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inafieldofdaisies · 10 months

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WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @g0dspeeed <3 | Tagging @josephseedismyfather @adelaidedrubman @thesingularityseries @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @euryalex @detectivelokis @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @trench-rot @josephslittledeputy @theelderhazelnut @purplehairsecretlair @neonneurons @dumbassdep @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @voidika @harmonyowl @v0idbuggy @strangefable @schoute @jacobsneed @strafethesesinners and anyone with something to share ❤️

This midweek you're getting more of Jacob x Mercedes, the snippet is on the longer side (but like I don't want to leave you all on a cliffy like with the last "last line tag post") and things are definitely picking up, folks. Beware it gets NSFW towards the end. :D

"Bambi?", Mercedes shot a dark look at the now closed door of Jacob's office, "Bambi.", she shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. You truly have no idea, Jacob Seed. The last couple of minutes were a true testament of her ability to stay in character and not come out swinging the second he had started barking orders at her like she was one of his unfortunate subordinates or worse, an animal he was trying to tame. "Bambi.", she repeated again and bit her lip as she went around the desk and sat down in his chair. You're so lucky I didn't shove my fist so far up your clueless ass you would have seen stars. Intrusive thoughts about inflicting different level of violence upon his person had popped up in her mind anytime Jacob had opened his mouth to speak during their confrontation about her leaving the region. She had no idea why he seemed to enjoy pushing her around so much, but he was in for quite the rude awakening if he expected her to just run back to Joseph and abandon the task and chance at helping the opposing Militia. "The enemy of my enemy shall be my friend.", she whispered as she scanned over the plans laid out in front of her carefully, memorizing anything that could be of assistance at doing damage to the Project. One name repeated over and over in the notes, almost bordering obsession and she suspected the man was just the one she needed to find. "Eli. Eli. I feel like we can help each other." I will be the snake in your brother's garden. The wolf roaming among your sheep, Jacob. Not Bambi.

Mercedes hoped the Deputy that was brave enough to make a run for it would manage to escape despite Jacob's strong confiction he wouldn't. In ways she felt guilty for dragging the man and his colleagues into the mess. After going over anything available on top of the desk, she moved onto its drawers. Locked. Of course. She kept an eye on the door as she reached into her hair and pulled out one of the bobby pins from her braid, getting to work on lockpicking the top drawer. Her gaze narrowed in confusion the second she pulled it open and was greeted by emptiness aside from a small wooden box. She picked it up with curiousity and opened the lid, scanning over the letters engraved on the inside, "Only you? A music box out of everything, Jacob?" Mercedes returned the box back in its place and shut the drawer, double checking it's locked again before moving onto the rest. The discovery was more like what she had expected to come across: files of Hope County residents, most marked as "failure" with a red stamp. She quickly flipped through the folders without pulling any out, knowing there were way too many to go over when she had no idea when Jacob or any of his men would return to check on her. After locking all drawers again and making sure nothing was out of place, she leaned back in the chair with a sign, "Slow progress. Oh, how I hate you."

[one radio call with Joseph later; where he insists she must stay in the Whitetails and be his eyes.]

Hours passed without anyone appearing or even passing by the office door, the building remained quiet as the light outside began to dim. She was starting to wonder if Jacob hadn't decided to not return to the Vet Center at all, hoping she would take the hint and leave after his less than warm welcome. Mercedes lost count how many times she spun around in his chair as she contemplated her life choices and imagining where she would have been at that moment had she not gone after Joseph Seed at all. Probably at some unjustifiably expensive restaurant with a target, hanging onto my every word.Fuck, sure can use some food by now… Another spin paired with regrets and boredom had her staring at the peeling paint on the wall behind her and when she turned again instead of finding the office vacant, angry blue eyes met hers. Sneaking up on me, are we? "You're still here.", Jacob stated the obvious as he stopped in her earlier position at the desk, their roles reversed, no matter how temporary. A smile broke across her face, Mercy coming out to play, "No place I would rather be." Many places I'd rather be, in fact.Anywhere with a more enjoyable company preferably.A bath would be nice, too, doesn't even have to be fancy.

"You called my brother.", he muttered in annoyance as he wiped his brow, smudging blood across his skin and making Mercedes realize his hands were stained crimson. Are you badly injured, Deputy? Is it my fault? "You should have left hours ago. I have to warn you, I don't take lightly to anyone disregarding my authority. Let alone to you making yourself at home in my chair, spinning around in it like a child." So did many control obsessed men before you, honey. Then they realized I do as I please. Most found themselves beneath me or chasing after me, begging for mercy at the end. Ironic, I know. "I answer to Joseph, not you. The sooner you accept that, the less times your blood pressure would rise.", she said, not letting her smile waiver even for a breath as she got up and rounded the desk to stand in front of him. Mercedes licked her thumb and brought it to his forehead, cleaning off the blood when she added, "You have to watch your heart at your age." "What do you think you're doing exactly?", his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before it could retreat, "And you did not just dare to call me old." She tried to pull her arm free, but Jacob's grip only tightened as a result, "A joke, Jacob, I assume you know what that is. As for what I was doing… you had something on your face, so you're welcome." A strange expression came over his features when he replied, "I didn't expect to have it in you to crack a joke, Mercedes." One of her shoulders quirked up, "Not like you have spent any time trying to talk to me since we've met. How would you know what I'm like?"

All she got from him was silence. The air grew heavy with tension as his eyes ran over her face, hand still gripping hers, his body rigid. Minutes that felt like forever rolled by, and she did her best to keep her breathing steady as goosebumps covered her exposed flesh. She wondered if she would end up slammed into a wall and what would follow. His look tells me that he'd either kiss me senseless or choke the life out of me. Neither outcome very high on my list, thank you. Her back didn't meet the wall behind her, instead he swiftly pulled at her hand and dragged her out of the room without a single word. Jacob took quick, long strides over the hallways, forcing her to jog in order to keep up with him, her flats slipping on the worn-out tiles. His men watched, heads bowed down, trying their hardest to appear disinterested in what their boss was doing. "Jacob?", she uttered out in confusion, refusing to let go of Mercy's sweet and naive persona. In reality she suspected that at some point in the quiet moments back in his office, he had realized she wouldn't be leaving on her own accord, and was set on personally throwing her out, having decided he's done dealing with her. In seconds, he was at the front entrance of the Center, pushing the doors open and heading with determination past all the rolls of cages towards a white pick-up truck marked with a familiar cross. Yes, sending me packing, alright. When they reached the vehicle, Jacob finally let go of her wrist as he went to grab her bag from the car she had driven there. Her eyes shifted between her forearm, where the outline of his fingers was now imprinted in crimson, and the sun setting against the darkening sky. The loud slamming of the car's trunk brought her attention back to him and she watched him toss her luggage in the back of the truck and round the front without a single look in her direction.

"Get in, Mercedes.", he ordered as he threw his door open and climbed in. Mercedes reluctantly walked over to the passenger's side and bent down to speak through the open window just as a wolf howl sounded somewhere in the distance, making her tense up, "I told you that I'm not leaving. Joseph-" His cold eyes finally veered at her, "I said, get in. Or do I have to come out and make you?" Are we sure John is the one with anger issues? All she could do was sigh in defeat as her fingers found the handle of the door and swung it open. She hauled her body inside as her mind struggled to accept the fact she had failed, that coercing him into letting her stay had proven to be an impossible task after all. The minute she was buckled in, he started the truck, keeping his gaze glued to the road as he drove away from St. Francis. "I don't need you driving me.", she said softly, already dreading the idea that she would be stuck in the same tiny space with him, having to tolerate his glowering all the way back to Joseph's Compound. Even she had her limits. His head swiveled sharply, blue eyes meeting hers, when he gritted out, "Do you want to sleep in one of the cages back at the center, sweetheart… or are you going to shut your mouth and stop complaining before I change my mind about letting you stay?" Mercedes blinked in shock, certain she had heard him wrong. "Stay?", she said slowly. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, the blood that covered them was all dried up by then, "Yes. You called my brother. You have him to thank for that." She bit her lip, looking out of the window as the truck went over a small bridge, the river below it dark and unwelcoming, yet still promising her freedom.

"Where are you taking me, though?", she asked, wrapping her hands around herself, wondering if she had missed an opportunity to jump to safety especially after his cage comment. His surly demeanor foretold of nothing but trouble. She was certain Jacob wasn't going to grace her with an answer, then he suddenly broke the silence, saying simply, "A cabin. Should be empty." Without giving her a chance to reply, he reached out and turned on the radio, muttering, "No more chit-chat, keep quiet. We're not suddenly friends because Joseph managed to convince me to tolerate your presence here." Mercedes nodded absently and leaned back in her seat, watching the dark road ahead. After a while he spoke up again, "Look at that. You're actually listening for once." From the corner of her eye she could see his lips twist into a small smile and she wondered if he expected her to respond, or he was testing her, hoping she'd give him another excuse to lash out at her. Eventually, he parked the truck in front of a small unlit cabin that would have been completely hard to spot if it wasn't for the headlights that casted light upon it.

She opened the passenger side door, shivering against the change of temperature the moment she exited the vehicle. She quickly grabbed her bag just as Jacob called out, "Where do you think you're going?" "Thank you for the ride, Jacob. Have yourself a good night.", she retorted, not bothering to turn around and entertain another argument that would keep him from driving off. She followed the path to the front door of the house as she heard his door slam shut, then footsteps stalking her way. Fucking hell. You're really asking to be kicked in the balls now. "Mercedes.", he grunted out. "What?", a hand wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop. His tone told her that irritated Jacob was making a return, "I said the house should be empty, would be smart if you don't go storming it before I've had time to make sure it's actually safe to enter." "I don't need your help.", Mercedes shook off his hold and continued down the walkway. "Do you even know how to use a gun, sweetheart? Any basic combat? Hell, can you even throw a punch properly?", he chided, his usage of the term of endearment dripping with sarcasm. "No, and no. But we could always test the punching part out if you insist, then tell me how I've done afterwards. I know you love training people.", she was tired of his constant belittling and let the last part slip without worrying too much about how unlike Mercy it was. Yes to all three, actually. And don't expect me to worry about your pretty face. But she knew it was better if the Seeds believed she was helpless, naive, too oblivious to be up to anything, let alone be planning their demise right under their noses. It was a target's most common mistake: underestimating her, it's how she always remained hidden in plain sight, and by the time they would realize the critical lapse of judgment, she was always long gone.

"Babysitting.", Jacob muttered under his breath as he pulled out a gun from his leg holster and pushed the front door open, "Wait here. I mean it." The lights inside the house turned on one by one, illuminating the outside with a faint glow. "Cabin's clear.", he declared as he stepped out on the porch. "Goodnight then.", Mercedes went around him, dropping her bag on the floor as she slammed the door shut in his face and leaned against it. A knock sounded immediately from the other side, his voice muffled when he announced, "I'm not leaving." "What?", came out as a squeak, and she hated how for once the reaction was actually real: she fully had expected him to be gone before she had even crossed over the threshold. "The Militia has eyes everywhere, so by now, they would know of your arrival. If you don't want to wake up tied to a chair in some make-shift interrogation room, you'd let me in." "What are you, a vampire?", she said quietly, frowning at the idea he was still there and supposedly was planning to spend the night under the same roof as her. "What did you say? Kinda hard to hear you with, you know, a door between us, sweetheart.", he was back to sounding amused, and when he got nothing out of her, he knocked again but way louder, making her jump, "Joseph's orders, Mercedes. Open the damn door, if you don't want me gaining entry in a less pleasant way." She cracked open the door slowly, sending him a look of distrust, "He said nothing of that sort to me." "Well, he did, to me. Called me in the middle of hunting down my runner. Said I've been mistreating you. Scolded me like I'm a child, not his older brother.", he scoffed, his face bearing an arcane expression when he added, "Want to know what else he said?" She fought back a smile at the idea Jacob had been knocked down a peg, no matter by whom. "No." He pushed past her inside, "Might be for the best, actually." Talk about foreboding.

With a huff she headed down the hallway after him and found herself standing in a small living room. The freamed pictures of a young couple reminded her the cabin was someone's treasured home that the Project had forcibly taken away, and judging by the lack of dust, it hadn't happened very long ago either. Jacob didn't bat an eye at the sight, sitting down on the couch with an arm thrown over the back of it as he continued, "The fact of the matter is, Joseph decided it would be smart to have someone keeping an eye out for you during your stay. Said I should personally see you settled in." She knew that having someone around to keep tabs on her and make sure she wouldn't run into the Militia was certainly bound to make her task of finding a way to run into them more difficult. "I thought you didn't want to 'babysit'?", she narrowed her eyes, remaining standing in the doorway. "Trust me, I don't. Don't go believing this would turn into a regular thing, I'm staying here only for tonight. So don't get any ideas." I will be sobbing into my pillow every night, Jacob. What shall this damsel do without a petulant ginger to protect her… More silence filled the room until he said, "You know, for someone that always tries to make conversation with anyone, you sure are awfully quiet out of a sudden." "You made it very clear I'm unwelcome here and that you dislike me. From day one, if I may add. I've made my peace with it, so enjoy the silence. Isn't that what you wanted after all?", she replied and grabbed her bag from the hallway, dropping it in the bedroom. She could foresee him complaining about the possible sleep arrangements, but if he had a problem with the couch, he could always sleep outside as alternative.

The lack of blood and no noticeable signs of struggle around the house gave her hope that maybe the two people that used to live there had made it out unscathed, she wanted to wholeheartedly believe that was the case. Mercedes kept to herself and made it her mission to ignore her moody chaperone as she washed her hands in the kitchen. She scrubbed at the bloody fingerprints he had left on her skin, wanting to get rid of the reminder she had no idea what had happened with the Deputy. She knew she potentially had a way to get an answer, but she refused to risk arousing suspicion by asking his captor about it. "Know how to start a fire?", Jacob chirped from the living room, still lounging back on the couch. "No." Yes. "Want me to teach you?", his cordial tone wasn't something she was used to. "Why are you acting all nice to me out of a sudden?" "What would you rather I do then, Mercedes? Figured the night would pass by easier that way.", she could feel his stare on her as she kept her back to him, opening and closing cupboards until she found a glass to pour herself some water into. "You don't have to sleep here. If you're worried I will tell Joseph… don't and just be on your way already." "I'm staying. You still didn't answer my question. Do you want me to teach you?" She moved onto the fridge next, finding it almost empty as expected, "Nothing edible in the fridge, Jacob. If you don't want ketchup for dinner, that is." "Check the pantry, most folks around here are preppers one way or another.", he explained, coming from behind her and opening the door to the small pantry himself before she even had a chance to, "Here."

He pulled out a couple of cans, leaving them on the counter as she took a generous sip of water, wishing it was alcohol instead. Sure as hell would make my charming companion seem more tolerable. "And if they had nothing stashed away, what was the plan then?" He raised an eyebrow, "Catch us some dinner." "I'm a vegetarian." It was another lie, but she had no desire to watch him play caveman, not if she was to keep her appetite after the things she had witnessed at St. Francis. "Are you now?" "You have a problem with that, too?" Jacob shrugged, "It's nature. We all have a spot on the food chain." "Whatever you say." "You don't agree?" Mercedes waved a hand in his direction, "I just have no energy for all this." When he went to open one of the cans, she moved over to where he was standing and grabbed it before saying, "Are you not even going to wash up first?" He looked down as if realizing for the first time the actual state of his hands. "Sorry.", he muttered and moved to the sink. The quiet apology took her by surprise, but she didn't let that show when she asked, "You hadn't even realized your hands were bloody?" "When you do this every day, it becomes a habit, a part of you, you stop paying attention because it doesn't look unnatural.", he uttered out over the running water, "We all have a role to play." "What's that supposed to mean, Jacob?", she certainly didn't like his clipped tone.

After methodically drying off his hands in silence, Jacob turned with another dark stare, pointed her way, "I cull the herd. Get my hands dirty for the Project. You play dress-up as my sister's double to keep my brother company." "I'm doing no such thing." "No?", he smirked, "You have no idea about my brother's plan for you, do you?" She had her suspicions, but the fact he was close to voicing his and had such a reaction piqued her interest. "What are you talking about?", she blinked in confusion, letting worry seep into the question. He shook his head, deciding against saying anything else as he opened the can and dumped the contents into a pan she had pulled out, "Doesn't matter. We all have our roles, sweetheart, it just takes time to realize what they are. You, too, would, eventually." In a couple of minutes, Mercedes found herself sitting across from Jacob at the small kitchen table that accentuated his towering presence even more. She stared down at her bowl, feeling disappointment at the fact that in less than a few hours, she would have been in Hope County for 388 days, and she was nowhere close to seeing an end to her mission. Jacob was right about her having a role to play, but he was dead wrong about who she played. He finished his meal first, getting up quietly and heading off into the hallway after dropping his plate in the sink. A part of her hoped he would just up and leave, not matter if it disobeyed Joseph's orders.

Done with her own dinner, she took a seat in an armchair next to the couch, and to her dismay, he returned shortly, carrying a couple of pieces of firewood inside. He kneeled down in front of the fireplace, mumbling, "So, have you changed your mind about me teaching you how to start a fire, yet?" "No." "Why?" "Because." Because your friendliness is forced. Because you're only being nice after getting scolded by Joseph and being offered some cryptic revelation about me. Because I'd rather keep my distance for so many reasons. He shook his head at her nonanswer, patting the empty space on the carpet next to him, "Come on, Mercedes." "No, thank you." "You'd certainly regret declining that lesson in the winter months… if you even make it that long in the Whitetails, that is.", he said, not bothering to mask the jab. "You're the survival expert, right? So do it yourself." "You owe me for destroying my poster. Humor me, and I will overlook the transgression." She shook her head, "I did no such thing, I told you already. I'm staring to wonder if there ever was one in your office or you're making it up so you have something to hold over my head." His eyes narrowed, "You're lying. We both know there was one." "Am not." "Come over, already. We can argue the whole night or get the cabin warmed up."

Mercedes got up with a sigh, shuffling over to him before she knelt down, and grumbled, "I still don't understand why you insist on it. If you expect I'd be praising your efforts to play nice to Joseph… that won't be happening." He ignored her words, slipping into explaining the basics she knew by heart, "First, you check the damper if you don't want all the smoke coming into the house." She nodded along with enthusiasm, urging him to continue, "Two pieces of firewood.", he picked them up from the floor and placed them on the grate of the fireplace before crumpling some newspaper, "Tinder. Then kindling on top. Some more firewood. And then…" Jacob reached inside his shirt's pocket, taking out a matchbox and passing it over to her, "…you light it." His fingers brushed against hers, and she tried to ignore his intense stare as she removed a match and struck it, wasting no time in starting the fire. His 'lesson' being officially over meant he would finally leave her in peace. Or one can only hope. "There. Done.", she muttered, and turned to face him, "I'm off to bed. Goodnight." as the words left her, his hand grabbed her cheek, the pure shock stopping her from getting up. "What are you doing?", she asked in a shaky voice, telling herself it was acting, and his touch wasn't actually throwing her off-kilter. "Something I definitely shouldn't be doing.", he gritted out before clashing his mouth to hers.

Alarm bells sounded in her head. This is beyond disastrous. Push him away. You're signing your death warrant. His fingers slipped into her hair, tangling in the curls and holding her close as his tongue parted her lips, and he let out an animalistic groan the second it met with her own. The scent of the burning embers in the fire mixed with his own fragrance, completely overwhelming her senses and causing the desire that had taken over her system the second his mouth had covered hers to deepen. Mercedes finally gathered the willpower to push at his chest and break the kiss, whispering, "We can't-", she shook her head to stress her point, not sure who she was reminding of the whole thing being a bad idea. Her body certainly had missed the memo, if she was to judge by the arousal that was pooling between her legs. "There are rules, Jacob. Especially-" "I won't tell if you don't.", Jacob said as if it was that simple, surprisingly looking almost as shaken up as she was. "You're lying. Did he put you up to this? To what…test me? Or are you having a laugh at my expense, seeing if I'm easy to tempt, then unleash John on me as payback?" "No.", he uttered out sharply, "It's nothing like that. And trust me, Joseph has nothing to do with this. We both know he would never suggest-" "Swear it." She had gone so long pretending to be someone she's not, feeling under constant surveillance at the Compound, having to follow Joseph's rules and act like she was smitten by his holier-than-thou persona. She craved a small win, to take something for herself, to get even an hour back into her old life. None of that seems feasible… so an orgasm wouldn't be bad, either. What a better "fuck you" to the Father than… fucking his brother?

Amusement flashed across his features, but it didn't get rid of the lust swimming in his blue depths or the frown he wore at her accusations, "I swear it. Are you going to make me do a pinky promise, sweetheart?" "Very funny. What if I do?", she reached out her pinkie as a joke, expecting he wouldn't entertain the idea, instead he wrapped his around it without even batting an eye. "There. Do you believe me now?" Mercedes had met many liars, she herself had become one for living, so she knew how to read people and what to look for, her eyes were trained to notice even the smallest tell in her opponents. In that moment, she couldn't see any signs Jacob was lying, and deep down she just didn't care. She nodded, and it was all the motivation he needed to pull her in for a second kiss, arms grabbing her waist and hoisting her onto his lap. His mouth glided over her cheek and down her neck, beard scratching her skin as he pushed the dress strap out of the way to nip at her shoulder. "Jacob", she hummed his name, and he got up. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his midriff as he strode in the direction of the bedroom, kicking the door open. Before she could blink, he deposited her on the bed, and she leaned back on her elbows, watching him as he hungrily stared down at the spot where her dress had ridden up and exposed her thigh.

"If we're gonna do this…", he paused, head swiveling in search for something, "I probably need to turn off the lights." Mercedes sent him a determined look, "No. I want to be able to see you. See us." We're not fucking in the dark, for fuck's sake. "I'm telling you, you don't." "I absolutely do." "Mercedes.", he held out his hand, palm running over the scars on his forearm, "You see this… they don't stop at my hands." "Clothes off, Jacob. Now." Her tone shifted as the Mercy act slipped completely, and if he noticed, he chose to ignore it. His blue eyes narrowed in uncertainty, making her nod, then repeat, "Clothes off. Want me to do it for you?" "Yes." Mercedes rose up on her knees, fingers taking hold of his camo shirt and stripping it off his body. She grabbed the hem of his short sleeved shirt next and lifted it up over his head, unveiling series of scars and burns across his skin. "Told you.", Jacob replied with a frown. "Come here. All I see is a survivor. Do you think these are going to stop me from wanting you?", she placed a kiss above his heart before her fingers locked at his neck, pulling him down on top of her. For a second, she was staring past the defenses of the man that barked orders at everyone and tried his hardest to keep the world at arm's length, and it made her heart ache. "You gonna get me out of this dress?", she asked, cradling him between her thighs as he finally snapped out of his stupor.

His hands reached around, looking for a way to undo the dress as his lips found hers for another feverish kiss and he let out a growl in frustration, moving back to whisper, "I can't find the damn zipper." "It's there. It's small-" "Do you love this dress?", he asked impatiently. "I can unzip it myself, just-", she stopped, blinking in confusion at the strange question, "Wait, what-" "Do you?" "Not really. No." Hate it actually, and the fact it seems to be your brother's favorite. "Good. Turn around." "Jacob?" "Do you trust me, sweetheart?" Not as far as I can throw you. Probably even less. "I guess?" "Turn around." She complied and swirled, staying on her knees with her back to him, and the next thing she felt was something cold touching her skin before he ordered sternly, "Keep still." Her brain registered what it was: the blunt end of a knife, inches apart from her spine. What the fuck. Then the tightness of the bodice gave way, as he cut the dress open all the way and sheathed the knife. "All done.", he stated in a calm tone, like he hadn't just brandished a weapon in bed after being too annoyed to look for a zipper. "I can't believe you pulled out a knife." "Got the job done, didn't it?"

His fingers moved the straps off her shoulders, the garment pooling on the bed and leaving her down to her underwear. She spun around to find him staring at her intently, blue eyes running over her body as if searching for something. An unreadable expression came over his face before he guessed, "You haven't been in John's chair, yet." I will be gone the second Joseph decides the time for me to confess has come. Shockingly enough, I draw the line at body mutilation. I'd prefer to avoid having to explain why I have sins engraved into my skin to whoever would be my next target. "No." His gaze darkened, "Just what I suspected." "What do you mean?" Instead of offering her an explanation, he gave her another cryptic response, "Doesn't matter." "Jacob." He shook his head and crashed his lips into hers in an attempt to stop her quest for answers, fingers unclasping her bra as hers got to work on undoing his jeans and pushed them down his legs. Mercedes lied back on the bed, gaze following his movements with anticipation as he took off his boots and pants, then joined her before any doubt or her common sense could creep in. His mouth traced a path from her abdomen up towards her breasts, lips closing around her nipple before he bit down on it gently. Her back arched when he moved onto the other one, showing it the same amount of attention as she tried to hold in her moans.

"I want to hear you. Every sound.", Jacob lifted his eyes to hers while his hand strayed over to one of the bedside drawers. He opened it and rummaged inside in a haste, huffing when he came up empty. "What are you looking for?" You pull someone's used toy out, I swear I'm hitting you in the face with it. "Condoms.", he stated matter-of-factly, opening the drawer above the one he had checked, "There you are." He dropped the wrapper on the bed, eyes roaming over her body, staring at her like she was his dinner. Calloused fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and into her heat, exploring the same way her tongue began mapping out her mouth. "So wet for me, sweetheart." He pumped in and out of her slowly, his thumb brushing over her clit briefly, denying her actual release. It didn't take long for Mercedes to become fed up with his game, with his lips twisted into an arrogant smirk at how she was writhing beneath him. You're enjoying this too much. And I enjoy making people pay even more, Jacob. Keep acting this way and you'd find out. "I need more. I need you inside me.", she couldn't recognize her own voice as his hand retreated out of her underwear, leaving her body longing for his touch, to be filled again. "I'm more than happy to oblige.", Jacob retorted and moved away to discard his boxers, then dragged her panties down her legs, tossing them over shoulder. Her body trembled in anticipation and her gaze remained glued to his hands as they rolled the condom over his length, her stare inevitably making him choke out, "You keep looking at me like that, I can't promise I will be holding myself back."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her at the irony she was the one that had to hold back. In words and actions. He frowned at the sound and crawled over her, a cold sensation spreading over her skin when the dog tags he wore around his neck made contact with it, "Don't laugh, I'm absolutely serious here." His hands parted her thighs while he went in for another kiss, guiding his tip to her entrance and barely making it in as he whispered, "I might regret offering this, but… last chance to back down, Mercedes." A bit late for that now, ain't it? Or does "just the tip" not count in your cult? Their mouths met again just as she grabbed his hip and pushed him all the way inside, letting out a content sigh at the feeling. The part of Mercedes that always managed to be the voice of reason reminded her in last ditch effort how stupid the decision was, how reckless, then it went completely silent the second he began to move. He kissed her like he couldn't get enough, hands braced on each side of her face, every thrust appearing more intense and desperate than the previous. "Faster. Don't hold back on me. Fuck me like you meant it.", she hummed against his lips and he complied, hand holding onto her waist as his strokes picked up and his thumb found her clit, driving her over the edge with just a few flicks. She half-expected him to follow her, but he shook his head, "We're nowhere near done here, sweetheart." His eyes met hers as his hand took hold of her leg and rested it on his shoulder, finding a new deeper angle, the lingering aftershocks of her climax only intensifying his movements.

"What did you call me today, hm? Old?", he asked in a low tone, emphasising the word with a hard thrust and smirking at the moan that it elicited from her. Touchy, aren't we? Still not over one innocent joke. Though, fuck, I'm starting to think I should nag you more often, if this is how it ends for me… "That an yes, Mercedes?", Jacob challenged, slowing his rhythm down and kissing her calf, "Then there were all the times you undermined my authority… Maybe I should teach you that actions have consequences." His expression told her he was reveling in the idea he was completely in charge of her own body, still believing her to be this meek creature he could play around with as long as he pleased. Time to give you a taste of your own medicine. A smirk broke free on her face as she rolled them over until she came on top and straddled him. Her hands found her destroyed dress, and quickly unlaced the ribbon that adorned the front of its bodice, the subtle sound seeming louder in the silence that surrounded them. Amusement flashed across his features, hinting he still believed she was playing around. His eyes darkened the moment she grasped both of his hands and swiftly tied the ribbon around his wrists, securing the ends into an intricate knot at the wooden bedpost. The tension in the air grew as they gazed at each other, anticipation for what was to come licking at her spine and by the way he twitched inside her, he seemed to be feeling the same.

The whole time he stared at her with a strange expression, voice full of wonder when he asked, "Who are you and what did you do with 'Mercy'?", he spat out the nickname with disdain. Mercedes ran her fingers over his chest, tracing the rougher parts of his skin before leaning down to whisper in his ear, "What did you call me today?", she paused, still mimicking Mercy's gentle tone despite copying his words, "Bambi?", then the real her peeked through when she added, "I'm more of a wolf, Jacob. About time we met." He tested the retraints, and a growl escaped him when they didn't budge. Not my first rodeo. You're not going anywhere. She cupped his cheek, lowering her mouth to his as she started to move at her own pace, the new position threatening to send over the edge before she wanted. In the back of her mind she delighted in the idea how scandalized Joseph would be if he saw them at that moment, if his "God" graced him with the unfortunate vision of her breaking such a precious rule to him. "I knew there was something more to you. That "Mercy" was only skin deep. I could feel it anytime I looked at you.", Jacob said in between kisses, his breathing getting labored now that she had taken charge of their movements. Her teeth bit down on his bottom lip, the sharp tang of his blood hitting her tongue, "Did you? And here I thought you didn't like me." "I didn't like you.", he choked out, "I still don't.", and it was the least convincing lie she had ever heard in her life. Giving me second hand embarrassment here, Jacob. "Should I stop then? Because you see, I'm getting mixed signals here.", her lips moved onto his neck and she sucked on the skin, marking him, "You're telling me one thing, your body another… who's lying?"

She couldn't help but wonder what his Chosen would think of her signature on his throat, especially after the way he had dragged her out of St. Francis. "No.", he said, clutching onto whatever semblance of control he had remaining. "No, what? Did I break you? Form a sentence for me." "Don't stop." A very un-Mercy-like smirk broke free, "Ah, that's what I thought." Her hips rotated again and again, bringing both of them closer to release until he muttered, "I won't last much longer, Mercedes." "I come first, only then you do, too, understood?", he raised an eyebrow at her stern tone but nodded, "Good." Mercedes straightened her back, her hand gliding to where they were joined, fingers rubbing her clit while the other caressed her breast. His eyes drank her in and she could tell he was enjoying the show, yet his face remained scrunched up with concentration as he held back his own release, set on proving a point. On proving himself to her. A second climax hit her, ripping out a moan out of her, and it was all the encouragement he needed to let go, too, as her walls clenched around him. "Fucking excellent.", he said, still out of breath, the genuine shock in his words and his sated expression causing her to beam with pride. It was the first real smile to grace her face since joining the Project, one that reached the dimples in her cheeks, making them pop. The fact that he mirrored her grin didn't help matters at all. If I didn't know better, I'd worry I'm in trouble.

#Mercedes always makes me cackle with the lines she sneaks in while I'm writing her POVs...#i'm forever laughing at the punch and *the toy* bit; PLS Mer 😂#Joseph somewhere at his Compound: “I wonder how things are going with those two.” The Voice: “Do you want to know?”😂😂#Nobody tell him!! it might take him out and save Calahan work #then there's them gaslighting each other about anything and everything #can y'all tell how much Jacob hated the white dress and was like: “an excuse to destroy it? YES PLEASE”...#it's ironic and hilarious as fuck that he ends up getting laid before John ever does in his own story 😂😂#oc: mercedes “mercy” sibley #ship: the deceiver and the wolf #jacob seed x mercedes sibley #jacob x mercedes #jacob seed x oc #wip: in hope of tomorrow #wip wednesday #wip whenever #snippet #wip stuff #wip snippet #snippets #characters #ocs #fc5 ocs #far cry 5 oc #ship dynamics #my ships #my ocs #character dialogue #oc character

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tickle-bugs · 2 years

Text

I’m So Down

Summary: Steve picks up Robin’s doodling habit and shares it with Eddie. Pretty soon, they become each other’s favorite canvases. Loose sequel to Summer Lovin’ but set a while after. (Once again reminding everyone that I have seen ZERO episodes of stranger things and am therefore not liable for ooc content thank u enjoy)

Word count: 4.4k + author’s note at the end!

“You’re staring, Harrington.” Eddie grins. “A picture will last you longer.”

“Maybe I just like staring at you,” Steve fires back, a dorky smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Eddie presses a dramatic hand to his heart and flutters his lashes.

“Nah. Just the pretty ones.” Steve kisses the corner of his mouth. Eddie’s quietly stunned for a moment, and it’s always a win to see him even a little flustered.

“Be still, my beating heart.” Eddie shifts his arm off the back of the couch and drops it properly across Steve’s shoulders. He plays with the ends of Steve’s hair and finally pulls his eyes back to the TV. Steve indulges himself in more staring.

Eddie’s…nice. That’s an oversimplification—he’s nice to look at, to be around, to feel and enjoy. If the relief of a cool breeze, the fizz of fresh pop, and the glittering joy of sparklers could be bottled into a person, Eddie’s it. But, like, if the bottle were spiky and leather and metal as hell. Steve’s still learning about what does or doesn’t define something as metal, but he feels pretty good about this one.

Of course Eddie’s metal. Of course he is. It’s not a question. Everything that they’ve been through both together and apart is all the evidence necessary. But in these moments where he isn’t, where Steve’s curled into his side and they’re sharing a blanket that’s fraying with love at the edges, Eddie’s gentle and tender and humming under his breath. His black-polished fingers pluck at Steve’s bicep like the fretboard of his guitar. An ostensibly metal package for beautiful contents. Pretty.

“Now you’re ogling.” Eddie rolls his head to the side and raises his eyebrows suggestively. He runs his tongue along his canines idly. It shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

“Your tattoos.” Steve dips his head in acknowledgment.

“What about ‘em?” Eddie shifts to better face him.

“They’re nice. They suit you.” Steve brushes his fingers over the bats on Eddie’s forearm. Eddie rolls over onto his stomach and props his chin in his hands, kicking his legs like a girl at a sleepover, and Steve can’t help but smile.

“Well, don’t stop there. Flattery is smiled upon.” Eddie army-crawls across the couch until he can lean up into Steve’s personal space. His nose crinkles around his teasing grin.

“Stop,” Steve laughs, clasping a hand around Eddie’s face like a catcher’s glove and pushing him back. Eddie, of course, responds with dignity and grace—he licks Steve’s hand.

“Dude, ew!” Steve wipes his palm on his jeans. Eddie makes his little devil face and hisses, but the sound falls apart into a sparkling laugh before he can finish. He rolls over and deposits his head into Steve’s lap, folding his arms behind his head.

The ambient crackle of the TV filters back in, busted speakers relaying maybe 70% of The Goonies as it plays. It’s better than nothing, though—Eddie loves this movie. He shakes both their bodies with his laughter, as if everything is bright and novel.

“What did it feel like to get these?” Steve’s fingers wander Eddie’s arms, poking at the tattoos he can reach. Robin’s been bugging Steve about inking him ever since she figured out how to stick and poke. She draws on him a lot while they talk sometimes, like a fidget or a stim, and the urge must have surpassed temporary art. Eddie’s got a couple of these too—they’re thinner and a little shakier than his professional ones. The small triangle inked between Eddie’s fingers pulls tight on his heartstrings. He’d never noticed it.

“Like needles in my skin. What’s gotten into you, Harrington?” Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows. His hair falls away from his shoulders, revealing the gentle curve of his neck to the light.

“Can I give you one?” Steve gets it now. The doodling thing. He’s never been much of an artist but there’s a perfect spot on Eddie’s neck that he fixates on. He’s honestly surprised doesn’t have ink there already.

“Elaborate.” Eddie squishes Steve’s face and pulls it down towards him. Steve smacks his hands away but doesn’t retreat.

“You never drew fake tattoos on people growing up?” Steve immediately rethinks the question when Eddie makes a face. “Robin and I do it sometimes. It’s fun.”

“I think I’m already pretty equipped in the tattoo department.” Eddie pulls at the collar of his shirt for emphasis. His black widow tattoo catches a glimpse of the outside world.

“Okay, but do you have one of my tattoos?” Steve’s really overselling his abilities here, but there’s no use turning back. Eddie stares at him for a while, just blinking, and then he chuckles.

“Fine.” He slaps his legs and heaves a labored sigh. “Where do you want me?”

….

Eddie shivers pretty frequently while he draws, but Steve doesn’t think much of it—some part of Eddie’s always in motion. His legs and fingers shake and tap at all times, even with his head pillowed on Steve’s lap. The Goonies has long since been swapped for The Evil Dead and it’s thus far distracted Eddie wonderfully. Steve’s not a horror guy by any stretch, but the movie has a lot of charm. He digs it.

He starts coloring in what he’s working on as Ash and Cheryl duke it out. Eddie gasps, and not at the movie.

“Steve,” Eddie mumbles, scrunching a little. Steve immediately retracts his hand.

“You okay?” Steve grips his shoulder. Eddie peeks up at him, something unreadable in his big eyes.

“I…yeah, nevermind.“ He’s suddenly very red. And weirdly quiet.

“Are you sure?” Steve cards his hands through Eddie’s hair as best as he can. He shivers and hums into the touch.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Eddie flourishes into a dramatic bow. Steve rolls his eyes and goes back to doodling. Eddie continues to twitch. Every time Steve checks on him, he gets the finger in return. There’s a cagey quality to it, like he’s equally embarrassed and bursting-at-the-seams about something, and for the love of Christ can’t he just spit it out?

“Munson, I can hear your brain sizzling. What is it?” Steve tugs on Eddie’s earlobe. Eddie bites at his fingers.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Keep going.” He settles back down, eyes stubbornly forward. When Steve doesn’t immediately continue, he gets an exaggerated wave of the hand that gets more and more aggressive until the marker touches back down. Eddie keeps shivering, keeps murmuring, but remains still.

It isn’t until Steve leans down to Eddie’s neck and blows to dry the ink that he understands.

Eddie squeaks. That’s absolutely the noise, like stepping on an old dog toy that’s seen a few storms. He turns towards Steve with comically large eyes.

“Oh.” Steve blinks, then smirks. “Ohhh. Forgot you were ticklish. Sorry.”

“You done?” Eddie’s scowling with no real heat, still red. Adorable. The twitching and deflection suddenly make so much more sense, all of it stupidly endearing. Flustered is a good color on him.

“Not yet. Finishing touches.” Steve kinda means it. He’s proud of his drawing, actually—he’s got a pretty damn good copy of Eddie’s guitar printed on his neck. It could be done. But then he’d be done. And that’s unconscionable.

Steve brings the marker back down with fast, feather-light strokes and Eddie dissolves.

He clenches his fists and waves them around like a kid having a tantrum at Scoops. He’s a firework of frenetic laughter, exploding in an instant and sparkling afterwards with waves of building giggles. It’s like his body had been waiting for this moment to release all the laughter he’d been holding back, and it washes him away.

“Stop squirming!” Steve’s more amused than anything. For all his flailing, Eddie’s mostly stationary.

“It tihihickles!” Eddie gigglesnorts and buries his face in his hands. Five feet ten inches of allegedly-intimidating metalhead and he’s a frizzy pile in Steve’s lap. Steve’s never gonna forget that Eddie snorts for as long as he lives. He’s prepared to chase that sound for the rest of his life.

“Well, stop squirming and it won’t tickle!” Steve mockingly gasps, as if this is an epiphany they should be sharing together.

“Oh, I’m so gonna kihihill you!” Eddie’s nose and eyes scrunch as his dazzling smile takes the forefront. He points a threatening finger at Steve, dimple on proud display.

“Almost done,” Steve hums, drawing lightning bolts crashing behind the guitar. Eddie wails like a broken siren and Steve cracks into snickers at the sound.

“You are cruel,” Eddie whines, laughter still bubbling out.

“The cruelest. Tap out if you need to. I’m finishing this sucker.” Steve rests Eddie’s hand on his thigh, threads his fingers into his hair, and pushes his head back down. It looks a little silly, like he’s forcing him to take a nap, but getting Eddie to stay still in any capacity is always an ordeal.

With Eddie’s beautiful laugh filling the room, it doesn’t take long before Steve’s abandoning his task, tickling up and under his shirt until they’re both flying off the couch into a proper scuffle, then into something much more fun.

...........................

“This is sick.” Eddie turns in the mirror and grins. The fretboard of the guitar ends in wicked points just behind his ear. It rests eternally within an open coffin, surrounded by thorny roses that are starting to look more like cinnamon buns the longer they’re in the light. A swarm of bats reigns over the whole affair, hanging out in the sky with the best lightning bolt Steve’s ever drawn. There’s a newly-blooming hickey right below it, but neither of them acknowledge it.

“Yeah?” Steve leans his hip against the wall and crosses his arms.

“Yeah. Definitely the first time a tattoo almost cost me my life, but it’s worth it.” Eddie pulls his hair away from his neck to get a better look. He’s still flushed a pretty pink and smiles come to him easily. Just like Eddie to be so full of color and life with such a dark wardrobe.

“Want me to help you get it off?” Steve pats his pockets and finds a crumpled tissue. It’s unused, but the state of it makes him subconsciously start building a case for where it’s been.

“So forward, Stevie. I thought you were a gentleman.” Eddie makes eye contact in the mirror, then looks over his shoulder to make it in three-dimensions, leaning back until his gaze peeks through his lashes.

“If you keep this up, I won’t be,” Steve mutters, pulling Eddie closer by the belt loops. He wraps his arms around his waist from behind and Eddie squeezes his hand. Something giddy flutters within Steve.

“Promise?” Eddie grabs his chin and tilts it toward him. His thumb brushes over Steve’s bottom lip.

The kiss that Steve answers with has everything but decorum.

Naturally, Steve doesn’t know how to behave when Eddie gets his stupid little drawing permanently tattooed. The artist added some fun detailing to the piece that makes Steve almost incapable of believing it was ever his drawing at all—the coffin has a velvet lining now and the guitar has some gorgeous shading, but it’s still unmistakably Steve’s. Now Eddie’s. Permanently.

“Are you sure?” Steve haunts the door to the trailer in case he needs to flee. The other shoe should be dropping any second now, but all he’s getting from Eddie is an amused stare.

“Oh, my bad. Let me go get this un-tattooed.” Eddie rolls his eyes and sheds his jacket. Steve worries at his bottom lip and stares at the tattoo. He does see something he doesn’t like. Above the art, Eddie’s added a banner that says ‘The Banished’. Steve scowls.

“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have it. Quit worrying, you’ll wrinkle.” Eddie pokes Steve’s nose and pops his bubble of disapproval. Steve smacks his hand away, but not without a smile.

“It looks really good on you.” Steve traces Eddie’s jaw with his fingers, tilting it to get a better look.

“Yeah?” Eddie pauses, his voice wavering with something fragile and genuine. “…I was worried you’d think it’s weird. I know I didn’t tell you.”

Steve leans in and kisses him sweetly. The way Eddie melts into him will never get old.

“I love it...but it’s missing something.” Steve snags the marker off the coffee table. Eddie immediately holds his hands out with a goofy smile, excuses spilling from his lips, but Steve slides into his space unchallenged.

Fending off ring-clad hands from covering this apparently very ticklish spot, which he notes, Steve draws in another banner below the coffin that reads ‘The Brave’. Eddie gets it added as soon as the tattoo heals.

It becomes their ritual. Steve goes to work and stashes a movie or two under the counter, Eddie comes in and rents them, and they spend their nights in the trailer with good films and good company. Using each other as canvases isn’t always on the agenda, but when it is, it’s an event.

Steve becomes the proud artist of Eddie’s new Lord of the Rings forearm tattoo, though he gets assigned the entire series as required reading before Eddie agrees to get it inked. Eddie’s love for the books is a blessing, however, because he’s more than keen to read the grand passages aloud at literally any moment. The Tree of Gondor is his reward, and Eddie’s tattoo guy turning it into the pommel of an amazing rendition of Narsil, the blade realistically sharp, is a bonus.

Post-Narsil, Eddie suggests they take turns. He’s apparently caught the doodle bug and Robin has to have something to do with it—she’s been bugging Steve less and less about being her practice dummy. She actually joins them once or twice. But mostly it’s Steve and Eddie watching half a movie, then losing the other half under murmured conversations and drawing on one another.

Tonight, though, Rocky Horror is watching them.

“Harrington, sweetheart, if you keep scrunching, I’m going to draw dicks on your face.” Eddie doesn’t look up from where he’s perched over Steve like a goblin. His legs hang off the couch in a way that can’t be comfortable and his face is pinched in concentration mere inches from Steve’s stomach. Steve’s shirt has long since been abandoned.

He doesn’t dignify Eddie with an answer and tries to focus on Tim Curry’s crooning. Eddie’s singing along under his breath, occasionally breaking into louder sustained notes. He squeezes Steve’s thigh when he does this and Steve jumps every time.

Eddie slides to the floor between Steve’s legs and his brain goes places that he isn’t prepared for. Eddie must see something in Steve’s eyes because he leans forward, hands roaming up as he does. Steve’s already there to meet him. Eddie tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth and lets go, leaving their lips to brush, the fuckin’ tease. Eddie’s hands wander back down while he hovers just out of reach. Steve keens closer—

Eddie yanks him forward by the ankle. Steve’s head pomfs into the back of the couch and he groans. Eddie outright cackles.

“Why?” Steve doesn’t whine, he doesn’t.

“You should’ve seen your face, holy shit,” Eddie wheezes, melting into Steve’s lap as his shoulders shake. Steve rolls his eyes and moves to stand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Eddie splays his fingertips across Steve’s stomach and wiggles them ever so slightly.

Steve releases a strangled laugh, jerking his knees just shy of Eddie’s chin. He manages to get a half-baked apology past the barricade of giggles building in his lungs.

“Last warning. Stop moving.” Eddie raises his eyebrow in a silent challenge. He pins him back with a strong hand to the chest, bars his other forearm across Steve’s thighs, and gets back to drawing.

To his credit, Steve lasts a full ten seconds before he starts twitching again, biting the inside of his cheek to quell the laughter bubbling in his chest. The feeling of the marker on his skin is starting to drive him insane.

“Seriously?” Eddie’s exasperation being as funny as it is doesn’t help anything.

“Pick somewhere else?” He wishes he at least sounded like he means it.

“Oh no, nonono, it’s my turn. The dice chose our fate, we cannot abandon it now.” Eddie gestures to his jet black d20 on the table, still sitting pretty on a big 17. 17: pantline/hips.

Rolling for tattoo spots was a new invention, but it certainly became law a little quick for Steve’s taste. Though, that’s what he gets for dating a guy who threatens his dice and their families before he rolls them.

“I’ll pick a different spot.” Eddie starts to get up, a poorly-concealed note of disappointment in his voice. Steve makes a vague noise of protest. When Eddie ignores him, he pulls him back by the wrist.

“I’ll be fine.” Steve frowns. It takes some bickering before Eddie sits back down again, but with a quick kiss and some well-timed flattery, they’re back in business.

He does last longer this time. He muffles the snickers that do sneak up on him into his fist. He’s doing alright, watching the movie over Eddie’s mop of curls, but then Eddie’s licking his finger and swiping at the art, trying to clean up a line, and a laugh bursts out before he can catch it. Eddie looks up at him with an irritated twitch of his lip.

“I’m sorry, it—“

“Tickles?” Eddie’s annoyance evaporates, all an act, and gets replaced by a wild grin. Steve realizes what he’s doing, the fucking longest con of all time—

“Don’t—“

“Well, then—“ Eddie cackles in triumph.

“Don’t you dare—“ Steve hits him with a pillow.

“—Stop squirming and it won’t tickle,” Eddie finishes, doing a terrible, nasally mockery of Steve’s voice. He laughs and dodges Steve’s next pillow swing, squeezing at his waistline until he drops his weapon and wheezes a surrender.

“You suck.” Steve curls, his skin buzzing under Eddie’s still fingers.

“You love it.” Eddie pokes again for good measure. “Now are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way?” He pulls the cap off the marker with his teeth, twirling it like a drumstick. Steve sticks his tongue out.

“Fun way it is.” Eddie’s grin is just a little feral. Steve swallows nervously.

Steve has fought all manner of monsters. He’s watched a child explode things with her mind. He’s been through hell and back more than once. All his battle-hardened bravery flies out the window when Eddie goes back in to draw. Not because he’s doodling on Steve’s skin, nono, because when his other hand isn’t occupied with holding his canvas still, it’s actively tickling him.

“Asshole!” Steve shrieks, burying his face in his hands. He fights the urge to tangle his fingers in his hair.

“Not sure what you mean, Stevie,” Eddie singsongs, pinching at the underside of his knee, the perfect picture of innocence. He’s a fucking menace is what he is, and Steve’s gonna absolutely ruin him once they’re done.

Steve’s pretty sure his life flashes before his eyes at one point and Eddie must see it, because he murmurs an amused “hang in there, cupcake” and lays off his bullying. But he’s still doodling, and Steve’s far past any measure of pretending he’s composed.

“Et voilá! Another masterpiece complete.” Eddie pops up nearly 30 breathless minutes later with a victorious flourish. Steve’s chest has a faint, dull ache and his cheeks hurt from smiling, but he does it anyway when he catches sight of Eddie’s gleaming eyes.

Eddie’s drawn a spiked bat on his hipbone—Ah, that explains the maddening bunch of circles that he drew at the last minute there. An impressive crown rests at an angle on the bat. On the other hip, Eddie’s loopy, geometric autograph curves along his waistband, a little bat dotting the ‘i’.

“Where are the makeup wipes?” Eddie scrounges through Mt. Stuff on the coffee table, to no avail. He starts to scurry off to his bedroom but Steve grabs his wrist.

“Don’t bother. I wanna keep ‘em.” Steve traces over Eddie’s signature with his finger. Following the loops is oddly satisfying.

“Okay. Just don’t do anything stupid.” Eddie sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Like what?”

“Like get that shit tattooed. Those things are permanent, y'know. Don’t let the troubled youths lead you astray.” Eddie shrugs back on his melodrama like an old, familiar coat.

“Or what? You’ll ground me?” Steve crosses his arms.

“It’s not a good idea,” Eddie scoffs, flopping back onto the couch. Something cold and distant settles over his demeanor as he fiddles with his rings.

“Elaborate.” Steve pats Eddie’s cheek until he graces him with eye contact.

“Ah, he’s learned new words. Henderson teach you that one?” Eddie’s eyelids lower as he snarks, lashing out at nothing at all. He gets like this sometimes, like a storm that’s all thunder and no rain. He’s always on the defensive.

“You did, actually. What’s got your boxers in a twist?” Steve knocks their legs together. Eddie turns to face him. Steve catches the precise moment that he bites back an innuendo.

“Tattoos are permanent.” Eddie speaks slowly, as if explaining this to a child. Steve scowls.

“Yes, we covered this. Quit being a smartass.” Steve pinches his arm hard. Eddie hisses out an apology and backtracks.

“Rule number one is to never get a tattoo you’ll regret. You’re playing with fire here.” Eddie scribbles at the doodles he’s made and Steve flinches with a huff.

“I don’t regret them.”

“Yeah, now you don’t. It’s later that I’m worried about. Like when I finally do something to scare you away, but then you still have to look at my name on your skin.“ Eddie hitches his knee up and sinks deeper into the couch.

“You won’t scare me away, man. I’d literally never get tired of you.“ Steve furrows his brow. How is this even a hypothetical? He loves spending time with Eddie. He loves Eddie.

Woah, new development. But a good one.

“Okay, well, in a few years those words are gonna bite you in the ass and you’ll have to get a very creative cover up.” Eddie’s eyebrows lift as he scoffs, picking at the denim on his knee. Steve briefly wonders what or who might be hiding under his tattoos.

“Alright, this doesn’t seem to be piercing your thick skull.” Steve cradles Eddie’s face in his hands. “I will never get tired of you. Not now, not in a year, not in a hundred.”

“Not even in death?” Eddie’s being dramatic now, taking the low-hanging petulant fruit, and Steve indulges him.

“I’d be honored if you haunted me.” Steve kisses his forehead as tender as he can manage, lingering there until he can feel it sink through to Eddie’s brain.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a romantic, Harrington?” Eddie gazes at him, content to be held.

“Once or twice.” Steve shrugs. Eddie pulls him forward by the front of his shirt for a kiss, and Steve’s arms wrap around his shoulders where they’re meant to be.

...............................................

“You’re staring, Munson.” Steve grins when Eddie freezes in his peripheral. He’s not exactly innocent here, he is wearing Eddie’s vest and only his vest, but it’s hot out and that seems like enough justification. Not like Eddie’s helping—his hair’s pulled back, bangs hanging in his eyes, and the ponytail is unfairly mesmerizing.

“You’re distracting, sue me.” Eddie pulls Steve closer a little roughly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I can’t believe you did this.” Eddie wriggles a nail over his autograph, now permanently etched on Steve’s skin. He immediately squirms away with a huff.

Robin finally got her wish. It was an ordeal that took all fucking day, but letting her give him a stick and poke meant snacks, good company, and free ink. The only tax he had to pay was listening to Robin gag the entire time over Steve wanting Eddie’s name on his skin. As if it wasn’t a relatively small tattoo.

“Yeah, well, I thought it’d be nice to have something in common besides this.” He gestures to the rough plane of his demobat scars. “Plus, maybe I’ll finally be promoted to Corroded Coffin’s number one groupie.”

“Throw your bra on stage, then we’ll talk,” Eddie laughs, jostling their shoulders together.

“So you’re saying there’s a chance.” Steve leans in close, grinning, and Eddie shoves him away.

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.” Eddie bites his lip on a silly smile.

“You’re just scared you’d see me shirtless and I’d be irresistible.” Steve folds his arms behind his head and kicks his feet onto the coffee table.

“I’ve already seen you shirtless, so check that off the list,” Eddie hums, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Then my work here is done.” Steve brushes his hands together and stands. Eddie grabs him by the waist and pulls him back down into a giggling heap. They roll around a little, Eddie managing to get Steve in a headlock and Steve managing to ruthlessly tickle until Eddie releases him. They land in a heap, legs entangled, and Eddie just gazes at him.

“I’m glad I got stuck on you, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek. The way Eddie looks at him is sometimes terrifying, the consumption of it all. As if Steve hung the moon and stars. And he would in a heartbeat if Eddie asked. But he hasn’t, and he’ll never ask, and it’s dizzying to be cared for so unconditionally by someone who deserves it all.

“Me too.” Steve shimmies underneath Eddie a bit. “I love you.”

Eddie beams like the sun, warm and beautiful and unmoving. He brings his hand to his mouth, thumb fiddling with his teeth as he lights the room with that smile.

“I love you too.” His voice cracks with emotion around the edges. His eyes glitter like river stones with unshed tears. Steve holds him steady, holds him close, and resolves to never let go. Even when Eddie gets snot on Steve’s shoulder.

When Eddie shows up a few weeks later with ‘Steve’ tattooed on his chest across a heart pierced by an arrow, Steve chases him around the trailer with a pillow until Eddie’s cackling through an apology. It’s the sweetest, craziest thing anyone’s ever done for him and he doesn’t care if it makes him a hypocrite, tattoos are permanent and Eddie’s an idiot.

But, just like Steve, Eddie doesn’t regret a thing.

....

A/N: Normally I don’t do these but I had some little things I wanted to geek out over:

- this was originally a 10k-ish fic that i squeezed down like an orange so apologies if anything felt weird or squished! Realized I do NOT know how to write Robin, Dustin, or Nancy lol.

- I imagine that Eddie is wearing Steve’s yellow sweater in this. It makes me happy.

- Get tattoos of anything you want, I’m not the tattoo police, but Eddie has a point: generally not a good idea to get tattoos of anything you might regret down the line. Shit can get expensive. I know so many people who got Game of Thrones and Harry Potter coverups, also people who got tattoos for people who are now not their friends/their exes. Be smart and take care of your tattoos! <3

- Eddie’s signature looks a lot like Ozzy Ozbourne’s! He’s practiced it for years and loves getting to sign stuff at Corroded Coffin concerts (though it’s usually just Steve, Dustin, and Robin heckling him while Will and Mike ask genuinely)

- You will pry Eddie giving Steve pet names, not limited to be including Stevie, sweetheart, babe, princess, pretty boy, etc from my cold, dead hands.

- Eddie gives me the vibe of someone who’d want a tattoo sleeve or even two, and I like to think the Narsil tattoo starts a Lord of the Rings one for him :)

- this concept is based on something I used to do with friends IRL in high school! We usually only did like hands/arms/ankles and I was voted out as a canvas bc I was too squirmy :/

#my fics #bug’s greatest hits #stranger things #steddie #steveddie #ticklish!eddie munson #ticklish!steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #i think i got maybe a 10% better read on their characters between this time and last time!!#this is all over the place and mostly self indulgent but I do really enjoy writing them. they're fun.#anywho i hope y'all enjoy!!#they kiss So Much in this but you can't tell me they're not like that

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