knows him and he would never want you.

For good measure, you chase down one more shot.

And that’s how Steve finds you — wasted out in the back garden of a party.

Robin had invited him, halfheartedly during one of their shifts. Honestly, a high school party had very little appeal to him — most parties had no appeal after the events that had transpired in the last couple of years.

But Robin had been a bit adamant as she realised he didn’t have a date lined up like he usually did. He’d winced as she connected the dots, counting on her fingers that it had been nearly two months since he’d used his weekend for social plans. That is, excluding hanging with Robin.

The fact he stopped going on dates round bout the same time you stopped completely ignoring him was completely unrelated. But Steve was glad Robin didn’t notice the coincidence, so she couldn’t grill him about it.

In fact, she was surprisingly mute over his sudden agreement when Robin purposefully mentioned you’d be there. Her twinkling eyes said she knew more than she’d let on.

And at first, it seemed like a colossal mistake to come.

Steve didn’t like alcohol like he used to. The last few years had birthed something in him that hated not being in control of his body, especially when dark corners seem to hold something more sinister, or the lights flickered.

Or maybe it was the fact he hasn’t really been to a party since Halloween ‘84. Steve shoves the memory of that night down, away.

He lasts two minutes in the crowded main room before he’s shouldering out, hoping the garden will provide some relief. It brings lungfuls of fresh air, the natural blanket of the night and you.

You’re fairly certain you came out here to fight the spinning in your head, desperate for fresh air but now, sprawled out on the cool grass, you’re completely distracted by staring up at the sky. You’re not exactly sure what you’re looking for, gazing into the stars.

A head pops into your vision, Steve’s hair flopping over as he peers down at you. “y/n?”

“Steve!”

Whatever he was expecting, it was not the unbridled glee in your voice. You squirm happily, like a slug in the rain, and if your slurring hadn’t given you away, it’s evidence of how drunk you are. It doesn’t matter that something in his head says she’s drunk, he still finds himself smiling.

“That’s me.” He scans the garden for Robin, assuming the two of you would be together. Concern laces his next words. “Why ya out here on the grass, sweetheart?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s said, but he’s never seen a reaction like this out of you before; your hands cover your face, giggles slipping loosely out as if you’re hiding a secret.

Sweetheart. You hide the flame in your face behind your hands. There’s nothing to be done for your giggles, loud and drunken, not stopping no matter how much you will yourself. The pet-name brands itself onto your heart, the heat of it racing under your skin.

Steve tries again. “Where’s Robin? I thought you two came together.”

“We did.” You remove your hands to reveal your wide-eyed expression as if just remembering the fact yourself. Man, that must have been ages ago. “She was talking to... to...”

“Vickie?” Steve supplies, with an amused smile.

“Yes!” You snap your fingers at him, expression showing a little bit of disbelief mixed with awe. It shows in your words. “How did you know that, Steve?”

Steve. Not Harrington. You’ve called him by his name twice and Steve’s a little embarrassed by how much he likes it. Likes the sound of his name in your mouth, on your lips.

He shakes his head like an etch-a-sketch to get rid of the thought, mind stuck on your lips too long. Stay focused, Steve chides himself. Extending out a hand, he offers it to you with the intent to have both of you track down Robin.

Though, if you’d last seen her with Vickie, there’s a chance Robin would bite his head off for interrupting the two of them. Vickie, apparently, had a hard time believing the fact Steve and Robin’s relationship was entirely platonic in nature. Tracking her down at a party might not help.

He’s pulled out of the tangent of thoughts when you slap your hand into his — and tug.

Steve topples, immediately grateful for his lack of alcohol because, with any less coordination, you’d be squished beneath him. A hand plants on either side of your head, catching himself just above you. You grin, alcohol on your breath and Steve isn’t completely sure whether he’s imagining the pink on your cheeks.

“Uh,” Steve says, before scrambling off you hastily. He wasn’t sure if he could be so close to you without his face growing warm; or worse, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Though spying your amused expression, as if you’d known the closeness would make him blush, maybe Steve didn’t need to be worried.

“S’just,” you say, words a bit mumbled. “s’lay down on the grass. Y’know, look at the stars.”

You point up at the sky in case Steve didn’t understand. The grass is still cool under your back and your head isn’t spinning so much but you don’t really feel like moving. Something in you knows that your limbs will feel like cinder-blocks and movement will send your head back into a tizzy.

Without thinking, your push your lips into a pout and aim it at him. Steve flops down without argument.

“You didn’t tell me why you ended out here,” says Steve, wanting to keep you talking. He’s not entirely confident you won’t just fall asleep if the two of you lapse into silence.

You swing your neck, head lolling to the side to look at Steve. Eyes narrowed, it’s like you’re trying to see if he’s genuinely asking. Whatever you find in your search must satisfy you, because you speak, rolling your head back to peer upwards.

“O’Connor’s here.” You say, bitterness in your tone. “Then my head started spinnin’.”

Steve watches as you tilt your head back towards him, pulling a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “S’now I’m here.”

You’re not sure what convinces you to do what you do next.

Perhaps, it’s because Steve’s expression is tilting too close to pity and you don’t want it; or that you feel lonely enough that you’ll take touch whenever you can, brave enough with the alcohol in your blood to ask.

Or maybe, you just want an excuse to touch him.

“Gimme your hand.” With a gesture of your own, you hold your hand up like you might be asking for a high-five. It wavers, fingers quivering if he looked close enough. After a moment of confusion, Steve humours you.

You feel the callouses first, rough skin scratching against yours as Steve gingerly holds his hand out, letting your press your own against it. It’s warm, warmer than your own and you wish you could twist your fingers until they slotted in with his.

Don’t says a voice in your head, drowned out in the drunkenness. Don’t do this to yourself. Maybe, it’s the voice of reason. It seems you’re very good at building yourself up just to get torn back down.

Hand pressed to hand, you can’t find it in yourself to care about that; you want to touch him, so you ask, and he gives it to you. The alcohol makes it black and white. 

You hated him. You did, but now it’s all garbled and wonky and different — and you don’t hate him at all. Not anymore. Every complication you had worked up, all the knots tied in your brain seem to dissolve; hand to hand, it’s easy to admit what you’d been denying to yourself.

“I used to hate you, y’know.”

Steve’s not sure if this will ever get easier to hear. That people he’s grown close to carry reminders, unshakeable memories, of an old ego that still haunts him.

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows you know he’s sorry, that he’s different now. So, he weakly says. “Used to?”

“Yeah.” A smile finds your lips, tugging them up slightly. Steve thinks he could marvel forever at how your lashes kiss in the corner when you smile. It’s aching. “Used to.”

“S’kinda hard to hate you,” you sigh, eyes turning skyward. “I should. You didn’t even remember me a couple months s’ago,”

Steve focuses on your hand against his to deter the twinge in his heart. Your hand is smaller than his and when he curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours. A breath bursts past your lips, loud enough he hears it.

“M’sorry.” he whispers, though he’s said it time and time again.

He doesn’t care; he’ll say it a thousand it times if you’ll keep looking at him like that. Features soft, so different to the glare he’s all but memorised — instead, your eyebrows drawn together like the sight of both your hands, palm to palm, might be the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Steve feels you push back against his fingers, a gentle pressure like you’re trying to hug him back.

“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Even while drunk, you can’t look at him while you confess. If you look at him, then it’s real and logic will prevail and you’ll rein everything back in.

Looking at both of your hands, feeling the yearning spool in between your ribs — none of it matters. You like him so much that it feels woven into everything else; weaved into the noises of the party, the black of the night, the grass tickling the back of your legs.

You like him so much it makes you sick.

On second thought, that might be the alcohol.

Steve’s response, whatever it might be, vanishes when you rip your hand away and sit up suddenly — emptying to contents of your stomach into a lovely rosebush to your right. Disgusted with the sudden visual aid to what you had for dinner, you groan. The movement has sent your head spinning again, rotating out of the same orbit as Earth.

Steve’s palm soothes down your spine, rubbing warmth as he murmurs comfortingly.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mutters, more to himself. “You’ll be feeling it in the mornin’.”

You groan again, eyes sliding shut and tumbling you into darkness.

Fact #8: You’re never drinking, ever again.

You’ll be feeling it in the morning. The last memory of last night curls up like smoke in your head and all you can think is Steve was fucking right.

The sheets feel scratchy as you release an agonised noise into your pillow, coiling in tighter. There’s a pounding in your head, bleeding out of your ears and eyes and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so terrible in your life.

Eyes screwed shut tight, you move slowly and draw your head up. Sneaking a look, relief fizzes in your chest as the recognition of your sheets — you made it home, you’re in bed. Never mind that you can’t quite remember how you got here. A shuffle of your legs tells you, uncomfortably, you’re still in last night’s jeans.

What time is it? There’s sun coming through the gap in the curtains. Daytime. Some sleep-covered murmur escapes you, though even you can’t tell what it’s supposed to mean.

Plopping your head back down, you search your memories. It’s an effort to push past your headache to put together the puzzle of last night. Visions of arriving at the party, of drink number one, and dancing with Robin are clear but sometime after O’Connor shows up they begin to get hazy.

You remember the cool grass. The moon. Steve. God, that’s right, he was there — what you might have said to him is anyone’s guess. Another grainy and fogged memory of puking in the bushes. The rest of the night is locked behind a tequila fueled paywall in your brain

Burrowing back into your sheets, the hangover takes priority and you only hope to sleep it off.

 —

The next time you wake, the pounding in your head has shifted to the door.

You can’t have been asleep for more than an hour according to your alarm clock, blinking midday numbers back at you as you drag your head up. Thankfully, a large portion of your hangover has been cured with sleep — otherwise, the unending knocks on your door might be the end of you.

You struggle to speak, aware of your sandpaper throat but whatever gurgle you produce is good enough for whoever is on the other side of the door. Robin, judging by the intensity of their knocks.

Lo and behold, Robin bowls into the room once she hears signs of life.

“What did you say to Steve?”

Oh.

That has you sitting up, wincing at the pain it brings and you nurse your head in your hands. “What?” you rasp out. “Nothing!”

That might be a lie. You wince again, searching through you scrambled memories for what she could be referring to and come up short. Robin can read your genuine confusion.

“Why?” The word comes out a bit shot. You clear your throat. “Did he say something to you?”

“Nothing specific,” Robin grimaces a bit. She’s never been the best at hiding her emotions. “He just— he asked if you’d talked to me. Said he was checking if you were still alive. Which, yanno, thank god you are! He said you barfed in Melody’s mom’s rose bush, which quite frankly is hilarious and—“

“Robin.” you moan, trying to cut off her ramble. “Why are you here?”

Robin seems to remember the original reason she was nearly breaking down your door, body jumping like she’s been zapped. “Right!”

She suddenly seems to reconsider herself, ducking her head and beginning a well practiced pace across your carpet. “I know you said you don’t like him, which I get, I know- he was the worst! But I dunno, you seemed to, like, I don’t know? Warm up to him? I guess, he just seemed real bummed on the phone when I said you hadn’t called me.”

A series of emotions jolt through your nerves, none as strong as the elation at hearing Steve had called to ask about you. You push it down with another groan and fling yourself backward, bouncing on the springs of your mattress.

Hands hiding your face, you mumble the next words as if you don’t quite want Robin to hear them.

“I don’t not like him.”

“And I can’t tell what that is supposed mean.” Her pacing hasn’t ceased. Her arms gesticulate wildly as she speaks. “You don’t not like him sorta, to me, just sounds like you like him!”

“Robin,” you whine, well aware of the way she can read you like words on a page. “What do you wanna hear? That you were right?”

Robin halts her pacing, leaning her knees onto the edge of your mattress. You peek at her through your fingers. She’s looking a little more wide-eyed. “Yes. Absolutely. If my two favourite people in the world could suddenly get along, maybe even be friends, I think I’d like to know.”

“We’re not—”

“But that is not why I’m here.” She’s gone serious, brows raised as her voice turns softer. You nearly think she’s taunting you, a hint of a smile hidden in her expression.

“I’m here to discuss the distinct possibility that you have managed to skip the part where we become a cool trio of friends and have traveled into more than friends territory.”

Damn her. She’s too good, unspooling your secret right after you’ve only just managed to admit it aloud (not that you could remember that thought). Dragging your hands down your face, you groan again — there’s no point in hiding it from Robin, especially when she seems to have you all figured out.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘wow Robin, you’re incredibly smart and totally right’.” She jibes, looking far too smug.

Perplexingly, she doesn’t appear to care that you confirmed Steve had you feeling gooey inside and weak at the knees. You dredge yourself to a sitting position, blankets pooling at your waist, and regard her with as much sarcasm as you can.

“Wow, Robin,” you drawl tiredly, still a bit catty from your lack of sleep. “You’re so totally right.”

“Don’t forget the incredibly smart part.”

You wallop her thigh with your sleeve, halfhearted and not at all mean. She grins. For a moment, you’re monumentally relieved to be sharing this with her — you’re best friends, talking about a boy you like, back to feeling thick as thieves with her.

“You gotta talk to him though, you know that right?”

A sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

—

By the time you’ve rinsed the last of your hangover down the shower drain, washed down with the suds of your strawberry shampoo, the sun is nearing the horizon. 

Droplets cling to the ends of your hair, leaving a trail behind you on the carpet as you don fresh clothes. You try your best not to analyse each piece, shoving down any self-doubts and recalling Steve’s generous compliments littered through the past couple of months.

Tonight. It had to be tonight, you decided. Any longer and you’d lose the nerve, crawl back to avoidance because you’re not really sure you want to hear what you said to him in the garden.

You can only imagine it’s some confusing amalgamation of your complicated feelings — mixed with the amount of alcohol you had drunk? It was a stab in the dark trying to guess what you had said.

The plan you have is half-baked at best. The walk to Loch Nora isn’t far — but if your plan goes south, you’ll have plenty of time to wallow and clear your tears on the walk home. Thankfully, It’s still too early for dinner. You can smell the beginnings of it bubbling on the stove as you creep down the stairs.

As soundlessly as you can, you slip out the front door. Warm air greets you. The sunbeams trickle across the sky, dipping lower behind the horizon and painting soft blemishes of pink and orange across the sky.

The other perk of the walk is that you’ll have ample time to decide what you’ll say to Steve; you can deliberate each word, orchestrated so that it can be played down if need be. Minimal cringe and hurt feelings.

You’re running a few options over in your head when the rumble of a car cruising down your road draws your eyes. With a startle, you realise it’s a familiar maroon colour  — a car you’d been in just over a week ago.

You watch as Steve parks, evidently so entrapped in his own thoughts to notice you on the doorstep. He’s messing with his hair anxiously, eyes on the ground and when you look closer, his mouth is moving, an indication he’s talking out loud to himself.

He makes it halfway up the driveway before you stumble out to meet him.

“Steve?” You call out and his head shoots up, a little alarmed to see you. His steps falter, the pair of you met in the middle of your drive.

“Y/n. Hi.” For someone who had come to your house, he seems a bit affronted to be seeing you. Acutely, you realise that he’s nervous. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “Were you— is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“No!” You squeak. “No, I was just... coming to see you, actually.”

“Oh.” Steve blinks. He ducks his head for a moment, clearing his throat but you still spot the pink on his cheeks. “How’s your head? You’d had, uh, a lot to drink last night.”

There’s only a mild rush of embarrassment to your system, a sheepish grin playing at your lips. “Right. Last night- I’m sorry you had to, er, see that. Or rather, thank you for taking care of me.”

Steve smiles back. One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous motion. You don’t mean to zero in on his large bicep, tan skin on display with his short sleeves but it’s impossible not to — Jesus Christ, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose.

You smile timidly, willing your cheeks to cool.

“Yeah, about that.” He starts, eyes shifting about nervously. He can’t pick a spot to focus, too nervous to look you in the eyes.

Steve’s been throwing around your words ever since you uttered them to him in the garden. And now I can’t stop thinking about you. Tone so sweet, so sincere, your brows drawn together like it hurt you to admit how much Steve had been on your mind.

His stomach had nearly turned itself inside out at your reveal, nerves flaming and relief coursing at the realisation that it was mutual. You’d been on Steve’s mind since even before you’d given him your softest smiles after bottle smashing, sugary grins over your milkshake, a genuineness you’d never shared with him before — and after? God, it had driven him mad.

But then you’d scampered out of the car like a spooked animal. Stopped coming by Family Video and cursedly, seemed to slip back into an old pattern of ignoring him.

Then, the garden.

God, if you hadn’t been drunk, and maybe if Steve wasn’t so surprised by the sweetness you showed him, he might’ve kissed you.

Holding your palm against his, you might as well have been grabbing his hopes and hoisting them out of the depths — that perhaps, your avoidance stemmed from something different this time round. 

Steve takes in your shy expression, bottom lip trapped in your teeth, and prays it’s all for the same reason he’s nervous and not instead, because you’re trying to awkwardly figure out how to tell him it was all the alcohol talking. 

“What you said…” He’s trying to be nice to his feelings, on the defence in case he’s so terribly wrong about this. About you. “Did— did you mean that?” 

The face you pull doesn’t instill him with confidence, his stomach plummeting at your hesitance. Fuck. He’d overshot, as usual, clinging too tightly to the threads of affection you’d shown him. 

“I…” You’re unsure where to begin. God, what did you say?

Steve thinks he can garner what reaction that is; it’s the exact opposite of what his heart had managed to convince him. You went back to avoiding him on purpose. He cuts you off hoping to save himself some awkward rejection, shaking his head and taking a step back. 

“Don’t worry. It was— you were drunk,” Embarrassment starts flooding in, a hot uncomfortable flush up his neck that makes Steve want to sink into the ground. “I shouldn’t have— it was weird of me to ask.” 

He’s rambling too fast to get a word in. You take a step forward as he takes another step back, worried that he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. Never mind that all plans for orchestrating the perfect thing to say are out the window — you have to say something. 

“I don’t know what I said!” You blurt, desperate to halt his retreat. It works; Steve stops, taken aback by your words. Oh God, what now? You debate where to start. 

“Seriously, I— Robin came over and was talking about how you’d called and— I-I remember some of last night but it’s a bit—”

“You don’t...” Steve interrupts, giving a confused shake of his head. The wind ruffles his hair, strands dancing over his forehead. “Remember any of it?”

Why does it feel like you’ve disappointed him? Despite your initial wish to not relive whatever you’d said in the garden, you’re suddenly dying to remember. Even now, you can feel yourself combing the hazy memories, hoping there’s a stone you’ve yet to turn. It’s fruitless.

“I remember embarrassing myself by puking in the bushes.” You grimace as you say it, heat rising in your face. You can feel your nerves fraying, heart pounding but none of it in a good way. “Look, Steve, does it matter what I said? I-“

“It does.” He says, voice suddenly lower. It rasps, more serious than before. “It matters if you meant it. Do you?”

He takes another step forward, close enough that you can smell his cologne again. The same comforting musky scent as when he pushed the safety glasses up your nose and tucked your hair behind your ears in the woods together, touch gentle and eyes kind.

“You said,” He breathes, his honey eyes hopeful. “You couldn’t stop thinking about me.”

Oh.

It seems to be a habit of yours; rewinding through your actions towards Steve in the past, heavy with regret. He’d still been sweet, checking on you out in the garden even though you’d left him in the dark for a week. After managing to make you forget the worst date ever.

Then you’d upchucked your feelings, so drunk you couldn’t remember it, and then your dinner too. You were a mess; Steve Harrington made you a lovely absolute mess. Fuck, you’d likely ruined whatever chance at something with him.

But then again, here he was.

Still showing up, enough hope to dredge together the courage to drive over and ask you what it meant. 

“I meant it.” You say, softly. You feel captured in his gaze, pulled into his orbit with no choice about it. He’s like the sun, gravity pulling you closer the longer you stand this close to him. Your heart feels like it’s made of jelly, each thump echoing out into your limbs. “I— fuck, you made it so hard to hate you. I used—”

“—Used to hate me.” Steve recites the words before you can say them, amusement in his voice. Some of his nervousness has leaked out, shoulders less tight. You can nearly see a glint of his Harrington charm in the curl of his lips. “Yeah, you said that last night too.”

It’s said to poke fun, teasing you for last night’s loose tongue. You groan, head tilting back. “God, anything else I said last night that I should know about?”

Steve steps closer. It makes your breath hitch, your head straightening up and bringing your faces closer still. You’re not sure where this is going, not sure what he’s thinking, if he can hear the thunder of your heart — he hasn’t even said anything that implies the feelings are mutual.

You vaguely wonder how he knew that your words held more weight than they appeared. He’d been paying more attention than you’d expected; knowing that I can’t stop thinking about you meant more than what was on the surface.

This time, you know him well enough to know that his teasing is not mocking. That the Steve in front of you is not at all like the one you’d remembered from the school hallways, the one who’d thrown around shitty comments, had notches in his belt, and didn’t care who got hurt as a result.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

The world doesn’t stop spinning, but for a moment, it certainly feels that way. Blood rushes in your ears, blooms under your cheeks, and the words sink in. The wind sounds like the sweetest music, the colour spread across the sky is a shade that could only be called love and a boy is telling you he likes you too.

It faintly occurs that the silly teenage daydream you pictured with Bradley — you’re instead getting with a boy you swore you hated not two months ago.

It makes you like him even more.

He’s earned it, your trust, your affection — your kiss.

Wordlessly, you surge forward at the same time Steve does. You clash, gifting each other an awkward headbutt instead of some swooning kiss. Pain splinters momentarily across your forehead, gone after a moment.

You can’t help it, a laugh bursting from your lips. You’re so nervous. It doesn’t deter you, peering up at him with adoring eyes. Somehow, you still manage a tease. “Were you trying to kiss me, Harrington?”

His hands cup your face, fingers tucked under your jaw, and thumbs stroking your cheeks. His own smile barely contained, elation shining in his eyes.

“I will if you stop calling me that.”

He kisses you before you even get a chance to agree.

There’s bliss hidden in his lips, you think happily. Steve kisses soft, plush lips that mold to yours like its second nature, two pieces of the universe aligning.

You can feel the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his thumbs upon your face and you sigh, content, into the kiss because no one has ever kissed you like this.

He kisses you and suddenly, there is no war-torn battle in your mind. Your hands have twisted into the fabric on his shirt, tugging him closer. It’s unbearable. You want him, completely, embarrassingly, and undeniably. You’ll take anything he’ll give you — you want him to give you everything.

When the kiss breaks, it’s only for a moment; Steve presses another, short and gentle, then another, and another, like he can’t handle not stealing another taste of your lips.

“Steve,” you rasp, chuckling a bit. Your eyes are still closed, like you’re worried it’ll all be some dream if you dare to open them. His nose nudges yours, crushing closer to you, unwilling to relent the closeness he’s finally been granted.

“Let me take you out.” He whispers and it’s enough to open your eyes, lashes crinkling as you beam up at him. Steve drops a kiss on your cheek, thumbs stroking with a tender care that makes you shiver. “Please.”

As if you could say no. You give a minuscule nod but your delight is given away in your smile, eyes bright as you admire each detail of his face fondly. “Yeah, alright.”

It makes him laugh, amusement dancing across his features, and God, he looks so handsome you have to kiss him again.

You do, hands escaping the confines of his shirt and twisting around his neck. Steve hums happily, something you’ll come to learn he does whenever you kiss him first. It makes you gleeful, a shot of pure euphoria tipping down your spine. You shiver, wonderfully.

“Just promise me,” you say when you pull back, breathing a titch ragged. You grin. “Not a movie date.”

Steve grins, one hand leaving your face to curl around your waist. It’s warm, heat radiating into your skin.

“Still no faith in me, sweetheart?” He chides, fingers dancing along the skin of your waist, giving away his joy. The pet name makes your knees weak, a flash of a forgotten memory in the garden breaking through.

“Something tells me you’ll convince me.”

Fact #9: The first fact is a lie.

His next kiss feels like a promise; that he’ll do the work to convince you, just like he’d done the last few months. That he’d be more than happy to. You drink in affection from a boy who’s so sweet on you with a happy sigh.

He tastes like sunlight.

Fact #10: You might just be falling in love with Steve Harrington.

taggin sum mutuals below!

@hawkinsindiana @spideystevie @harringtonbf @writtenbybelle @hoesbloated @familyvideostevie @lurkymurker @sattlersquarry @steddiesandwich @circesstars @upsidedownwithsteve @raggedyoldwitch @sunshinehollandd @ohschmidts @appocalipse​

#this... was so scrummy to write #i can't believe i pumped out that many scenes #i think i started this wanting to prove that i could indeed write a fic past 5k #LO AND BEHOLD 16K LATER #good god i hope u love it #anyways i'm LITERALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!! #steeb...come gimme kiss #i deserve to be called sweetheart by my babygirl bf <3 #ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #sending a sacrifice (my sleep while i wrote this) to the fic gods....

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

#dpxdc #pondhead blurbs #Gotham is very lanky and tall and had dozens of necklaces around their neck #the necklaces are just cords filled with lost things the citizens have lost over the years #like bits of glass or wedding rings or hag stones made from a destroyed gargoyle #actually I have a weird picture of Gotham in my head I might draw it #it’s giving Bloodborne to me but idgaf #basically Danny meets Gotham and is trying to convince them to go with him for medical help because what the fuck #those curses are the equivalent of leaving hundreds of leeches stuck to your body for ten years #Danny is BEGGING Gotham to come with him #there’s potential for angst but if you want crack then Danny probably replaces Gotham #I think there’s already a similar fic where he becomes the new spirit of Gotham but I haven’t read all of that #anyways the Batfam are like #invasive animals that are actually helping the ecosystem recover from an even WORSE invasive species #but they aren’t supernatural heroes and they don’t understand that the issue is deeper #I’m calling this the Curse of Hope because Danny is offering hope to Gotham #but Gotham is just so tired and sick and hurt that they don’t want to risk it #they think Danny is another curse come to plague them #should he just straight up adopt the city at this point? #idk it probably depends on how it’s written #sad course is to let Gotham die. happy ending is where they are treated and returned #crack ending probably has Danny adopting the city and introducing them to his own city spirit Amity Park #oh shit is that a new ship #guys please I can’t keep doing this #Gotham City x Amity Park #how the fuck do you come up with a name for that #Burger Joints? #Wet Pavement? #bro idk I’m putting this down before I make something I might regret #low key wanna write this but like. I have so much to do

[hotluncheddie]

Day 4: Edging

"Bi Freak"

Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

written for @subeddieweek <3

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

‘Jesus, are you hard?’ Steve asks, incredulous at how fucking ridiculous Eddie’s cock can be at times. Even walking just behind him Steve must spot how Eddie’s hands shift to tug at his belt buckle, the way his gait is a little more awkward than usual.  

Eddie freezes, readjusting again as Steve saunters past. Cheeks feeling a little hot over being caught. He was Subtle, or so he thought, but his jeans must just not be tight enough to hide his boner. 

They're walking back to the beamer after eating at the diner in town. A few familiar faces around since its summer. The two of them included, back over from Indi for a visit to see Wayne for his birthday. 

Unfortunately, seeing Wayne means staying with Wayne and while that is wonderful, the walls of the trailer are still, absolutely, the width of paper mache. So, Steve had decided the concept of sex was much too mortifying in those conditions. A different consensus from when they first got together, Eddie had pointed out. But, Steve had just laughed and kissed him, in that condescending way that just made the whole situation so so much harder, figuratively and literally.

Its been a week, basically, and Eddie’s getting desperate, and Steve is getting mean. 

Eddie jogs to catch up to Steve's long strides. ‘Did you see her though? Christ Steve she, she's a vision. A fucking goddess dude.’ 

‘I saw I saw.’ Steve shoves his hands in his jacket, Eddie looming in close at his side.

‘Like she was something then, but now? Bigger and better, did you see? You saw them right?’ Eddie moves his arms around, cups his hands, clenches his fingers. A horny interpretive dance. 

Steve sighs, faux wistfully. ‘Every day I almost forget how much of a tits guy you are, and everyday you just gotta remind me, huh? Munson? What's up with that?’ Steve jabs his elbow into Eddie’s side. Grins at the cackle it elicits. 

‘You know I fundamentally disagree with that question, Stevie. No one should be subjected to a choice like that.’ Eddie laughs, swooping in close to Steve's neck for a moment, in that way he loves. Steve’s elbow coming out to make him back away. 

Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket, the car coming into view, parked in the furthest corner. 

‘Your tits are amazing by the way.’

Steve laughs again. ‘Thanks dude, I know. Lucky for you my ego is big enough to handle your crazy libido.’ 

Eddie grumbles, kicking at a can. ‘Only crazy because of the damn “no touching” rule you set.’ 

‘Aww’ Steve coos, ‘baby cant handle a little teasing anymore?’ He smirks at Eddie, unlocking the car but not opening the door, instead watching Eddie slump over, pouting. 

Steve stalks around to the passenger side, opening the door for him and pulling his arm, shoving Eddie down onto the seat with a hand on his head. 

Eddie whimpers, feels pre-cum leak out of his tip and soak into his boxers. Fuck, he’s hard - worse now. Steve’s not let him have more than a peck, more than a nighttime spoon, for days. 

‘Wanna know a secret?’ Steve asks. 

Eddie’s slumped on the passenger seat, feet still on concrete. He rubs his hands over his burning cheeks and peeks up at the sunshine being blocked from above. Steve leaning a forearm in the car hood, looming over Eddie, caging him in. 

Steve steps right up into Eddie space, shoving his knee onto the seat right between Eddies thighs. crushing his cock. Steve leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Eddie's ear, making him shiver. 

‘I know how she tastes.’ 

Eddie feels like all his air gets gut punched out of him, feels his fucking pupils dilate so much his vision goes blurry. He makes a strangled sort of moan. His boxers flooding with cum.

‘…Did? Did you just?’

Eddies panting so hard all he can really do is nod his head. 

‘You’re so pretty.’ He slurs, staring up at Steve, haloed and lovely and how did Eddie get so lucky?

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he smiles down at him, strokes his cheek and looks at him with eyes full of stars. ‘You can go again through right?’ He asks. 

Eddie beams. ‘Fuck yeah!’ 

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He closes Eddie’s door and gets behind the wheel. Puts on his sunglasses and lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh. ‘No touching while I’m driving. Let's go break into my parents house.’ 

Eddie leans back in the headrest, grinning. ‘By break in, do you mean use the spare key?’

‘Sure do baby. They won't even be there.’ Steve says, and pulls out of the diner parking lot. 

-

Back at Steves Eddie sprawls out in his bedroom, familiar in its ugliness but the mattress has always been to die for.

Eddie listens to the sound of Steve moving through the house, not sure what he’s doing. But they’ve fallen into routines like this before, Eddie waiting upstairs while Steve did whatever it was that made a big empty house like this run smooth. He works the same magic on their apartment; structuring Eddie enough to not get overwhelmed by chores and eventually listening to Eddie’s please to not do it all himself. Steve could work himself to the bone and still ask if Eddie needed a glass of water. But now they have a chart, and Eddie’s always had a knack for laundry. 

But, at times like these, brain directly attached to his dick and almost nowhere else, Eddie wants to be directed.He wants Steve to do exactly as much as he wants, do so exactly as he pleases, Eddie almost an afterthought. 

Yeah, Eddie wants that. He shivers, hears Steves footsteps on the staircase. 

‘Unzip your jeans but don’t take them off.’ Steve says, coming into the room, searching for something. 

Eddie complies quickly, standing. Steve walks out of the room.

Steve walks back in with his shirt off. Looking Eddie up and down, face blank. 

He lifts the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and shoves it in his mouth, saliva soaking the fabric between his teeth, cool air hitting his exposed nipples. ‘Show me.’ Steve says, calm and neutral, like Eddie is his doll to play with.

He pulls at the waistband of his boxers and his eyes burn as he watches Steve. Refusing to blink, refusing to miss the look on his face once he sees the mess. 

Steve’s eyes roam Eddie’s face for a moment, steely and almost cold. He looks down, raises his eyebrows. Eddie feels his cock twitch at the attention, at the judgment. 

Steve looks back up. ‘Look at it.’ And Eddie glances down, breath hitching at the sight of his cock covered in his own cum, some of it starting to crust but the tip still shiny and wet, leaning against the sodden fabric of his boxers. 

Eddie looks back up at Steve, sees that he watched his whole reaction. Pupils blown wide and Steve's hand has migrated up to tweak at his own nipple. Jealousy burns in Eddie’s gut; that he’s not allowed to touch Steve like that, not yet. 

Eddie whimpers again, he wants to kiss him, wants to eat him. 

‘Fuck’ Steve murmurs, like he can read Eddie’s mind. Maybe he can, or it’s just how good Steve has gotten at reading Eddie’s face.

‘Colour?’ Steve asks.

‘Super fuckin’ green.’ Eddie says around the fabric, grinning, watching Steves smile bloom right back 

‘Good’ Steve pecs his top lip. Eddie surging forward, chasing, letting the wet hem fall. 

Steve stops him with a finger on his chest. His expression smoothing back into one of mild disgust. ‘So needy.’ Steve drawls. ‘Take off everything but your boxers.’ And he’s gone again, leaving Eddie to struggle out of his clothes in a rush. 

Steve walks back in, now only in his boxers too, Eddie can see the outline of his cock through the material and it makes his mouth water. It takes him a second to register that Steve’s holding the Polaroid camera now too. 

‘Show me, like you did before.’ Steve says, fiddling with the camera, waiting. 

Eddie does as he’s told and he feels goosebumps dabble over his skin, heat rushing south so fast it makes his nipples hard. 

Steve takes a photo of eddies cock covered in his own, slightly crusted, cum. The flash taking Eddie’s breath away. 

But Steve just leaves again, without a word. Eddie stands stock still and hears the shower turn on, the faint sound of the camera again. 

Steve comes back in flapping the polaroids. He sets the camera down and walks back over to Eddie, handing him a damp wash cloth. 

‘Clean yourself off.’ He says, leaning on one hip, looking board. ‘And fold your clothes on the desk, boxers on top, they need washing.’ Eyes flashing to Eddie’s, bitchy and judgmental. Eddie moans, even more heat rushing south, his gut churning. 

But Eddie does as he’s told, ignoring the heat between his thighs, Steve’s eyes on him as he settles the clothes in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now grab a pillow and kneel down. You’re gonna watch my photos develop while I shower. That sound okay?’ He asks, condensing, but the question is laced with sweetness, infused with the knowledge that Steve knows Eddie loves him like this, loves being talked to like this. But he can end it any time. Any time either of them want. 

Eddie just nods, bites his lip, turning to the bed to grab a pillow and situate himself on the floor. 

Steve bends and lays the photos in front of where Eddie’s kneeled. Then strokes his cheek with a thumb, making Eddie preen, blinking his eyes closed slowly. 

The crack of the slap registers after the feeling, Eddie’s head turned slightly to the side. Low moan distant to his own ears. 

He blinks his eyes back open, looking up at Steve’s and his pretty face. He thinks there must be spit sliding down his chin, because Steve’s thumb comes to wipe something away, dipping into Eddie’s parted lips gently, for a moment. 

And then Steve turns swiftly for the door, stopping just at the threshold. Eddie eyes snapping back up from where they were looking at his ass and Steve’s stifles a smile. Eddie’s own growing slow and dopey on his face. 

‘You can touch, I want you hard once I’m back. But if you cum again I’m not doing anything with you for a week.’ He says and Eddie blinks at him. Nodding as the words filter through his brain. 

He closes his eyes once Steve leaves and the water turns on. Lets his fingers dance towards his cock, cheek hot and tight and he moves it at the same time he wraps around himself, shoulders hunching around another guttural moan. 

Then he remembers the photos. 

He looks down and laying in front of his bent knees there’s two polaroids. The one of Eddie is almost fully developed, his dark thatch of hair speckled with globs of his own cum, white in contrast and just as noticeable in half crusted patches over the pink flush of his cock. It’s a mess. 

Eddie works himself at the sight, getting to full hardness with a strangled gasp. Remembering Steve eyeing it, remembering what he’d said that caused Eddie to finish so quick. 

The other is still only half developed. But the photos edges are rendering sections of the familiar Harrington bathroom, white tiles and blue walls, shower curtain and the edge of the large ornate mirror. Tan skin starts to become clear, Steve’s big hand holding the camera aloft, taking his own photo using the mirrors reflection, the back of his head. 

Eddie’s hand speeds up and he watches, wide eyed, as Steve’s broad shoulders come into view, the arch and strong length of his back. Eddie bites his lip again, harder, as Steve’s back ends in his bare ass perched on the counter.

The dark ring of a plug just visible between his cheeks. 

Eddie strangles a cry, gripping himself hard at the base, stifling his orgasm and feeling tears spring at his eyes. Steve’s must’ve been wearing that all through their time at the diner, all through the day. Stretched and wet and Eddie clenches his thighs together, covers his mouth with his palm and squeezes his eyes shut. 

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ He mumbles behind his hand, breathing shakily through his nose. Steve is something else.

Finally the shower shuts off and Steve returns. Eddie still kneeling, panting heavily, cock hard and leaking between his thighs. Still coming down from the brink. Steve just smirks at him, running a towel through his hair. 

He lays down on the bed, settling against the headboard. He trails his fingers over himself, tracing his nipple and stomach before giving his cock a few tugs, getting it hard. 

Eddie watches the whole thing, hands still gripping his thighs. 

Eventually Steve’s eyes slide open, that little smirk on his face. He opens his arms for Eddie, motioning him in. 

Eddie scrambles up and into them, kissing and sucking at Steve’s neck and shoulders. Cock already grinding desperately between Steve’s damp cheeks. 

‘You liked the pictures baby?’ Steve whispers, smile in his voice, mouth hot on Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie shivers and pulls back, disbelief on his face. ‘I can’t believe you.’ He gushes. 

Steve smiles at him and his cheeks are flush from the shower, his damp hair is falling into his forehead. ‘Fuck, you’re so pretty.’ Eddie says, always always amazed by Steve. He needs him, wants to be inside. 

He grinds again, catching Steve’s hole, relishing in Steve’s eyes rolling slightly. ‘Get me wet first.’ Steve demands pulling at Eddie’s hair, shoving his head away. 

Eddie bites his lip, cock twitching, he pulls at Steve’s thighs, bending him in half. Dips low to lick a long wet stripe across his ass. Tongue pressing at Steves hole, breaching the already stretched muscle and fucking his tongue in until there’s spit sliding down Steve’s crack. 

Eventually Steve pulls Eddie off by his hair, chest all flushed and nipples hard. 

Reaching over Steve gets the condom and lube from his bedside table. He doesn’t live here anymore, hasn’t for years. But the remnants of their sneaking around before Steve up and left with Eddie and Robin are still there. He never completely fell out with his parents, but he didn’t really tell them where he was going either. They continue to essentially ignore Steve and Steve continues to sneak into their house whenever he’s in Hawkins and fuck his boyfriend in whichever room he pleases. It’s not ideal, but it works. 

‘Gonna show me what that useless cock can do?’ Steve goads, sitting up to roll the condom onto Eddie and slicking him with lube. 

Eddie whines. 

He hitches Steve’s thighs up, forcing him Back flat, hands beneath his knees. Steve sighs into the touch and Eddie watches his length get slowly swallowed by Steve’s tight, wet heat. 

Eddie bottoms out, watching his length disappear. He feels his balls draw up, ears ringing and he’s so close. He’s so close. 

The slap makes him stutter, eye wide as he stare at Steve. ‘Do not cum.’ Steve seethes, finger in eddies face, like he’s a misbehaving child. Eddie moans, gripping Steves thighs to hold himself still, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm. 

He stays buried in Steve, willing himself back down. Panting, he feels tears prickle at his eyes again. ‘That’s it.’ Steve soothes, hand coming up to stroke over the red mark he left on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie breaths, eyes closed, feels the tendrils in his gut uncoil slightly. No longer right on the brink. 

Eventually he opens them, Steve’s eyes on him. Eddie leans down, hands either side of Steve’s face. He starts moving his hips again, building a steady pace. 

‘You should’ve touched yourself in front of her today.’ Steve says, looking up at Eddie with that closed off look again, haughty and judgmental. Eddie moans. ‘What do you think she would’ve done? If you got your stupid needy cock out in the diner, you think she would’ve laughed?’ Steve asks, voice mean and even, the only sign of arousal the flutter of his eyelashes as Eddie thrusts especially deep. 

‘Fuck Steve.’ Eddie pants, thinking about it. ‘I used to think about that while you were at Scoops’ He admits, eyes watching Steve, watching his smirk broaden. 

‘Yeah? You would’ve got your big dumb cock out on the counter for me while I scooped ice cream?’ 

Eddie’s hips stutter, he’s getting close again. ‘Yeah, used, u-used to go jack off in the bathrooms after seeing you at that mall. In that outfit. Fuck Steve, wanted you so bad.’ Eddie whines. 

Steve coos, finger trailing up Eddie’s sweaty neck. ‘Who knew the freak would be so needy’

Eddie whimpers feeling a blush spread down his chest. He moves his hips faster, wanting to get in deeper. 

Steve cracks, moaning. ‘Fuck, make me cum baby, get me there.’ Steve says, gripping his own cock now. Other hand holding him in place with the headboard. Eddie going faster, deeper, grazing that spot he knows so well inside Steve. 

Steve throws his head back, releasing all over himself with a shout, soft hair splayed across the pillow and cheeks flushed pink. Eddie slows, grinding. He’s so close again, so achingly hard he can feel his pre dripping out, filling the condom. 

‘I think I would’ve let you. Maybe Played with your cock while I worked.’ Steve pants. ‘But only if you cleaned up after yourself.’ And he scoops up some of the cum from his stomach and chest, feeding it into Eddie’s slack mouth. 

Eddie sucks, swallowing and tasting salt, flooding his mouth with saliva, some slipping out down his chin. ‘’Teve.’ He pleads, garbled. Begging for permission. His eyes wide and wet, hips unable to stop. 

‘You wanna cum baby?’ Steve asks, holding Eddie’s jaw with his spit slick fingers, fucking his own hips down onto Eddie’s cock. 

Eddie nods, whining, digging his fingers into the sheets, trying not to think about what will happen if he comes too soon. 

‘What are you baby? Are you my little freak, my little perv?’ Steve teases. 

Eddie shivers, nodding, his whole body shaking in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. Shame writhing filthily in his gut, threatening to spill. 

Steve pulls Eddie closer, kissing his cheek and letting him burrow his face in Steve’s neck. Eddie licks over his moles, wants to mark him, burrow his cock inside and never leave. ‘Thats it, my dumb thing, fucking me so good.’ Steve pets over Eddie’s hair as his hips speed up, thrusting into Steve harder, the sounds of skin slapping echoing through the house. 

‘Cum for me.’ Steve whispers, hot breath sending shivers down his back. Eddie’s rhythm turning sloppy and desperate as he thrusts deep one last time. Cumming and crying out into Steve’s neck, tears slipping onto Steve’s skin and Eddie clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks. 

He cums for so long he’s almost numb, shaky and boneless as he falls on top of Steve. 

Steve holds him close, threading his fingers through Eddie’s sweaty hair and whispering praise in his ear. 

Eventually Eddie moves slightly from on top of Steve, letting his softening cock slip out and his head rest on Steve’s chest. Listening to his heart beat. ‘Good boy, you’re my good boy Eddie.’ Steve says softly, threading his fingers into Eddie’s curls to massage his scalp. 

Eddie groans, boneless and satiated. ‘Was I too mean?’ Steve asks from above him. 

‘Fuck no. Made me cum my whole brain out.’ Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead between Steve’s hairy pecs. 

Steve tsks him, tugging at Eddie’s hair. The sharp pain making Eddie hiss and he sucks one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, clamping down on top of him so he can’t wriggle away. 

‘Okay, okay! Quit it, you monster.’ Steve laughs, shoving Eddie’s face off. 

Eddie sits back in his heels, laughing, finally taking the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. ‘You want another shower before we head back to Wayne’s?’ He asks, petting distractedly at Steve’s pink hole, still shiny with lube. 

‘Ye just gimme a sec.’ Steve says, stretching, making Eddie’s fingertip slip inside. ‘And quit playing with that, what are you, a perv?’ He asks, smirking up at him. 

Eddie grins, lunging back on top of Steve and biting his shoulder. 

Steve yelps and Eddie scoops him up, carrying him bridal style to the bathroom. 

‘Oh! Stevie, remind me to put those polaroids in my wallet. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of ‘em.’ Eddie says, dumping Steve on the closed toilet and turning the shower on. 

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

#longer one today #the doc for this used to be called 'bi freak wet and needy' #so had to keep the history #its finally done omg this has been on the back burner for SO long #i hope u enjoy 🥺 #hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #sub eddie week #subeddieweek #my fic #<3

[defectiveferalfreak]

i rediscovered @nicktoonsunite and @choraa ‘s art like wowie did they inspire me to dip my toes into NUverse??

also i cant believe Dib and Zim basically waltzed into NU:GoD, like WHATS UP B*TCHS WE  GONNA HELP WHETHER U WANT IT OR NOT like can u believe that lol

#nicktoons unite #nicktoons unite globs of doom #nicktoons unite GoD #i find it ironic its called NU GoD #invader zim #dib membrane #iz zim #iz dib #ive been sitting on the doodles ideas since end of AUGUST. basically so long that i started to hate them lol #i have a lot of thoghts about nicktoons!Dib&Zim but almost no concentration to draw much of it #because helooo fandom interest change like autumn leaves #but i fell in love with possible nicktoons universe with those two assholes in it so they WILL live rent free in my head #so many details of this doodles that i want to talk about but im afraid to start rambling #so im just gonna sit and hope someone notices those little things #throwing this nicktoons!IZAU into the void so i could stop obsessivly staring at unfinished doodles. also gonna go cry over nicktoonsunite a #and choraa awesome OG4 art like those are fucking goals #and lack of fics for nicktoons adventures ;( like i wish someone was brave enough to write some cool NU advnetures <;( #danny phantom #fairly oddparents #the adventures of jimmy neutron: boy genius #spongebob squarepants #if someone asks me about this au i probably wont have much to say because its all very vague but i will most likely go feral lol #i wish i could finish my iz star wars au doodles ;( theyve been in my files since summer haha

[petricorah]

for @lesmiserablol​ and their great fic now that i see you 

so i was going to do what you suggested but this expression reminded me of the smolderTM and i just decided to uhhh tangled au instead

#i also accidentally messed up your ask anyway i hope you enjoy #zukka #zukka tangled au #zukka tangled #everyone go read the fic!!! #Zuko #sokka #hair down sokka #i need to rewatch tangled it's the only disney movie i have on dvd #it's a masterpiece and so is this fic #zuko's thought process during this is he knows the smolder is stupid but. but it 's working a lil lil bit #i love how you mix the show quotes and the movie quotes with your writing it works so well #also sokka sarcastically calling zuko sweetheart is something i never considered and also so so funny #sweetheart (derogatory) #sometimes i have to pause reading your fics because i smile so much my mouth aches

[tizzymcwizzy]

had a good drawing day today :)

#spoilers for upcoming christmas drawing but i think this is really funny #miraculous ladybug #my art #tizzy talks #been feeling really depressed recently but i went on a walk today and read a really good mlb fic (call it even) so im feelin better :) #i hadn't drawn at all in like ten days (which is a very long time for me) and hadn't done digital art in like a month so i was very rusty #but somehow i have ended up with a wip that i really like! :D i hope tomorrow is another good day

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about Ghost and Soap in a polyamorous relationship (18+, MINORS DNI)

It’s to no surprise that your two boyfriends have rather contrasting personalities. One is for physical touch while the other is vehemently against it. It’s not like Ghost won’t ever hug you or hold your hand. It’s just that it can quickly become too much for him. Thats why you’ll opt for short side hugs and cling onto the cuffs of his sleeves when you want to touch him. It’s just a boundary he has and you chose to respect it.

So when it feels like everything in the world is going wrong and you need a reassuring embrace or a hand to hold, you’ll resort to the Scotsman who’ll happily ground his weight on top of yours and offer you a sturdy grip to hold onto.

That’s why it came as a surprise when you found out just how eager Ghost is to touch you in the bedroom, so much so he can barley contain himself.

He’s breathing heavily, hands shaking, seated in a a chair placed a bit further away from the bed that you’re laying in.

He doesn’t dare touch you though, knows his mind is too far gone to make clear headed decisions, hands far too eager to be gentle, knows his distance from the bed is the only thing keeping him from falling off the deep end.

So that’s why he assigns Soap to plant himself between your legs, watching as you roll your hips against his face, hands flying up to grab onto Soap’s hair as their names fall from your lips like prayers.

Ghost’s hand trails up the expanse of his thigh, gaze never leaving the scene in front of him as his palm lands on the spot where his cock is pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants and gently squeezes it.

His toes curl into the floor as he bucks up into his palm, a pathetic mewl escaping his lips as his dick finally gets some sort of relief after just watching you and Soap for so long. But his feather like touch quickly turns rough. His mind is too frantic to prevent eager hands from roughly stroking his dick. He’s tethering at the edge of relief before he forcefully pries his hand away from it.

His cock mourns the loss as much as he does “No, no, no, why? Why?!�� He mutters to himself, chair rocking back in place as he throws his head back against the backrest.

He slumps in the chair, breath just as heavy and hands just as shaky as his gaze falls down to the spot where his palm once was.

The fabric of his sweats lay taut against his cock. It feels hard and heavy and it’s weeping continuously, leaving a dark spot on the otherwise bright fabric.

Not yet, he thinks to himself.

If he’s not able to handle his cock with care he won’t touch you yet.

#simon ghost riley #Simon ghost Riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x Reader #soap x reader #soap x male reader #call of duty #reader not specified but as usual everything I do is for my boys #pls excuse any mistake I’m trying to be force myself to write more frequently by dropping the need for total perfectionism #that sounds so silly but if I dont do it like this I’ll plop out a fic every 5 months djdjd #anyway hope u enjoy this Drabble #Alec writes

[new-revenant]

A so Called Tamaranean | Part Two

So, people seem to really like this little story I made, so I guess I’ll continue it! Part 1 if you haven’t read it yet or forgot something from it :) Also I am going to put both parts onto Ao3 in like, a day or two.

Edit : Ao3 Link! Also unsure if I’ll continue this because I don’t want to stress out over it. This was partly inspired by the “Grudge Match” ep from the JLU cartoon(go watch it it’s so good). Don’t ask what continuity this whole fic is set in, because I am making it up as I go. Warning for mentions of blood, I think there’s slight dehumanization, and mild elements of horror. There’s a fight scene. You know, regular superhero stuff.

Tag list since people wanted to be tagged(there are many of you ๑╹ω╹๑):

@spectralstardustandphantomnights - @skulld3mort-1fan - @ballzfrog - @toomanyfandoms11 - @blueflipflops - @everest-nightshade - @terzatheunderscorerima - @thegatorsgoose - @mnemovoid - @ace-aro-as-shit - @pikakaistudios - @phoenixcatch7 - @alice-hazelwood - @idfk-man20 (I can’t tag this person for some reason???) - @keimiwolf - @cankoking - @dxrksong - @learning-to-fly-on-my-own - @chaoticmistake - @ectoplasm024 - @akikkobara - @nerdypaintbrush - @worthlesswall - @stargirl1331 - @treepainting - @that-awkward-fae-nerd - @kawaiikenna - @raspberry-muffin

♥︎♡♥︎

“Alright kid, this is one of my safe houses,” Nightwing said, “We’re going to stay here for a while until I figure out what to do,” they muttered the last part. They both were in a small apartment in an abandoned building. It was stocked with some med kits and rations, with a mattress tucked into a corner. There was a single window that they used to get inside, facing another building.

“Small house,” Danny commented, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah it’s supposed to be small-now I need to call Starfire for the first time in a few months,” Nightwing groaned, “Man I’ve been busy.”

Danny sat on the mattress while Nightwing out a phone to call this “Starfire” person. Danny was sweating bullets, because surely she would notice that Danny is definitely not a Tamaranean. Maybe he should just come out and say what he really is…Nah.

He hasn’t even told his own parents that he’s actually…whatever he is, so he certainly isn’t going to be telling this stranger who he is. Maybe once he can find out how to get back home he’ll tell them. He’ll just have to keep his secret to himself, which shouldn’t be toohard. And Danny’s stuck in his ghost form now, for some reason. But that means that it’ll be easier to pretend to a Tamaranean! And he could just say he wasn’t raised wherever Tamaraneans were from, and was experimented on by the people who raised him. Not too bad of an idea from a C-student.

Danny was humming happily as he came up with his plan. He had to ignore what Nightwing was saying because he was pretty sure Tamaraneans weren’t supposed to know English. Honestly he was sure of nothing and probably should’ve eavesdropped on Nightwing. But once he thought of that idea, Nightwing finished their phone call.

“Okay Nightgale, Starfire’s going to be here soon, and you need to eat don’t you-of course you need to eat, what am I talking about?” Nightwing sighed, “Do you have any preferences? Like, sweet or sour foods since you probably don’t know any Earth foods.”

“I will eat anything and everything you give me,” Danny responded, “I have no preferences other than survival.”

“That’s…so sad oh my god. I wish I could give you like, a honey crisp apple or something other than granola bars and military rations.”

“Food is food I guess. Oh, do you have any water my throat’s kind of sore.”

“On it,” Nightwing went and grabbed a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water and nearly tossed it over to Danny before stopping and just handed it to him.

“Thank you,” Danny said as he smiled innocently, before wolfing down the granola bars and chugging down all of the water in less than a minute. Nightwing could only watch in horror as when they tried to make Danny slow down, he tried to bite them.

“So,” Danny made direct eye contact with Nightwing after he finished eating “What’s Starfire like?” He was oddly proud of himself for this rather simple question.

“Oh! Well, she’s the Princess of Tamaran and-“ Nightwing was stopped by a sudden knock at the door. They froze and swiftly went over to the door.

“It’s me! Starfire!” a muffled voice said from behind the door. Nightwing let out a visible but silent sigh of relief before they opened the door.

“Starfire, you got here quickly,” Nightwing commented.

“Of course! There’s a baby Tamaranean here who needs help! Plus, I was nearby already,” Starfire floated a few inches off the ground as she went inside the tiny apartment.  Nightwing pointed her over to where Danny was, and she gasped happily with a gleeful shine in her eyes. Danny tried his best to hide his grimace and prepare for whatever was going to happen.

“Hello! Hi there!” Starfire shot over to Danny-which he thankfully expected to happen this time-speaking Tamaranean. Starfire had long, red, fire-like hair, flickering at the ends like a flame. Her skin was an unnatural shade of a bronze-like orange-but it was probably very natural for Tamaraneans. She was also wearing this odd, purple jumpsuit-looking outfit. Not only were her irises were green, but her sclera had a green tint to it. Danny could swear that she was glowing slightly.

“Can you not do any sudden movements Princess?” Danny said, fully grimacing, “Or get too close.”

“Oh! Sorry young one,” Starfire backed a few away from Danny a smile plastered on her face, “What’s your name?”

“I assume that Nightwing already told you but I’m uh, Nightgale. It’s…nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too Nightgale! I’m Princess Starfire of Tameran, but you may just call me Star or Starfire.”

Starfire went over to Nightwing and spoke to them in English. Danny thought this would finally be a good time to eavesdrop.

“He doesn’t know any Earth languages right?” Starfire asked.

“Nope and he seems far too touch-adverse to do…that language acquisition thing,” Nightwing answered, sighing and rubbing their temples, “He’ll shoot anyone who so much as attempts to even reach out a hand to him-I should know, because that’s what happened to me.”

“Oh no! Are you okay?”

 “Yeah I just got shot in the face but it only hurt for a moment-actually, it hurt Nightgalemore, his powers seem…unstable.”

“Unstable?”

“His arm was in a lot of pain both times he shot a starbolt at me, so I’m pretty sure his powers are at least somewhat unstable. God how-what are we going to do-WHERE did he even come from?”

“He could’ve come from anywhere I think-but! I think we might need to get him some sort therapy for the touch-adversity. So it’s a good thing that it is just physical touch in general that makes it so we can learn other’s languages, so he could just poke someone and boom! He learns English!” -Starfire spun around a little bit- “I…also think we might need to get the Justice League involved.”

“Yeah, we probably do,” Nightwing leaned up against a wall, probably pondering about what to do next. Danny was also wondering about what to do next. He could probably just punch someone in the face and pass that off as a language-acquisition thing. He looked out the window and right at that moment, a green bird landed on the windowsill.

Danny made direct eye contact with the bird. Its eyes were the normal black void of sparrow’s eyes, but the entire bird was green. It wasn’t glowing so it probably wasn’t a ghost.

“Oh hey! So you’re that Tamaranean-“ the bird said, it spoke, and Danny blasted it on pure instinct, obviously. He screamed, it screamed, but it swiftly dodged and flew inside. Its body shifted and grew, turning into a human-a green skinned human with dark green hair, but human nonetheless.

“WOAH! Never seen a talking bird before?” The green person chuckled.

“Beast Boy, are you okay?” Starfire asked.

“Yeah, but that kid seems jumpy.”

“Of course he’s jumpy, he just fell from the sky not even an hour ago,” Nightwing sighed, “Also why are you here Garfield?”

“Oh, she texted the whole group chat about the little Tamaranean here, didn’t you see it?” Beast Boy-Garfield was probably their real name but Danny could only think about a certain orange cat-pointed over to Starfire.

“Kori why?” Nightwing groaned, “So do just the rest of the Titans know?”

“Yes it’s just the rest of Titans, I’m sorry I was just so excited!” Starfire apologized, “He’s a fellow Tamaranean with powers nonetheless!”

They continued to argue and Danny knew that this was his chance. He had to get out of here. He’ll come back obviously, but he really didn’t want to keep looking at people’s mouth to figure out if they were speaking English or not.

He stood up and placed his hand on the windowsill, looking back for a moment before jumping up and bolting out of of there.

He turned quickly, just barely scraping his arm against the other building. He focused on just going faster and faster, constantly taking wild turns and changing his altitude.

He kept going and going, ignoring everything else, and he felt like he was reaching his limit in no time at all. He shoot high into the sky, spotting docks nearby. Shooting back back down like a lightning bolt, he almost slammed into the ground nearby. He didn’t make a noise or dented the concrete, so it was a win in Danny’s book.

The docks seem unused and abandoned, but oddly enough the warehouses didn’t. There was one warehouse that was bigger than the others, and it had a clearly visible side door on it. Danny looked around both at the sky and the docks. The skies were clear, but he could definitely hear something coming from that big warehouse.

Danny looked at his hands. Yeah, there might be some criminals in here. If not? Well then he’ll just give some poor folks a handshake or something. Taking his gloves off and tying them onto his belt, he noticed his veins were glowing a bright green. Danny did not know if they always were like that, but it was probably for the best to not use his powers, which was completely fine as he could still throw a mean punch.

Walking up towards the door, he had to take a deep, deep breath. What was he doing? Why was he pretending? Why does he always have to be constantly lying? He could go back now, tell them all the truth before things get more and more out of hand.

‘But it’s too late,’ he kept repeating to himself. The same thing he had always repeated to himself whenever he thought about telling his own parents who-what he was.

He gripped the handle of the door, already able to hear fighting coming from the inside. It didn’t fully sound like normal humans fighting, but a bit like ghost fighting. Shooting, burning, the ground being ripped apart and crushed. People with superpowers exist in this world, Danny could see that much from what he’s noticed so far. He felt like he was definitely not ready to fight anyone who can punch as hard as Shulker per say, but he was already here. He had to do something.

Danny looked around for those heroes who helped him out. Seeing no one around, he took in another a deep breath, and opened that side door.

♦︎

Nightwing really did expect the kid to run off at some point. He just did not expect the kid to just be gone after he looked away for a single second. Just one second, he just wanted to talk with Kori and Garfield, but no, now he has to search for a glowing, physically andprobably mentally unstable Tamaranean child. If it was only as easy as it sounded because Nightgale was gone gone. Which meant that everyone was freaking out, obviously.

“Starfire! Do you see anything?” Nightwing called out from a rooftop nearby the safe house. Starfire was high in the sky so she could probably see a glowing person much more easily, and she shouted out ‘NO!’ which did wonders to Nightwing’s sprit.

“Beast Boy, how about you?” Beast Boy swooped down as an eagle and shook his head no. Nightwing sighed, “Well, we’ll need to split up then. Beast Boy you go west, I’ll go north, Starfire will go-“

“Nightwing,” Oracle’s voice had suddenly spoken from Nightwing’s earpiece, interrupting him. He put his hand on his earpiece to answer.

“What’s going on Oracle?” Nightwing responded instantly.

“An illegal meta fighting ring has been reported coming from the abandoned commercial docks in Blüdhaven. Do you think you can check up on it?”

“If I had a nickel for every time a meta fighting ring has happened here-yeah I’ll deal with it quickly.”

“Even with the Tamaranean child?” Batman’s voice interjected.

Nightwing’s face dropped. Of course Batman knows about Nightgale, he’s Batman. God damn it.

“Yep, even with them.”

“Their name?”

“They said their name was Nightgale. Now, I’ll get back to you later goodbye!” Nightwing took his hand away from the eyepiece and groaned.

“So we have to deal with a meta fighting ring as well?” Beast Boy asked, “Oh wait! What if the kid got caught up in the fighting ring?”

“Nightgale got caught up in a fighting ring?!” Starfire had come down and was very concerned.

“No-well,” Nightwing thought of how likely it was that Nightgale could actually get caught up in a fighting ring, “There could be a chance-“

“We have to go! Where is the fighting ring?” Starfire eyes were filled with determination.

“Yeah! Let’s save those metas AND that Tamaranean kid who’s name I can’t remember. Sorry,” Beast Boy nervously chuckled a bit during that last part.

“It’s Nightgale,” Nightwing repeated. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more strange it was that the kid’s name was Nightgale. It was pretty close to Nightwing, and there was also the problem of accidentally mixing the two names up. Maybe he should call them Gale, or Night Jr. Damnit, he was turning into Bruce wasn’t he?

Nightwing shook off that thought process, focusing on the matter at hand, “Now, let’s go to the docks!”

“Yeah!” The other two exclaimed. They all bolted towards the docks, towards Nightgale.

It didn’t take too long to get over to the docks, especially since Nightwing knew the way there by heart and the other two could fly. The trio still looked around for Nightgale on the way there, but had no luck with that. Nightwing really hoped that Nightgale wouldn’t be at the docks. He felt like there was a good chance that they would’ve gotten hurt, or worse.

Once the trio did get to docks, they saw the biggest warehouse had a giant hole in its side. People were running away from it, screaming and tripping over themselves.

As the heroes got over to them, they noticed just how scared the people acted. “P-please take us in, we’ll go to jail, just get us away from here!” One of them shouted. All of them were heavily bruised and bleeding lightly, large, but very shallow claw marks across either their chests. 

“So this the illegal meta fighting ring I’ve been hearing about,” Nightwing muttered, “Alright, I’ll cuff these guys real quick, get them to the hospital, and then we’ll-“

“Please get us away from here first! That-that monster in there will-“

“Oh! That might be Nightgale right?” Starfire asked.

“Yeah! They seem strong enough,” Beast Boy added.

“Let’s check it out. You criminals stay here or I’ll get that ‘monster’ to hunt you down.” The threat seemed to be very effective against them, which was very worrying, but right now Nightwing needed to focus at the situation at hand-someone dangerous was inside that warehouse with the metas, and that someone could very well be Nightgale.

As they rushed towards the hole, Starfire caught a criminal being thrown out of it. The criminal also had a large, shallow claw mark across their chest. She placed them down and told them to stay with the other criminals, and they ecstatically did as told. The trio were finally at the hole.

Nightwing now believed the criminals when they said there was a monster here.

He couldn’t focus on anything other than-that thing standing in the center of the warehouse. It was a shadow, fickle and dark, glowing green-bleeding green out of its hands and eyes. Eyes that stared right at him, right into his very soul.

It was pulsating with light, unsteady and bright, drawing Nightwing’s mind to nuclear waste. It’s body seemed to flicker in and out of existence as fast as a blink of an eye, small, almost invisible sparks of electricity jetting out of it.

Its hands looked sharp, fingernails indistinguishable from flesh. They were stained red, blood dripping towards the ground. Blood was splattered at its feet and the ground around it. But he couldn’t see any blood on the rest of it’s shadowy body.

This was it, this was how Nightwing was going to die. He couldn’t move couldn’t think about anything else other than the horrors that awaited him. It was all going to be over and he couldn’t even help that one kid-

“Nightgale!” Starfire exclaimed and flew inside. Suddenly, Nightwing was snapped out of his trance, and the monster disappeared, leaving a tired and trembling Nightgale behind.

Nightwing looked over at Beast Boy, and it was clear that he saw the same thing as Nightwing. Beast Boy looked at him for an answer, but all he could do was shrug slightly. Whatever affected him and Beast Boy didn’t affect Starfire, so he could easily pass this off as some Tamaranean thing, but something in the back of his mind said that he shouldn’t.

Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right about Nightgale.

But he’ll think about that more later. Right now, Nightgale and the metas needed help.

“Beast Boy, you look after the metas, I’ll deal with the rest of the criminals,” Nightwing said and then immediately sprang into action.

“R-right!” Beast Boy responded and followed suit.

Nightgale had taken care of most of the criminals involved, but the ringmaster, Roulette, had nearly escaped. 

“Roulette! I see that you haven’t changed at all,” Nightwing commented when he caught up to her. He could see that her left arm was bleeding, baring the same shallow claw marks as the other criminals had. “This is what, the second time you’ve set up a meta fighting ring in Blüdhaven? Why’s that?”

“I didn’t expect to get caught so quickly I’ll tell you that much,” she replied, “Much less did I expect to get caught by your son.”

“Okay, Nightgale isn’t my-“ Roulette took this opportunity to kick Nightwing square in the face. In retaliation, Nightwing grabbed her foot and flipped her over, and the fight commenced.

Back in the warehouse, Starfire was checking Nightgale for any injuries. And he had a lot of injuries. No cuts but a lot of bruises had formed already.

“We have to get you to the Watchtower right away-it’s basically the Justice League’s base and they’ll have everything we’ll need to fix you up okay?” Starfire told Nightgale. Only after she finished talking did she realize that she was speaking in English, so she readied herself for having to repeat that whole thing again.

“I’m okay,” Nightgale muttered, back in English.

Starfire gasped, “Did you learn English while punching all those criminals?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s why I took my gloves off, I’m sorry if I wasn’t-“

“No no! It’s okay, it great actually, because now you can communicate easier with everyone else! Good job Nightgale,” Starfire smiled at them and they shyly smiled back.

“Thank you,” Nightgale muttered, “Do we help those people now?”

“I got it!” Beast boy shouted. He had rounded up all the metas and there were a concerning amount of them.

“There’s at least 9 people here,” Nightgale commented, “Or more. I’m not good with counting.”

“That’s okay Nightgale,” Starfire lightly patted Nightgale’s shoulder, and they didn’t even flinch! Which was great, progress was being in one way or another. “Now, how about we check up on Nightwing hm?” Nightgale nodded, and Starfire quickly checked up on the metas before bringing Nightgale with her outside.

Nightwing and Roulette noticed the two immediately, and Roulette’s eye widened in horror.

“That kid-“ Roulette started, before becoming yet another person who got cut off by Nightgale shooting at them. She dodged but Nightwing was quick to knock her unconscious with his Escrima sticks. Nightwing cuffed her while Starfire helped out Nightgale, who was currently doubled over in pain.

“Are you okay Nightgale?” Starfire asked.

“I want and feel like death, but other than that I’m fine,” Nightgale groaned, “At least this blood isn’t mine.”

“Yeah you need to go get help right now,“ Nightwing commented, facing towards the warehouse, “First we just need to take care of metas, the criminals-this criminal, in particular, and then-“ Nightwing suddenly whipped his head around and faced Nightgale, “-did you just speak English???”

“Yeah I punched a bunch of people. No big deal. What’s that shadowy figure over there?” Nightgale pointed over towards their left, and Nightwing immediately knew who it was.

“If I look over and I see it’s Batman I will not be surprised,” Nightwing sighed. He turned around and did not see Batman, so clearly he needed to spin back around and there he was, Batman. 

“I’ve notified the League about the Tamaranean child,” Batman had began, quickly getting to the point, “You and Starfire can take him to the Watchtower with the Zeta-Tubes and preform a check-up before any questioning.”

“Doesn’t the Zeta-Tubes only work for registered members?” Starfire asked.

“And what about the bad guys?” Nightgale added. He was looking at Batman with a sense of awe, for some reason.

“Beast Boy and I will take care of it. I was able to collect a DNA sample from the initial crash site and registered Nightgale as a guest,” Everyone noticed how Nightgale very visibly flinched once Batman talked about collect a DNA sample.

Nightwing gently patted Nightgale’s shoulder, and they looked up at him with their tired, scared eyes. Nightwing gave them a little smile, “It’s going to be okay Nightgale.” But Nightgale’s expression stayed the same as the trio made their way towards the nearest Zeta-Tube.

It was going to be fine, Nightwing was sure of it. Yeah, something bad might happen because life, but Nightgale would be okay soon enough. But Nightwing could only think about what he saw before he entered the warehouse. Was Nightgale really a Tamaranean? Starfire wasn’t effected by whatever he and Beast Boy saw, and they were both human.

Nightgale wasn’t a human, that’s for sure. But what if was a human, a meta more likely. But then why did he fall from the sky? A portal could’ve opened-actually, a portal would’ve been the only way they could’ve came here, since they definitely don’t seem to have the energy to fly all the way to Earth from…wherever they were from.

So what was Nightgale? Who was Nightgale?

Nightwing didn’t know what was the truth yet, but it wouldn’t be long until he found out. He was sure of it. But for now, he just wanted to make sure Night Jr. was safe.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp fic #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #a so called tamaranean #dp crossover #dp x dc au #hehe get adopted idiot #danny fenton #danny phantom crossover #I’m so anxious about this I hope you guys like this “-_- #pacing in stories is not my strong suit #are the characters in character?? I sure hope so #is this part long enough?? I for sure hope so #I tried to not have a “head hopping” problem but I don’t know if it worked #revenant makes fanfics

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened…'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

#I hope you all understand how many of these I have been in call reading to my friends #How many I have tried to draw shadow and sonic for #how many of them inspire my own writing #How I have dreamed about these fics so often I wouldn't be suprised if it rivaled my time fighting sleep to finish them in mere days #Also the AMOUNT of times I've wanted to pull out my microphone and read them aloud #Even though I would be absolutely horrible at reading them like audio books but you know what? fuck it #For these fics I would read them aloud the best I can #GOD JUST #I cant imagine a world where I never read these and its scary to think if they were never shared #Mostly because they actually genuinely impacted me in meaningful ways #I've cried real tears and felt such genuine emotion that I've been changed #Even if it's int he smallest bit #But it happened ya know? #Just- god I love you fic authors sm #Your work is never lost not to me #fox speaks #sonadow #fic #fic rec #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic x shadow #sonic fanfiction #sonic underground #sonic universe #sonic prime

[askuemki]

cuz im kinda bored and sick ill torture myself with writing a fic (also happy late easter)

The Other Way Around

Valeria x fem!reader

Usually she takes care of you, but shit hit the floor when she got her period. In the past, it's been manageable enough. No clue what changed exactly... (womp womp)

General warnings/info idk 888 words 2nd person Pronouns Fluff(?) Blood (sort of) & google translated spanish

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You just came back from shopping in the small farmers market in Las Alamas. Despite all of the crimes and spilled blood, it's been standing strong—something you appreciate. The door swayed open, to what you expected to be a sleepy home.

Moaning howled from upstairs.

Your brows creased, staring at the small hole leading into what could lead into a hell of a situation. It had been just you and a few soldiers residing in the home. Your lover had been a workhorse for the past month or two now. A thunderous wail fractured your line of thought. Maybe the quiet wasn't so lonely after all.

Strolling over to the kitchen, you were sensible enough to put refrigerated items away. The rest of the clutter can flump on the counter. Now, time to deal with whatever sex-crazed soldier was upstairs. Your thundering steps sung a chorus with the groans, turning from hall to hall. At the door, your hand launched for the knob. It hurled open, bashing into something. A figure stumbled, flinging back like a stick in the dirt. There was an odd absence of a counterpart...

The counterpart was you, dumbass!

A frown contorted your face as you reached out to your spouse. "...Valeria? God, I'm so, so sorry..." You uttered her name as if she were holy. (It's partly true, for you at least.) Her softened gaze flickered to you when your hands stroke her frizzled hair. "I'm fine, Cariño," she wheezed. Valeria was perched over the sink, clutching her abdomen. Her mewls in anguish disrupted your thoughts...Fuck! Your partner was better at this then you were, the whole contingence thing.

"Please don't play stupid with me..."

" I'm fine, really—I just need some time."

Your head shook at Valeria's languish. Drawing the cabinet open beneath the both of you, scavenging for some pads, pain medication, and some lotion. Valeria slumped onto the toilet, bunching her torso downwards. Before fetching some other necessities, you shrunk onto your knees, in front of Valeria. "Hey..." you lured her hair away from her face, before your hands lowered to her cheeks.

"Think you can take the Ibuprofen before I come back?"

She lowly nodded as you set the medication near her, loosening the lid enough for easy access. Sure, there were other things to get, but you can't help to dote on her a little. Rubbing her lower back, your lips pressed into her neck. A mumbling sigh swept from Valeria's lips into your shoulder. One of your hands slid from her back, and to her abdomen. It was a bit harder to tug your digits in, but Valeria shifted enough to help you. For a while, it was like this, your palm on her thigh, knuckles massaging her stomach.

"Consigue lo que necesitas, amor." (Get what you need, Love.)

"But I don't want to leave you alone," you grumbled as an excuse, your lips were on her collarbone, taking in the smooth bumps she blessed you with.

"I can see that, esposa. It's OK, I'm strong enough to handle this."

"... But I miss you."

You feel the hesitance as Valeria tugged you away. She strained to reach the medication, taking the pills. You saw her head nudging towards the doorway as you heaved upwards. A nod in return, you begrudgingly dragged yourself out. You return with a heating pad, some hand towels... "I need some shorts..."

An understanding nod, you fetched some clothes, and one of the paper grocery bags from the kitchen.

"Some water, please." And some water...

"Some blankets?" And some blankets... You were panting after sprinting back and forward, seeing your lover had moved from the bathroom; she was lenient enough to put back most of the things you got... Except the bloody underwear and shorts. A grumble huffed from your lips, washing the garments. Your hands grew sore, bloodied and dry, kneading the fabrics within themselves. Hanging them up on a rack, your legs ached with sleep. Now hauling yourself to your shared bedroom, your gaze flickered to your wife. She was sprawled out in bed, a damp towel laying on her head. The heating pad you gave her was set on her stomach, as well as her nightstand littered with some bottles of water and medication. You never ended up using the lotion for Valeria, but that was fine. Her eyes were closed, entangled in the sheets. Your cheeks swelled with warmth; a smile teased your lips. Strolling to the bed, you sat on the plush comforter. "You don't need that much medication," you faintly advised, busying your hands by rubbing her calves. "Hmph... I'm lazy to put it back." You heard a light chuckle whisk towards you, Valeria's legs wrapped you in a clutch, tugging you towards her. Careful not to sweep off what Valeria had on her in the moment, you laid on your side. Luckily you weren't in her leg-clutch for too long; it would have been awkward enough. You were held close instead, a thought igniting in your head. She was home, finally home! You were back in your lover's arms—maybe it should be the other way around—but relief sprout like fireworks. You were free to continue to dote on her, but sleep drew near. Your lids weighed you down, nuzzling into her side. "Bonita...Mind making dinner?"

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Pet Name Translations:

Cariño - My dear Esposa - Wife Bonita - Pretty

#i hope i put in my warnings right #idk if i grammared right either #my website glitched and i had to restart my laptop smh #AT LEAST MY PROGRESS SAVED #cod valeria #valeria garza #valeria garza cod #valeria x reader #valeria cod #valeria x you #valeria garza x fem!reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare II #valeria garza fluff #this fic took like 3-4 hrs to make wtf #happy late easter again

[sha-nwa]

“You came,” she whispered.

He blinked. “Of course I came.”

chapter 9 of my and @anna-scribbles fic!!!!!!!

#ml fics #miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #adrienette #ladynoir #WE COULD CALL IT EVEN!!!!!!!!! #title chap title chap title chap!!!!!! #my favorite chapter of mine. really really really. i love this one. i really do. #i hope u guys enjoy😭🫶🏻 #call it even

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine creator reader but no divine presence or aura that makes people crumble at the knees.

Reader just spawns in at wolvendom like a fly and meets diluc for no important reason i just love diluc then pow we can alter character builds then discover that my husband has the bell and instructors set on 😲

Creator freaks out cause wtf this is NOT the build i put on my diluc and hes standing there like ‘what psychopath did i just meet..’ so wow what no way creator reader just happens to have a 2 piece crimson witch in their inventory.

Reader: ‘You’re probably gonna leave me here but theres a hillichurl camp near by you dont want the knights of favonius to get to it first right’

Dilucs mad suspicious but hes a good civilian and puts his vision to use and absolutely destroys the hilichurls

Hes doing like 19x the amount of damage he normally would and word gets around that theres some random lady that makes people uncomprehendingly strong

BRO (genderneutral) I SAW A FIC LITERALLY ABOUT THIS SCENARIO UNDER THE SAGAU TAG AWHILE BACK- ACK-

FIC REC ASK!!

I CANT FIND IT- THEY WERE ACTUALLY THE OG INSPO FOR ME KEEPING A READER WHO COULD STILL ACCESS PLAYER FUNCTIONS

LIKE, DUDE THEY DID DILUC AND EVERYTHING

THIS IS SO CREEPY WTF R U SECRETLY THAT AWESOME WRITER??!!! DID U SNEAK INTO MY ASKS, BC IF SO HELLO I LOVE THAT FIC SM <3 ANYWAY-

I don’t know how to write this without plagiarising that person!!

Because this is such a specific scenario, I don’t see a way around writing this or at least I don’t have the skill for it lmao, as this is the same situation as that fic, so here you guys go!

My first fic rec!! Thank you so much @myrainycollectorpizza for finding this fic!! You're a peach tysm,

Here's pretty much a cooler longer version of what anon said by Muraar on ao3!

☆

Safe Travels Anon,

💀♒️

☆

Fic rec sorry my beloveds! Another ask will be uploaded in an hour or so! :] I lied i forgot to tag u guys in the new one hold on

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche

#fic recommendation #fic recs #when u specify ur brainrot so hard someones already done it 😔✨️ #tysm for the ask tho i hope its okay i put this ur way instead of writing a response! #feel free to send another one in if u rlly want me to write something #:) #genshin sagau #genshin impact #sagau #my replies #my asks #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact artificer au #thats what im calling this bc DND the roleplaying game has a class for characters just like this! #that and this story are what inspired me to keep the “ingame” functions for when ur “in game”

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley 💖

istg soon i'll focus on just one wip and finish it and then move on to the next but for now I'm all over the place so you'll get snippets of everything lmao - married buddie smut again haha

prev snippet

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It’s just a few seconds of him standing there and admiring his husband, before he gets impatient again, climbs onto the bed and straddles his lap, immediately grinding their hips together, eliciting groans out of them both. He kisses Buck, then grabs his hands, that are on either side of Buck’s head, and laces their fingers together, pinning them down in place, and leans in to kiss Buck’s lips gently. 

“Hello there, Mr. Diaz.” he murmurs, and feels a shiver go through Buck. (...)

“Hi yourself, Mr. Diaz.” Buck grins. “Holy shit, I’m a Diaz.” he adds with a little giggle, sounding genuinely awestruck.

“That you are. Now finally officially.” Eddie smiles. Buck’s been a part of the Diaz family for as long as they’ve known each other. Taking the name is just a formality, really.

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no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @disasterbuckdiaz @buckaroosheart @hippolotamus

#married buddie smut #tease tidbit tuesday #fic snippet #buddie #buddie fic #buddie wip #wikiangela writes #my writing #my wips #every wip is going so slowly lately lol #idk i just spent the last 4 days in bed and i still feel so exhausted and drained wtf i just wanna sleep all the time #but anyway - not sure if i prefer buckley-diaz or just diaz so that's not decided but also eddie's gonna call him diaz here anyway lol #also i really hope this smut will be shorter than the previous ones lmao

[sagesolsticewrites]

Heat Wave

It’s the hottest summer Iowa’s had in a while. Your husband wears shorts. It gets even hotter.

Shoutout to Winnie (@winniemaywebber) for making yet another incredible playlist for this fic!

Warnings: mature content (dom/sub dynamics (sub!Harry, dom!Mrs.Crosby (you’re Jean, bc of course who else would you be?)), thigh riding, thigh biting 👀, teasing, praise kink, orgasm denial, this whole thing is roleplay “punishing” Harry for sleeping with Sandra), swearing, mentions of cheating (but not really bc there was a war on come on y’all; Mrs. Crosby in this fic has canonically forgiven him for it, this is just a way for them to have some fun), definitely some historical inaccuracies in here, and ofc including a whole separate warning for Anthony Boyle’s thighs <3 (this is an 18+ fic!! minors begone!!)

Word count: 1.5k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

It was June 1946, and it was the hottest summer in Iowa since the war had started.

You and Harry had opened all the windows in the house, hoping to let in some semblance of a breeze, but the air remained stagnant and stifling. You had resorted to foregoing a dress entirely, wearing the thinnest slip you had and simply praying that no one came to call on the two of you in your little house in the middle of nowhere, while your Bing had stripped down to just a pair of shorts and his undershirt, the glass of iced tea in his hand dripping condensation onto his bare thigh.

You can’t help but track the drop as it follows a path down the inside of your husband’s thigh to seep into the fabric of the worn armchair he’s currently collapsed in with his legs spread wide; the heat outside matching the building heat in your core as you take in his underdressed state.

He catches you staring with a knowing glint in his eye, setting his drink aside on the coffee table.

“Something I can help you with, Mrs. Crosby?”

Normally you would play coy, but something about the oppressive heat and the way your husband is sprawled out in that chair makes you want to try a different tactic.

“As a matter of fact there is, my darling Bing,” you purr, slinking over to his chair.

He eagerly leans up for a kiss, but you swerve, brushing gentle kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw… everywhere but his lips, where he really wants you.

Understanding dawns on his face, and his eyes fill with heat as he realizes it’s going to be one of those days.

“Honey, please,” he whines softly, a gasp escaping him as you trace up the inside of his thigh with one neatly manicured nail.

His hips buck up towards your hand, but you pull away quickly.

“Uh-uh,” you scold softly, tilting his chin up with two fingers so his eyes meet yours, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

He nods obediently, pretty brown eyes wholly enraptured by you.

“Good boy,” you murmur, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before moving to kneel between his legs.

A soft whimper escapes your husband at the molten look you shoot him as you brush featherlight kisses up the inside of each of his thighs, his hands clenching around the armrests as he resists the urge to forcibly put you where he wants you.

You hear his breath catch as your mouth reaches the spot where his thigh and hip meet, still covered by his shorts, followed shortly by a desperate whine as your lips trace the same path back down his leg.

“No, sweetheart,” you murmur, punctuating it with a nip to the flesh of his thigh, “You were very bad when you were gone, remember?”

Your nails grazing lightly down his other thigh prompts a soft, gasping “Yes, yes, I remember.”

You reward him with a soft kiss to where your teeth just were, continuing.

“So, you don’t get to cum until I’ve decided you’ve made it up to me, ‘kay honey?”

He nods.

“Need your words, sweetheart.” You prod gently.

“I understand,” he breathes, desperation coloring his voice.

“Good boy,” you praise, and you descend.

You gently dig your teeth into the flesh of his thigh once more, nibbling and sucking a path along both of his thighs, peppering in gentle kisses as you go.

Your toes curl, wetness pooling between your legs at the soft whimpers, moans, and gasps that your husband is making above you.

Satisfied with the series of pretty purple marks decorating his flesh, you scatter several soft kisses across his skin before you stand, letting your slip hit the floor.

Bing swears softly as he takes in the sight of you, one hand creeping towards the prominent bulge at the apex of his thighs.

You raise a stern eyebrow, leaning over to tap his hand once.

“No touching,” you scold softly as he jerks his hand back to grip the armrest, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“‘M sorry, honey, I just… you’re so pretty…”

“Being sweet to me won’t make me go easier on you, my love,” you murmur, though part of you melts at the compliment.

Your husband lets out a soft groan of “oh, Christ,” as you shed your panties and move to straddle his leg, slowly sinking down onto his broad quadricep.

You pull his face towards you, two fingers under his chin, to breathe against his lips.

“Remember,” you say, taking in his pretty eyes, pupils blown wide as you slowly rock back and forth on his leg, “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

He nods frantically, a strangled “Yes” his only response as you begin to grind against him in earnest.

You can’t quite bring yourself to stifle your moans at the feeling of your core gliding along Harry’s bare thigh, and your husband’s already darkened eyes turn almost black at the sound.

“F-fuck, honey, you feel so good,” you gasp against his lips, praise tumbling from your lips as tension builds just below your belly, “Being so good for me, letting me use you like this—”

Your husband lets out a strangled moan, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the chair.

“Honey… Honey, please let me cum,” he whines after several minutes of your agonizing teasing, his breath hot on your mouth, “Haven’t I been good? I don’t—” he cuts off with a pleading groan as your nails rake down his back, your pace increasing.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can last much longer, honey, please.” 

One of your hands comes up to grip his hair at the roots, dark curls deliciously soft under your fingers. You murmur against his lips as he lets out a soft hiss, “Make me cum first, baby, and then I might let you.”

 He moans into your mouth, flexing his thigh against you and causing you to gasp at the new angle.

“Oh, Christ, just like that, honey,” you groan, grinding desperately against him, a stuttering moan escaping you as you stammer “I’m— ‘m gonna—”

You muffle your cry in his neck as you reach your peak, grinding slowly against him as you ride out your climax.

Harry whimpers in your ear as your leg brushes his bulge.

“Sweetheart— please, can I—?”

“Yes, honey,” you say, pulling him into you for a heated, open-mouthed kiss as your hand dives into his shorts to wrap around his length, “Did so, so good for me, you can let go now, baby”

It only takes a few pumps, your hand slick with the precum leaking from his tip, before he’s spilling into your hand with a cry.

The two of you catch your breath, foreheads pressed together.

“Wow, sweetheart,” Harry says, huffing out a laugh.

You giggle, pulling him in for a kiss that you can’t help smiling into.

“It wasn’t too much, right?” You ask, pulling away to scan his face for any hint of unease.

“Not at all, honey,” your husband assures you with a sweet kiss to your forehead, reaching to pass you a rag sitting on the table so you can clean your hand off.

You stand, sliding your slip back on before settling in next to him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders and tucking you in close.

“So,” Harry says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, “Have I made up for it yet, my love?”

You pretend to think for a moment, a smirk on your face as you reply.

“For now, honey. For now.”

A quiet moment passes, and you turn to press your lips to his shoulder in a gentle kiss.

“You know I’m not really upset about what happened when you were gone,” you say softly, fingers tangling with his, “right, honey? I know things were tough, things were… unspeakably bad, and you were doing what you had to do to stay sane so you could get through it and come back to me.”

Your husband lets out a soft sigh, squeezing your fingers with a smile at the reassurance that’s become routine after moments like these.

“I know, sweetheart. I—” His voice goes soft, gratitude seeping into every word as he traces your jaw with his fingertips, eyes tracing over your features as if he still can’t believe you’re real, “I thought about you every day when I was over there. I missed you so, so much.”

You lean into his touch. In the months he’s been home, you still haven’t been able to get enough of him being here, being able to touch you, and you in turn being able to touch him. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

#this is called Biting Bing in an alternate universe iykyk #this is quite literally the spiciest thing I’ve ever written I hope y’all liked it fjskfhdj #also this was literally written in less than 12 hours??? um??? anthony boyle what have you done to me 🫠 #harry crosby #harry crosby x reader #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #mota fic #anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #my writing

[ladytauria]

The prompt list. Listen. I think Jason deserves a kiss to the thigh. Whoever you want to give it to him

nonny you are SO right

i went with jaytim bc i'm predictable like that~

Tim challenges anyone to find a more comfortable pillow than one of Jason's thighs. (Well---alright. They actually come in at a close second to his chest, while his stomach sits at a narrow third. But---still.) There's nothing like reclining on the couch, his head pillowed on Jason's lap while the TV plays in the background.

Tonight, Tim's foregone his laptop. For once in his life, he's had enough of numbers. He just wants to relax with his boyfriend.

Jason's hand drops into his hair, stroking idly through the strands. Tim's eyelids droop. He raises his hand, wrapping it around Jason's knee; thumb pressed to the back of it. Jason's leg shifts to accommodate him.

He smiles, humming softly. He turns his face, pressing a kiss to Jason's thigh. Jason's fingers pause in his hair for a moment, and then continue; the gentle scratch of nails against his scalp making Tim wish he could purr, pushing into his hands.

Jason laughs; a soft huff of air that turns Tim's insides soft and fuzzy. "Overgrown kitten," he murmurs.

Tim's mouth twitches. "Meow~"

Jason snorts, flicking his ear. "Hush, I'm watching a movie."

Tim nips him through his sweats, earning a light tug to his hair. He heaves a put-on sigh, drawing his blanket higher up his shoulder.

Then he settles, letting the low murmur of the television and Jason's fingers in his hair lull him to sleep.

[ sultry prompts list ]

#the temptation to go with thigh worship was heavy #but that would have taken much longer so #i put the lines i wrote for it in the notion page~ #i also did consider going jaysteph #but jaytim just called to me more for this one #thank you for the prompt nonny #i hope you liked it! #jaytim #timjay #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #lovely anons #asks and answers #i also almost went with tim patching him up and kissing the wound #but i have like #2 or 3 more ‘tim patches jason up’ fics in my drafts #so… #xD

[luescris]

Posting this before I decide not to

A drawing for a vent fic I've worked on since 2018 that's on my A03 called He Who is Hard as Stone (which I now dub to Heart of Stone because it's simpler/easier) and also sort of mostly inspired by @fihuli 's bad ending art (I hope it's not a problem that I've tagged you but if it is please lemme know augh) from once upon a time ago and. Lmao yeah haha

Handle on ao3 is luescris same as here if y'all are interested okay bye

#im promoting this fic as much as i can because it means a lot to me and it would mean the world if more people read it #but this is /nf im just desperate is all ahshs. call this my last string of hope if you will #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #tmnt 2012 #ninja turtles #tmnt leo #leonardo #leonardo hamato #hamato leonardo #2012 leonardo #my art #my artwork #digital art #digital drawing #digital fanart #digital #art #artwork #fanart #drawing #nick #nickelodeon #nickalodeon #bad ending au #luescris