#gonna go park myself in ao3 now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 14 days

Text

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available.

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community.

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company?

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists.

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits.

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people.

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it.

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

3K notes · View notes

patchworkgargoyle · 11 months

Text

Booty 🌿

Steve has a plan, and Eddie falls for it. || read on ao3

Here it finally is, folks! My first smut for the ST fandom. I hope you like it!! Inspired by this post.

WC: ~4.8k || E || CW: Unsafe sex

“Please, Eddie?”

“Are you insane, Steve? It’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there, you cannot expect me to peel myself off this couch.”

Eddie heard a frustrated sigh and a small thud, imagining that Steve had let his head drop on the wall by his phone. “Yeah, I’m aware, I’m sweating buckets right now. But I gotta have the car fixed before tomorrow, I promised Claudia I’d pick up Dustin from the bus station and I can’t do that if it won’t start.”

Thing was, Eddie did kinda want to go and help him, heatwave be damned. They’d grown close in the months since spring break and despite his previous misgivings Eddie had gotten to like Steve. More than he should, really. He can’t help it if his queer little heart does a jig every time he manages to make Steve laugh in that eye-crinkling, head-tipped-back kind of way. Got good at it too, which made Eddie feel a great deal of selfish pride. And if he can’t take his eyes off the long lines of Steve’s mole-dotted neck, that’s his own business.

But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.

He was a weak man, however.

“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.

They hung up after Eddie promised to be there in a few minutes, and he rolled off of the couch with a melodramatic groan. Moving in the muggy heat trapped inside the trailer sucked, but he wasn’t going to back out. Steve had sounded so relieved when he’d said goodbye that it gave Eddie enough pep to lurch his way to the kitchen to grab a few cold beers before scrambling into his van. He appreciated his own forethought when he burned his hand on the door handle and could hold a cold bottle against the spot. Fucking summer.

Parking in the Harringtons’ driveway, he spotted the Bimmer pulled halfway into the garage, the front shaded by the overhang in what must be an attempt to avoid the worst of the sunlight. The hood was popped open, but Eddie couldn’t see Steve.

“Ohh Stevie!” he sang, “your knight in shining armour has arrived!” He heard something thunk from the garage but got no response, so he wandered inside, trying to peer around the hood. “I come bearing gifts but they’re gonna get–”

Wheels squeaked from below and Eddie looked down, only to be treated to the sight of Steve’s legs, long and hairy and sprawled open, flexing as he dragged himself out from under the car on the creeper and revealing more inches of mouth-watering thighs. He was–oh fuck, Steve was wearing the tiniest cut-off jean shorts Eddie had ever seen, the fabric of the pockets poking out from under the frayed hems. They were tight, too, hugging his hips and, god, his bulge. The white tank top Steve wore had ridden up, too, exposing the trail of hair that dipped below the fucking shorts, but Eddie followed it up, along the grease stains and the swell of his pecs to Steve’s grinning face.

“...Hot.” Eddie’s voice cracked around the word.

“What was that?” Steve asked.

Clearing his throat, Eddie said, “The beer, it’s uh, gonna get hot.” Somehow he managed to not sound like he was choking on his own drool while Steve still stared up at him from the ground, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was a slight smear of dirt across his cheek and Eddie wanted to lick it off.

“You know where the fridge is, Eddie, if you’re that worried.”

“Nah, you look like you need a break. Get up here,” he said, waggling the bottle over Steve’s face. Steve chuckled but finally stood and relieved Eddie of the misery of seeing Steve on his back and not having been the one to put him there.

He popped the caps off with the bottle opener on his keychain, and Steve took his with a ‘thank you,’ downing half in a few gulps. Eddie distracted himself from the sight of Steve’s throat bobbing by peering over at the engine.

“So what’s the issue, doc?”

Steve pulled away from the bottle with a soft popping sound from his pink lips and a gasp. “Dunno yet. That’s why I called you,” he said, leaning on the car beside Eddie. “Oil and battery are fine, spark plugs look good too.”

“She been making a sputtering kind of sound recently? Could be the throttle.”

“Nah, no weird noises.”

Eddie hummed, then set his bottle aside. “Alright, let’s get underneath her then.” Lowering himself onto the creeper and sliding under the car, he said, “Could be a belt has finally busted. Got a flashlight?”

“Really need to ask that?” Steve’s voice got fainter as he walked a little ways away. “The kids insisted on a disaster preparedness kit after round two with the Upside Down.”

There was a tap on the wood under Eddie’s hip, and blindly he reached down to grab the flashlight Steve found. He tinkered around under the Bimmer, unable to wipe away the sweat that started to drip and stick his bangs to his forehead. But eventually he began to roll back out into open, but no less stupidly hot, air.

“Looks like everything’s shipshape, captain–” Eddie choked on his own words when he looked up and was met with a sight straight out of his wet dreams.

Steve stood over Eddie, his legs spread wide enough that Eddie had rolled right between them. If he sat down, Steve would be straddling Eddie’s hips, but that would deprive him of this new angle at which to admire all of Steve’s assets wrapped so tightly in frayed, lightwash denim. Mouth falling open, Eddie let out an eloquent, “Uhhh,” and Steve laughed, holding out his hand.

“Thought you’d like a hand,” Steve explained, smirking.

He took it without thinking and let Steve haul him off the creeper board and up to his feet. A kick, and Steve sent the board skittering away underneath the car, but Eddie barely winced at the noise. He was too busy standing so close to Steve that they breathed the same humid air. If he so much as swayed, their noses would bump together. Christ, Steve had pretty eyes, a bright, warm brown flecked with amber even in the shade of the garage and he swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate the longer their gazes locked together.

“So, what were you saying?” Steve asked in a low tone. He tilted his head ever so slightly and those eyes held some kind of dare within them, one eyebrow ticked upward. Eddie couldn’t help swallowing, licking his lips, and Steve went from staring into Eddie’s eyes to down at his lips.

“Just saying that, that everything looked fine. Might, uh, might be the crankshaft or the–” Steve stepped forward just enough to bring their chests together, the back of Eddie’s knees hitting the bumper, and Eddie’s breath hitched, his voice cracking, “–the sensor.”

“Eddie.” The way Steve said his name sent a frisson of heat through Eddie, right to his dick, which was becoming a very obvious guest between them.

“Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered.

Broad, warm hands wrapped around Eddie’s slim hips. Steve worked a finger through a belt loop on each side and tugged, and Eddie realised he wasn’t the only one with a hard on when Steve’s pressed up against his own, pulling a hiss of pleasure from them both. Oh, shit. Leaning impossibly closer, Steve’s lips brushed against Eddie’s when he spoke. “I don’t care about the car right now.”

That snapped whatever faint, lingering reservations Eddie had. “Fuck, Stevie, please kiss m–” He didn’t even finish before Steve’s lips crashed into his, plush and hungry. It wasn’t long before Eddie began to nip and lick, his teeth drawing short, pleased noises from Steve’s mouth before he pulled back a scant inch.

“Fucking finally,” Steve said, and dove back in, biting back, making Eddie groan. His hands found their way to Steve’s sides, then, spurred on by Steve’s enthusiasm, he reached down and grabbed at his ass. His fingers wrapped under the hem and he yanked Steve’s hips in and up, rising to meet them.

Steve’s cock grinding against Eddie’s was a fucking revelation. From the way Steve’s mouth parted with a hot gasp, Eddie guessed he felt the same. “Hold on, baby,” he rasped, and using what leverage he had, Eddie hoisted Steve onto his lap, Steve’s knees spread and braced on the car. There was no way he could keep them there for long, but fuck it was hot, rutting their hips together while they kissed, wet and messy.

Eddie tasted the salt of his own sweat when Steve licked into his mouth and moaned, hands fisted into the denim in his grip, feeling more sweat beginning to drip down his back. The heat was stifling, but nothing compared to what started to grow in Eddie’s gut. One of Steve’s hands buried in his curls and pulled, had Eddie bucking up and whimpering around Steve’s tongue. He could come like this, dry humping on top of the Bimmer, lap full of Steve in those shorts, hands on his perfect ass, would’ve if the idea weren’t more embarrassing than hot.

“St-Steve, wait,” Eddie panted, whining again when Steve’s hand clenched in his hair again.

“Why’d you stop? Don’t wanna stop, Eddie,” Steve groaned, before a little more clarity seeped into him and he leaned back into his arms, concerned. “Or, shit, wait, is this okay?”

“God, fuck yes this is okay. Been thinking about this forever, man.” Steve smiled widely, verging on a little goofy, before ducking in and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s arms began to shake. His legs had long since begun to tremble. “But, hang on, ah, I’m gonna either drop you or come in my shorts in like two minutes if we don’t rethink this.”

All that did was make Steve start rocking into him again. “Hot,” he mumbled as he licked up a trail of sweat under Eddie’s jaw, making Eddie swear and tip his head back.

Eddie’s knees decided to buckle right then. They shouted, Eddie scrambled, locking Steve in his arms and getting his feet under himself before standing, his hands still hooked around Steve’s ass while Steve’s legs clung to his waist. Steve’s shocked expression likely matched Eddie’s, before he rested his forehead against Eddie’s and laughed so hard his body shook. Helpless, Eddie joined in, holding Steve close while their giggling faded out. But his arms were aching so, gently, he put Steve down.

“Do you wanna stop?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.

“You?” Steve shook his. “Thank fuck,” Eddie said. He ran his hands over Steve’s ass, over the crease of his thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the hair on the back of his thighs before guiding him close again. “Didn’t wanna let you go now that I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Steve dove into Eddie’s mouth with a hungry groan. The slick sounds of their lips echoed in the garage. With a tug, Steve turned them around and backed up into the car, his hands wandering underneath Eddie’s cut up Iron Maiden tee and clutching at his sides, over the fresh demobat scars, nails digging in bluntly.

Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve either. He pawed at whatever he could, finding the places that made Steve pant and hum into his mouth. But he wanted more, because Eddie has always been a bit greedy. One hand snaked its way around to cup Steve through the shorts that barely contained him, pressing his fingers around the hard outline of Steve’s cock and squeezing, rubbing. The low, raspy moan he got for his efforts made Eddie grin wolfishly.

Head lolling back, Steve breathed hard and rose to meet each stroke of Eddie’s palm. Eddie began to bite and suck his way down the strong line of Steve’s neck, biting every mole he could find. “E-Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

The words made Eddie bite down just shy of too hard. Steve whined, and Eddie lapped at the spot in apology. “I wanna, I wanna so bad, Steve, but we’re fucking filthy, sweetheart,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.

“Don’t need to do anything. I, mmh, prepared for this.”

Eddie pulled back to blink at him in disbelief. “You what?”

“I’ve been wanting this for months and nothing was working! So I just, made this as obvious as I fucking could.”

“Months?” Eddie’s jaw dropped when Steve gave him a look that managed to be both fond, flirty, and frustrated. “I could’ve been fucking you for months!?”

“Or I could’ve been fucking you.”

That idea, as sexy as it was, had to be pushed aside before it managed to make Eddie’s horny little brain leak out of his ears. “Putting a pin in that, that’s absolutely gonna happen, but I wanna revisit something. You prepared?”

Steve smirked. “Yeah,” he said, simple and cocky and so hot Eddie could combust. Eddie tried to capture Steve’s lips again but Steve stopped him with a firm hand against his chest, pushing Eddie back a few steps. Turning, he closed the hood of his car and instead of twisting back around to face Eddie, Steve leaned on his arms and arched his back.

Now that was a sight. Steve’s long, tan legs spread just so, one knee cocked to give a slight tilt to his hips. The firm, round swell of his ass peeking out under the denim that struggled to hold together. And right on the apex of those pretty, biteable, jean-clad cheeks: two dark, dirty handprints. There’s even the blackened imprint of fingers on Steve’s skin. Eddie’s fingers, Eddie’s hands. His cock twitched against his zipper and he moaned out, “Ohhh my god…”

Looking over his shoulder, Steve’s smug smirk grew, and he tilted his hips up a little further. “I know I look good, Munson, but are you gonna do something about it or what?”

Eddie stepped forward and draped himself along the expanse of Steve’s back, rutting his hips into Steve’s and making him hum sweetly. “Don’t have to get bratty about it, baby,” he said. He dragged his fingers along Steve’s sides, letting his nails catch on the soft texture of Steve’s scars before dipping down and popping his button open in one swift motion. “Tell me how you prepared.”

He felt the shiver his words evoked run down Steve’s spine. As he slid the zipper down and slid his hand in to find Steve had gone commando–both of them groaning when Eddie’s hand wrapped around Steve’s leaking, twitching cock–Eddie nuzzled into the dip between Steve’s ear and neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and musk and the faint traces of a clean, fresh cologne valiantly hanging on.

“I, I got this toy. In Indy,” Steve gasped as Eddie pumped him, pulling his cock out as his hand sped up the more Steve spoke. “Worked myself open on it.”

“What’dya think of?” Eddie squeezed.

“You,” Steve keened, jerking into Eddie’s grip.

“Fuck. God. Alright, enough of this.” Standing, Eddie took his hand away and ignored the needy noise Steve made to instead yank the shorts down. Steve only bothered to step out of one leg, having to kick his foot when they got stuck on his shoe. It made his cheeks jiggle. Eddie couldn’t resist giving him a few taps just to watch it again before spreading those cheeks with his thumbs. More dirt smeared over Steve’s dewy skin, but that was only the opening act. The true star of the show glistened with lube and twitched under Eddie’s hungry stare, already loose and used and ready for him. He held himself back from burying his tongue in Steve’s hole, but just barely, letting out a low, hungry rumble instead.

Eddie couldn't move fast enough after that. He grappled with his belt, popped the button of his shorts and shoved them and his boxers out of the way enough for his cock to spring out without help. Then he stepped forward. Eddie let out a shuddering gasp when his aching cock met the searing heat of Steve’s taint and smeared precome along it, echoed when Steve sighed unsteadily as his head slipped up, up, up. Brushed over Steve’s hole once, twice, before catching on the rim.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve whined as he pushed back, and who was Eddie to deny such a pretty request?

He thrust forward and sank into Steve with a slick sound and such little resistance that Eddie’s jaw dropped open in a soundless moan, eyelids fluttering at the hot, wet clench of muscle around him. Another thrust and Steve groaned thickly, his head tilting back so Eddie could see how his bitten-red lips parted deliciously.

“Steve, you good? Please tell me you’re good. Fuck. I wanna fuck you so bad, you feel so good, hot, please Steve,” Eddie begged and rambled, his hands shaking with the need to grab and pull and take.

“If you don’t fucking start right now I’m leaving–”

That was all the permission Eddie needed.

He sank slowly past that ring of muscle and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the high-pitched, breathy whine that escaped him. Steve really had prepped, just loose enough and slick enough, but he still took his time. He wanted to savour this, the way he slid into Steve’s tight heat, how the feeling made his legs tremble and his stomach clench. Steve deserved the caution. At first, at least.

“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, needing to talk to distract from the sheer feeling of bliss of being enveloped by Steve. “Tell me about what you were thinking when you fucked yourself on that dildo.”

Steve’s head tilted back with a moan, his brows drawn together, and Eddie longed to bite and lick the strong column of his throat, but he didn’t want to get distracted. He wanted to know.

“I thought about your fingers, first. Those rings, fuck, they drive me nuts. Wish you’d worn them today.” Eddie gave his hips a firm squeeze, fingers spread wide to catch as much soft skin as he could, and grinned when he felt Steve clench around him and heard a stuttering breath.

“I’ll wear them next time, big boy. Wanna see how good they look when I’m jerking you off.” The appreciative groan caused by Eddie’s words was divine.

“God yes. Next time.”

Of course it was then that the phrase sunk in. Next time. Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d said it but Steve repeating it had something other than raging hormones rising in his gut. He didn’t even have time to process the implication because Steve kept going, and started meeting Eddie’s thrusts with small movements of his own.

“Then I thought about your dick. Y’know, it’s so hard not to stare when you get out of the pool.”

“Did you?”

“Duh.” Steve shot a bitchy look over his shoulder. The usual power behind the look was lost in the bright red flush on his face. It completely fell apart when Eddie shifted and hit somewhere new, Steve’s mouth dropping open with a guttural noise that made Eddie’s cock twitch. “S-shit, it’s so perfect,” he said.

Steve’s head hung loose from his shoulders, forehead resting on the hood of the car, needy, lingering moans bouncing off the metal, breath and sweat condensing on it while Eddie inched further into him every time he slid out and pressed back in. With his palms on the Bimmer, Steve used the leverage to rock into Eddie, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under the white cotton tank starting to go translucent with sweat.

Watching his cock steadily disappear into Steve’s hole was addicting. He leaned back to get a better view of how he split Steve open between the grimy handprints he’d left on the globes of his ass, placed his hands there again and dug his nails in, making Steve’s hips jerk so that Eddie sank the rest of the way with a groan.

“God, Eddie,” Steve mumbled, “fuck, you feel so. So, uh, so good.”

“Y-you too, baby.” Eddie could barely form words. The tight pressure around his cock threatened to end things there and then, but Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, letting the fire and the urge and the want die down to a less immediate threat. But then he opened his eyes, saw how good they looked locked together, the way his darker thatch caught against the lighter brown hairs decorating Steve’s ass, both of them wet from the lube he’d pushed out of his hole, and jesus fucking christ he didn’t want, he needed.

Pulling out slowly and bracing Steve’s hips with a punishing grip was the only warning he gave before snapping forward with a loud grunt, the slap of damp skin a filthy echo in the garage. Steve cried out at the second hard thrust, choked off when Eddie kept going, his hips picking up speed.

“Good?” Eddie gasped. Nodding, Steve uttered a desperate, pleading ‘yes’ that made him fuck into Steve faster.

“Look so fucking hot, Steve,” he started babbling, his voice reedy with pleasure. “God, my handprints on you. Want ‘em to stain, be there forever.” Steve moaned and Eddie felt him tighten around his cock. “Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, fuck, I do, I do!”

Eddie leaned forward, draped himself across Steve’s back, and the angle was so fucking good, so much better, and he knew he’d started pounding into Steve’s prostate by the way his gasps had turned into a delicious mix of thin moans and choked out grunts. Fucking him into the car, Eddie let his hands roam. He rucked up the tank top, watched as the last of the dirt on his hands smeared over Steve’s perfect, scarred skin like loving and greedy claw marks. Finding a nipple, he pinched and squeezed until Steve writhed and squirmed.

Then Steve reached up. Buried a hand into Eddie’s hair, grabbed a handful and pulled.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie whined, his hips stuttering, the pain mixing with pleasure and zinging down his spine.

Steve chuckled, unsteady and breathy but so self-satisfied. “Thought about this… for so long, Eddie.”

“Thinkin’ about me so much, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What, hah, what did you think about?” he asked into Steve’s neck, lips catching on his skin, tempting him to lick, to bite. He did, groaning at the taste of salt.

“This. On your couch, by the pool, my bed, anywhere. Been desperate for it.” Steve pulled Eddie closer by his hair while he bounced back on Eddie’s cock as if to prove it. “Or, shit, bending you over that throne of yours and fucking you into it.” Eddie let out a pitchy whimper and Steve cooed in a way that could’ve been condescending but instead made Eddie melt. “But now, now that I know the kinds of fucking sounds you make–t-there, yes–I wanna take you apart. Slow a-and gentle until you’re a mess–”

He cut himself off with a broken moan. Eddie’s hips kept up their brutal pace with short, sharp, hard thrusts, the sound of their sweat-slicked fucking and and the jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle filling the room. His brain was nothing but static. The image was stuck in a loop like the end of a record left to spin. Eddie heard a desperate, animalistic whine and realised it came from himself.

“Close, baby?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded frantically, his lips dragging through beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He’d been holding it off, the fraying coil threatening to snap, his balls aching as they slapped into Steve’s asscheeks.

“You?” Eddie wanted to beg for Steve to be ready.

“Getting there, just, don’t stop,” Steve gasped.

Twisting, Steve pulled Eddie down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, fingers tangled in his damp curls. Their tongues met sloppily. Shared panting breaths like trying to inhale each other. Eddie’s thrusts were starting to falter. He was going to shake apart at this rate. Might just shatter when he comes, the pressure and heat and need too much and so fucking perfect.

“Steve,” Eddie whined, and Steve’s eyes met his. “So good to me, Stevie, sweetheart. Feel so wet, fuckin’ beautiful. Nee–mmh–need you, need you to come, please baby, please.”

“Touch me,” Steve said, practically commanded, and Eddie wasted no time.

Spitting in his hand and hoping it was enough, Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s dick, mixing his spit with the shocking amount of precome leaking from the head and spreading it over his length. Christ he was hung. Steve let out a relieved sigh, which Eddie swallowed, smashing their lips together again while fucking hard enough that he rocked Steve into his fist. Steve started making little ah, ah, ah noises. Next time–please let there actually be a next time–he’d worship this cock in the ways he wanted to, the ways Steve deserved, but for now he pumped him mercilessly. Then, then.

Steve seized, a full-body tremble ripping through him as he came, pulsing in Eddie’s hand as he tightened around Eddie’s cock and he was so fucking gorgeous, plush kissed-red lips open in a silent scream, so hot and tight and, and, and–

With a hoarse shout, Eddie came too, rutting helplessly into Steve as he rode out the sparking shockwaves that also had him shaking, the wet sounds between them even more obscene with Eddie’s come slicking the way. He finally stopped when Steve’s whimpers sounded a little too sharp. Breathing heavily, Eddie braced himself on the hood of the car on weak arms to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve, only letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s neck where he left one final, achingly gentle love bite.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Mhmm,” Steve hummed contentedly, leaning his head against Eddie’s, their damp hair sticking together.

“Gonna pull out now, Stevie, okay?” When Steve just nodded lazily, Eddie slowly pulled out, both of them groaning at the feeling. And he couldn’t keep himself from parting Steve’s cheeks to see his come dribble out a little, feeling a great deal of pride and greedy satisfaction at the sight.

“Bit late to ask, but you’re still clean, right? After all those tests for the bat bites?” Steve asked, grimacing when he stood up. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, only wearing his rumpled, practically see-through tank top, socks, and shoes, with his hair a wild mess and sweat still dripping from his forehead. The dirty fingerprints and red marks starting to bloom on his neck and hips were Eddie’s favourite part.

“Yep, only time I’ll ever thank those shady government fuckers for poking me with all those needles.” Eddie grinned at Steve’s tired, but fond, chuckle.

Steve looked at the car with heavy-lidded eyes, then did a double-take. “Shit, I gotta wash that off.” There, on the shiny burgundy hood of the Bimmer, was the white splash of Steve’s come, stark against the dark colour. Eddie started cackling and Steve complained, “Dude, shut up, it’ll ruin the paint!”

“Gonna wash your car without these, Winnie the Pooh?” Eddie bent down to scoop up Steve’s shorts, dangling them from a finger. He laughed when Steve snatched them back with a glare that barely hid his begrudging smile. While he stepped back into them with a wince, Eddie said, “Interesting choice of clothing to work on your car, by the way.”

“Worked, though, didn’t it?”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed when Steve smiled innocently and shrugged before he wandered off to get a chamois towel and soap. And it clicked. “You planned this? You lured me in with slutty shorts?”

Tossing the towel up and catching it, Steve’s smile widened into something smug. “Yep.”

“Wait. Is the car even broken?”

Steve just offered Eddie another sly shrug and started wiping his come off the hood.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #sac scrawls stuff

613 notes · View notes

loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 ao3

A series of notes passed during private study periods in Hawkins High School Library, circa January—May, 1985.

A sheet of paper hastily ripped from its notebook, folded over with a crease down the middle.

—Harrington, did you just turn down that girl?

—What are you talking about?

—Hey, you can’t blame a guy for being nosy. You were the one deciding to TALK in a SACRED LIBRARY.

—If you heard us, why are you asking?

—Okay, sound doesn’t travel that far.

—Why don’t YOU tell me what happened considering you know everything?

—Wow. Touchy.

—Fuck off.

—Sorry. Thought we were just joking around. Didn’t mean to be a dick.

—It’s fine.

—You sure?

—I wasn’t ‘turning her down.’ She’s on the Yearbook Committee. Asking for photos.

—Too many pin-ups to choose from?

—Baby photos.

—What’s the problem? Did you come out the womb holding hairspray?

—No.

—Table it or ditch it?

—?

—It’s something my uncle says. If he asks me about stuff I don’t wanna talk about, I can either table it for later or ditch it completely. But if something keeps coming up and I keep saying to ditch it, then it automatically becomes a table it for later.

—That’s smart.

—Yup.

—Table it.

—Okay.

—? Why do you keep scoring out stuff?

—Sorry sorry. I can only think of baby photos now.

—Not against them in general. Feel free to talk about yourself, Munson.

—Uh-huh. I could hear the sarcasm in how you wrote that.

—Ha. No, really. I don’t mind.

—Well, lucky for you, talking about myself is my favorite subject.

—Lucky me.

—I thought I’d lost literally all of my baby photos. When I lived with my dad, the house got flooded and all of them were hit. Water damage. I had to get my books spread out on a radiator so the pages would dry, and that kinda worked for some of them. Photos were goners, though.

—That’s awful.

—Hold your horses, cowboy. But then when I moved to my uncle’s—we’re at the trailer park in Forest Hills—I saw he had all these photos stacked on a bookcase, and I thought they were all really old, like from when he was a kid and stuff, and some of them were, but he had whole entire ALBUMS of me. Way more than my dad ever had.

—That’s cool.

—You’re so verbose, Harrington.

—I meant it. It’s just. I was just thinking.

—About?

—That’s not why I—I HAVE baby photos, that’s not the problem.

—Don’t sweat it, dude, you don’t need to tell me.

—It’s just. Rebecca, that’s who was talking to me, she kept going on about how everyone else has already sent in a baby photo or, you know, a photo from when they were a kid, and she was excited about it, it’s a whole new thing they’re doing for this year. They’re gonna do a special layout, old photos next to current ones, you know what I mean?

—Afraid I’ve never been privy to the wondrous goings-on of the Yearbook Committee.

—She said it’ll look weird if I’m the only one not doing it. But it’s—I don’t know. I know I could just pick any damn photo and send it in, it’d get the whole Committee off my back. But I think I’d feel weird at the thought of the whole year getting to see—god, this doesn’t even make sense, like I don’t mind them seeing at a photo of me NOW, but I don’t. I don’t like looking at old photos, I never have. I don’t know why. Guess I just don’t like looking back.

—Fuck what everyone else is doing. They’re YOUR photos. Forget the precious ‘layout.’

—Yeah, that’s sorta what I told her, minus the ‘fuck.’

—If it’ll shut them all up, you could send in one of mine. See who actually notices.

—No way.

—Yeah, I was just being stupid.

—No. Those are YOUR photos. Save them for your own Yearbook. Sounds like your uncle could fill the whole thing with pictures.

—Wouldn’t put it past him.

—Shit, is that the time? The bell’s gonna ring in five minutes. I’ve done NOTHING.

—The horror!

—I’m blaming you.

—Honored to be considered a distraction, Harrington.

A scrap of paper, hastily dropped into the pencil case of an unknowing Eddie Munson as the bell rang.

—Thanks.

#notes from hawkins high school library #epistolary fic #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #eddie and wayne munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #pre steddie

343 notes · View notes

swampstew · 2 months

Text

Captain_CumShot - Chapter 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: You treated yourself to a tier upgrade😘

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

Admin: Thanks for upgrading your subscription to Tier III! The Captain will want to thank you personally ~ drop your next available hour slot and we’ll set it up.

You: 10 PM

Admin: Talk to you soon ~

10:00 PM

Captain: Hey doll. I’ve seen your likes and comments around here for a while and I’m chuffed that you finally upgraded. What changed?

You: Truthfully, I challenged myself to save up so I can really treat myself when I felt I needed it. Especially after the last year and four months at work.

Captain:…

Captain: You waited ONE YEAR and FOUR MONTHS before you felt like you needed a break?

Captain: I’m flattered you’ve chosen me as your reward but gat damn girl. You need to treat yourself more often.

Captain: What the hell do you do for a job??

You: I’m an accountant at a small but valued firm, so we’re kind of just always busy! Especially at tax time which is ALMOST over. So I spoiled myself a few days early.

Captain: Congratulations ~ Do you work in a stuffy office with a buncha dorks?

You: Well I wouldn’t say dorks and it’s not a closet! I work in an office building with maybe less than 50 other people. I have a corner office so yay for small wins!

Captain: Aye that’s the least they can do fer’ya!

Captain: Do they make you dress business professional like you’re gonna meet the president every day or is it a normal place that lets you dress like a human being?

You: Haha, nothing so refined. Business casual for the most part, Fridays we can wear jeans, and sometimes during the seasons they’ll do a morale boosting themed clothes week thing.

Captain: 🤔

Captain: Does anyone enjoy that?

You: Some do, some don’t. The bosses buy a big lunch spread though so it’s not all bad.

Captain: Tell me, are the morale boosting bits mandatory?

You: You’re not required to dress up. They don’t technically say you have to be at the luncheon but they do have someone sweep the desks to make sure no one is still working. I think they legitimately think they’re providing a “break” for us but like, a paid lunch hour would be a thousand times better.

Captain: Bet.

Captain: You ever skipped it all together? Just said fuck it and hid on the roof to scroll on your phone and eat lunch?

You: Sometimes my car! We have a secure parking garage and its air conditioned so it’s quiet and not boiling hot.

Captain: Hooray for small victories.

Captain: Have you ever gotten uncomfortably turned on enough that you’ve escaped to your car to get relief?

You: 😳

You: Maybe once or twice. I’m always afraid of getting caught.

Captain: I’d make sure we wouldn’t.

Captain: See I personally fucking hate it when instead of just paying people more, employers make their people do a whole dog and pony show. Leave people alone!

Captain: This is literally a crime.

Captain: If you’d let me, I’d come and save you from those stupid lunches.

You: 🤔

You: I wouldn’t hate that!

You: Not sure you could pull it off though, you would garner a lot of attention just from standing, you’re just that attractive 👉👈🥺

Captain: Relax, I’m nothing if not professional. Want to hear my grand scheme that I cooked up, just now?

You: Oh go right ahead!

Captain: I’d start by doing research into your company and get the lunch reservation details of these luncheons. I would then pose as an employee dropping off the food order/doing set up and while everyone is gathering, I would linger a little, totally incognito, and slip out to find your office if you haven’t already entered the room.

Captain: Should I continue? I’m really proud of this scheme actually.

You: Please, I wonder how you plan to get away scot-free and not get me fired!

Captain: You’d not only get fired – you’d get off, repeatedly and it would be a seasonal thing cause I’d never get caught. I think it would be a professional bonus because then you’ll be so satisfied at work, you might even get a promotion or pay raise or some shit😏

You: This I gotta hear

Captain: Where was I?

Captain: Just kidding

Captain: I would then smuggle you to the parking garage under the guise that you’re my ‘job equipment’ or whatever, and then, I’d take you to your car. Ideally, I can convince you to get in the van I rented as part of my infiltration disguise so I can actually sit and stand without breaking my neck. The windows are blacked out, I keep anchors and blocks on the wheels to keep it stable, and then I rock your fucking world.

Captain: Still with me?

You: I am

Captain: You’re probably thinking, ‘but if you’re as beastly as I think you are, won’t I be screaming my brains out?’

You: I was!

Captain: As a professional content creator – amongst other trades – I know a thing or two about sound proofing. There’s always a gag if you’re into that.

You: I could be persuaded…

Captain: I have a lot of things I’d like to persuade you to do in there.

Captain: Do you normally participate in the themed clothes or do you keep it professional?

You: I don’t usually, not really my thing.

Captain: I see.

Captain: Back to my scheme ~

Captain: After I’ve successfully fooled everyone and have you in my clutches, I’d take you to my van where you can have a lunch break actually worth attending.

Captain: I would first take off my disguise and reveal that it was me all along! After you get over your initial surprise, I’d ask you what you’re hungry for.

You: Oh I get options?

Captain: Hell yeah doll. Your choices can range anywhere from a quick snack to a mega meal.

You: Do the options change too?

Captain: I don’t believe in constraints. Unless they’re kink-related.

Captain: I think since you’re the kind of doll that doesn’t splurge too much on ‘erself, I’d start you off with a ‘left no crumbs.’

Captain: What that entails is me, sitting you all pretty like on a seat cushion, starting ngwith something soft and sweet. Kisses up the arm, on the neck, slow, building up anticipation. I’d tease you over your clothes, petting your kitten until I feel your wetness through the fabric.

Captain: Pepper your body with kisses and bites to keep you on edge. When I have you down to just your undergarments, I’d sit you in my lap. Spread your thighs open. Start rubbing your pussy until you’re leaking all over my hand. I’ll let you have a quick orgasm, a small and sweet one. But don’t think we’re done.

Captain: I might take my pants off to feel you a bit better. Push you down on my hard-on as I wrap an arm around your waist to keep you still. I’ll use my free hand to play with your pussy again. Rubbing you, flicking you, lightly smacking you, rubbing your clit, finger fucking you. Rub my big dick against your trembling body to make you even more sensitive.

Captain: Since you only have an hour, I’ll make sure you look presentable before you go back to the office. Where you can spend the rest of the day sitting in the mess I’m going to leave. How does that make you feel?

You: I’m…speechless, in a good way…Shit that’s really hot. It makes me feel devious, a bit dirty, like I really want to do it.

Captain: Damn and I haven’t even finished telling you what’s included in your lunch?

You: 🤐

You: Please forgive me

Captain: I could never stay mad at you doll.

Captain: As I was saying ~

Captain: I can’t let you leave your break without feeling fully satisfied.

Captain: Before you go, I’d spend some time with you against the van wall. If you’re into it, I can use rope to help keep you standing. I encourage it, you’re gonna need it.

You: I’m into it, I’m into it 🤤

Captain: Heh. Freak.

Captain: I’d keep you still and propped up, putting your blouse on, keeping my lipstick stains and bites hidden underneath. I’d pull your panties and bottoms over your ankles, slide your soaked underwear up your thighs…

Captain: And give you dessert.

You: What am I having??!

Captain: Me.

Captain: I’d pull your panties up your thighs but not put them on entirely. Leaving them maybe a few inches from your twitching pussy. Then I’d finally let you see my cock.

Captain: Do you want to touch it?

You: Yesss🥺please let me touch.

Captain: Don’t worry you’ll be feeling it.

Captain: I’ll prod my cock against your clit, slide it up and down your puffy lips, maybe push in a little bit.

Captain: After I get it nice and wet with you, I’d stand in front of you and fuck your body. I won’t go in in, I’ll slide in between your desperate lips, make you clench over my cock with your needy pussy, I’ll hit your delicious ass cheeks, pull back out and rub against your clit until you’re crying.

You: Oh my fucking god.

Captain: I’m not done.

Captain: While I do this, I’ll rub my thumb down on your clit, and I won’t stop until you’ve cum over my cock, frustrated yet relieved.

Captain: But don’t be disappointed just yet because the next part is my favorite part.

Captain: As you’re coming down from your orgasm, I’ll finish myself off. Jerking myself in front of you and finishing right on your cunt.

You: 🥵

Captain: Yeah.

Captain: I’d milk my length to cover you, watching it drip from your vulva and trembling lips down to your underwear and thighs. Whatever falls further down I’d wipe with my thumb and make you lick it off.

Captain: Then I’ll pull your panties up nice and high, make sure they sit on your hips just right, don’t want any of me to spill out. For good measure, I might even rub your underwear against you some just to smear it in you some more.

Captain: I love cum play.

Captain: I’ll pull up your bottoms, wipe your tears, and send you away with a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.

Captain: How does that sound doll?

You: I would fucking die!!! I want this so bad fuck why would you DO THAT TO ME?!?🥵🤤 FUCK! You’re so hot, all I want is to touch you and be touched by you😩

Captain: Are you touching yourself?

You: If I said yes?🥺

Captain: I’d say me too. Check out the photo gallery later, you’ll see the load I blew for ya😘

Captain: Glad to add you to my harem of Cabin Hoes. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m gonna grow fond of you.

Captain: G’night doll. Thanks for subscribing😘

Leave a vote/kudos/like to tip OR hit bookmark/add to reading list/reblog to subscribe.

#eustass kid #Captain_CumShot #onlyfans fanfic #firstmatesimp #one piece fanfiction #eustass kid smut #one piece eustass kid #ao3 author #wattpad author #eustasscaptainkid #kid pirates #swampstew stories #swampstew

35 notes · View notes

xoxoladyaz · 11 months

Text

I'm Gonna Getcha Good

(Female Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson, Canon Divergence, Originally published on AO3)

A/N: I'm hoping to have updates for the Paramedic series and the final installment of "It Hits Different" up this weekend, but until then, enjoy part one of my series in which Stevie Harrington is just as obsessed with Eddie as he is with her!

“This is getting really sad, Harrington.”

Robin’s voice snaps Stevie out of her stupor, causing her to drop her ice cream scooper on the ground for the third time that day. Shit.

“I mean, seriously, Eddie Munson?”

“I know,” she groans, sparing one last look out into the food court. Eddie didn’t come to Starcourt all that often, but he usually parked himself next to the Jamba Juice with his friends when he did, which meant that Stephanie got to ogle him for the approximate fifteen minutes it took for him to slurp down his smoothie.

“Like, if there’s anyone out there who hates your guts more than me, it’s him,” Robin continues, disbelief coloring her words.

Stevie shut her eyes and exhaled sharply. It’s fine. She’s fine. “I know, Robin.”

“I mean, even if he was into preps, your friends made his life a living hell.” While Stevie normally enjoys listening to whatever Robin feels like rambling about – even though Robin has made it clear that she’s definitely not Stevie’s number one fan – she really, really doesn’t want to have to listen to this. “I’m just saying, maybe you should aim lower. I think Jim the janitor is looking for wife number three.”

Stevie slams her now dirty ice cream scooper into the wash bucket behind the counter with more force than she probably needed to use. Whatever, it shuts Buckley up, and when Stevie declares that she’s going to take the trash out, she doesn’t argue.

By the time Stevie is back in from her errands, Eddie and his friends are long gone.

/////

“Here.”

Stevie glances up from her packed lunch – leftover pizza for the second day in the row because she hasn’t had the energy to cook anything recently and just keeps ordering takeout – to see a sheepish looking Robin Buckley sliding a cup of USS Butterscotch across the small break table towards her.

“What is this?”

“It’s a genuine ‘I’m-sorry-for-being-a-bitch’ sundae.” Robin settles into the chair across from her, still looking a little peaky. “I, uh, definitely went a bit too far yesterday, and I made you upset and I get it, I mean, I’d be upset if someone made fun of me for who I like, and I didn’t know that you really liked him but I should have known because every time he shows up you get these big puppy dog eyes and - ”

“Robin, Robin, stop!” Stevie drops her pizza and holds up her hands. Robin cuts off and flushes bright red. “It’s okay. Really. Besides, if there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s me.”

“I don’t know, Harrington,” Robin replies slowly, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that Stevie hasn’t seen before. “You keep doing things that sort of blow my mind. I think I might even be starting to like you.”

Stevie can’t help herself from smiling, nor can she stop the snort that leaves her throat. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” Robin rolls her eyes, but she offers her a small smile in return. “Seriously though, Eddie Munson? Like, have you ever even talked to him?”

“Honestly,” Stevie reaches for her sundae and starts digging in, “I didn’t really notice him until after I graduated.”

“Really?” Robin scoffs. “He’s kind of hard to miss.”

Stevie shrugs. “I don’t know, I didn’t really care about anyone outside of Tommy and Carol when I was friends with them, and then after Barb died I felt like I was barely able to care about myself.”

Robin doesn’t say anything, so Stevie pulls her gaze away from her quickly diminishing sundae and towards her coworker. “What?”

“Are you, I don’t know, are you okay?”

Stevie feels herself relax which, huh, she didn’t even know she was tense. “I think so. Graduating helped. Finally getting away from Tommy and Carol and Billy Hargrove helped. Deciding to go to cosmetology school helped. And the kids - ” Stevie breaks off with a fond laugh, “the kids help a lot too.”

“Huh.” Robin is still just sort of looking at her, and that glimmer in her eyes is brighter. “Well, I’m jealous you got out of there. I still have a year left.”

“Ehh, you’ll have a better senior year than I did,” Stevie shrugs again.

“Seeing as Billy Hargrove isn’t obsessed with me, yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Just break a plate on his head, that’ll fix that.”

Now Robin’s eyes are so wide, they’re practically popping out of her head. “What?!”

Stevie bursts into laughter and yeah, Stevie thinks she’s starting to like Robin Buckley.

/////

“I still don’t get it.”

It’s been nine days since Stevie’s last Eddie Munson sighting and eight days since Robin and Stevie made up over some USS Butterscotch, and this time when Eddie and his friends sprawl around their usual table, Robin joins Stevie in her watching.

“Did you have some sort of awakening after watching The Breakfast Club or something?”

Stevie frowns, but she doesn’t pull her eyes away from Eddie. “What breakfast club?”

“You haven’t seen – no, you know what, I’m not going to let you change the subject this time. Why Eddie Munson?”

Eddie throws his head back, laughing wildly, and Stevie is suddenly wildly jealous that she’s not the one sitting at the table making him laugh.

“Stevie. Dingus.” Robin jabs her in the side and Stevie hisses but it’s a success, she’s paying attention to Robin now. “Why. Eddie. Munson.”

“I just – I don’t know,” Stevie sighs, rubbing her now sore ribcage, thank you Robin Buckley. “He just so alive and outgoing and real. And I dunno, I think it’s kind of sweet that he adopts all the weird loner kids at school, and I like his curly hair and his leather jacket - ”

“Stevie.”

“ – and that weird jean jacket vest thing that he always wears, and the rings on his hands, and his hands, his hands are huge and did you know that he can play the guitar because apparently he can play the guitar, I saw his friend putting up a sign for some band that he’s in - ”

“Stevie.”

“ – and he has such pretty eyes and a gorgeous smile and God his arms, have you seen his arms when he rolls his sleeves up - ”

“STEVIE.”

“ – and I want to drink smoothies with him and go to the movies with him and make out in his crappy van with him and then take him home and tie him to my - ”

“STEVIE!” Robin shrieks, smacking her hand across Stevie’s mouth, and it’s loud enough to draw the attention of the sophomores passing by the shop. Robin waves along with her other hand, and they shoot the pair weird looks, but they move past.

“First of all,” Robin finally says as she drops her hands from Stevie’s mouth, “never talk to me about the disgusting sex you want to have with Eddie Munson ever again, I will have literal nightmares about what you told me.”

“But - ”

“NIGHTMARES, Harrington! And second of all, Christ, I knew you had it bad, but I didn’t know you had it that bad.”

Stevie can feel herself blushing bright, bright red. “No I don’t.”

Robin just blinks at her. “Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“So you’d be able to talk to him like a normal person then?”

Stevie nods even though on the inside she is screaming NO NOPE NO WAY ABSOLUTELY NOT.

“Great, because he’s coming in here.”

Apparently her flight instincts don’t kick in when fighting interdimensional monsters, but they do kick in when Eddie Munson is within talking distance, because she’s dropping onto the floor and crawling underneath the counter before she can realize that’s precisely what she’s doing.

“Uh huh. Totally normal.” Stevie glances up at Robin and yep, Robin looks about as unimpressed as her tone. “I lied, by the way. He and his friends just left the food court.”

“Blergh.” Stevie knocks her head back against the counter and sighs. Robin shows her mercy, though, and lets her sit there and recover for five minutes until the kids come charging in, wanting Stevie to let them sneak into another movie which she does because she’s a pushover. Worrying about the kids is enough to get Eddie Munson off her mind, at least for now.

/////

If cosmetology school doesn’t end up working out, maybe Stevie should join the secret service or something because hey, she’s really good at surviving Russian torture. She can almost imagine the look on her father’s face if she added that to the resumé he continuously tailors on her behalf. Suck it, Dad.

(She might be a little high still.)

“I’d be a great secret agent,” she tells Robin, although Robin is still puking her guts up in the toilet next to her and probably isn’t listening. “Like James Bond. And Henderson could be Q!”

“Ugh,” Robin finally moans, “how do you know James Bond characters well enough to name them?”

“Uh, because my dad is obsessed with the movies, they’re, like, the only thing he watches when he’s home.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Ehh, Sean Connery is sort of hot. I like his accent.”

Robin makes a fake retching sound. “That is the worst thing you’ve ever said, ever.”

“Oh come on, are you telling me Connery doesn’t do it for you at least a little bit?”

“First of all,” Robin snorts, “he’s old enough to be my father, and second of all no, he doesn’t do it for me. I’m more of a Honey Ryder girl,” Robin sighs out, and then she falls quiet, too quiet.

Oh.

“Well,” Stevie starts slowly, because she only has one shot at this, “your opinion is definitely wrong, because Solitaire is obviously the better choice.”

Robin sputters, and then she’s laughing, and Stevie tucks and rolls underneath the stall until she’s sitting across from Robin, and then they’re both laughing.

“Are you seriously arguing with the lesbian, dingus? Honey Ryder in that bikini is so fucking hot!”

“Uh, yeah, but she’s no Jane fucking Seymour, Robin!”

/////

Russian torture definitely sucks, but Stevie emerges on the other side with Robin Buckley as a best friend, and for Robin? She’d be tortured by a million Russians.

She’s really glad Robin is there in the aftermath. She’s a good distraction, goading Stevie into more arguments about James Bond and Bond girls and other movies when they finally run out of Bond films to talk about, and having Robin’s voice fill up the silence helps, especially on those nights when she can’t fall asleep without seeing Billy Hargrove’s corpse, or seeing the look on El’s face when she finds out that the chief isn’t coming back this time.

She doesn’t miss the mall. She doesn’t miss Scoops and its shitty customers and its even shittier uniform. She doesn’t miss Robin, because they’re working at Family Video together every day now. But in those moments where she lets herself not feel guilty for missing anything at the mall – which are few and far between, because everything has been tainted by Russians and by death – she lets herself miss the time she spent watching Eddie Munson from afar.

But then one day, Dustin Henderson walks into Family Video wearing a familiar baseball-styled tee, emblazoned with a large demon, and suddenly her days of watching Eddie Munson from afar are back, and it’s all going to be totally fine.

/////

It is not totally fine.

It is not totally fine, because now that Dustin and Mike and Lucas are in Eddie’s little club, they will not stop talking about it. More specifically, they will not stop talking about Eddie, and how cool he is, and how awesome his hair is, and did you know he’s in a band and he can play the guitar, Stevie, why don’t you play the guitarand he listens to metal music and it’s the coolest shit ever, stop telling me not to swear Stevie, you’re not my mom and Eddie’s really smart, actually, he’s just too smart for the school system and Eddie just wrote the most incredible campaign Stevie, you should have been there, and Stevie is about three seconds away from pulling her perfectly coiffed hair out of her head.

“Is this revenge?” Stevie moans, her face buried in the pile of recent returns.

“Yes, and it is so, so sweet,” Robin sings happily from behind her.

“ – was actually a lich the entire time – are you even listening?” Henderson’s outraged voice squawks from across the counter. Stevie sighs and forces herself to look over at him.

“Yeah, yeah, something about a barhop – ”

“Barkeep - ”

“ – and it turns out he was a witch the whole time?”

“ – a lich, Stevie, a lich – God, why am I even trying? Eddie was right, he said you’d never be able to appreciate the intricate world of D&D!”

Stevie feels herself gape at Dustin, because not only is apparently Dustin Henderson talking with Eddie about her, Eddie apparently doesn’t think she can appreciate D&D? Which, he’s not totally wrong, there are a lot of rules and things she doesn’t understand and she’s really bad at words, which Robin says is because she’s dyslexic, but she does actually try to understand what Dustin is talking about. It just – it makes her stomach feel icky, knowing that whatever Eddie said probably isn’t as nice as what Dustin said, and Dustin is rarely nice when he’s in one of his moods.

Robin, bless her, is apparently offended on Stevie’s behalf, and so she steps up to the plate when it becomes clear that Stevie is speechless. “Please tell Munson that he can judge other people’s capacity for decoding nonsense when he’s going to school full time and has an actual job.”

“And migraines,” Stevie adds in. “Lots of migraines.”

Dustin, at least, manages to look a little sheepish. “Sorry, Stevie. It’s just really exciting to be in Hellfire right now!”

“I know.” Stevie manages her best fond smile, even though she still feels unsettled on the inside. “I’m really happy for you, Henderson. So, how did you fight the lich?”

/////

The thing with Dustin Henderson is if you give him an inch, he’ll take forty-thousand miles, so now Stevie is treated to an hour-long play by play after every single Hellfire session wherein Dustin praises Eddie’s genius and how hard and intense the game is and you should really give it a chance, Stevie.

“Henderson,” Stevie finally cuts him off one Saturday morning. He’s cornered her behind the counter at Family Video after instructing Mike and Lucas to pick a good movie for once in their goddamn lives. Robin abandoned her to trail after the boys (traitor), and after twenty minutes of Dustin talking about the wondrous biology of acid frogs, Stevie’s patience is wearing thin. “I love you. You’re the son I never had.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“Exactly,” she nods, “the son I never had. But if I hear another word about the many uses of an acid toad’s bowel movements - ”

“Acid frog Stevie, weren’t you listening?!”

“ – I am going to lose my mind,” Stevie finishes calmly. (Much more calmly than the situation warranted, in her opinion.)

“This is important information, Stevie!”

“Dustin, how is this possibly important information?”

The bell above the door rings, signaling a customer has entered, but Robin greets them before Stevie gets a chance to. (Not that Dustin would give her the chance to, judging by how furrowed his brow is. He only gets that annoyed little squiggle in the center of his forehead when he’s about to launch into his most passionate speeches.)

“Because these are important things to know, Stevie!”

“Okay, Dustin, I hate to break it to you, but acid frogs aren’t real.”

Dustin snorts. “That’s not true, actually, the acid frogs of Eastern Australia are an endangered species - ”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Dustin!” Stevie throws her hands up in the air. “Your fantasy acid frogs aren’t real.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Henderson,” a nice voice speaks from behind Dustin. Dustin grins at the sound and turns to face the speaker. Stevie, meanwhile, freezes in place, a shiver running up her spine. “Such truths are wasted on the unenlightened.”

Eddie Munson strolls up to the counter, dropping his hand on Dustin’s shoulder and shooting her an icy smirk. “Well, well. If it isn’t the former Queen of Hawkins High. How does it feel to be one of the common folk, your majesty?”

A pair of snorts (coming from a pair of boys in matching Hellfire shirts whose names she can’t recall) trail Eddie’s proclamation, followed by Mike’s laughter from the back of the store. Dustin, the traitor, just shoots Stevie a smug grin.

(And look, she’s not panicking, okay? She’s not. It’s just that this is the first time that she’s ever talked to Eddie Munson, at least in recent memory, and it’s already off to kind of a bad start, and honestly he’s being kind of an asshole right now but ugh she still likes him and wants this to go well, why does she care so much about wanting this to go well?

Breathe, breaths, in, out. Robin rounds the corner and shoots her a worried look, but Stevie just shakes her head. She’s turned worse situations around. She can do this.)

“I don’t think there’s anything common about you, Munson,” Stevie replies, shifting her weight forward onto her right foot so now she’s leaning forward. “But I’m doing pretty well today. Or I was, until someone,” she glances quickly at Dustin before looking back at Eddie, “decided to spend fifteen minutes teaching me the seven best uses for acid frog excrement.”

“It was disgusting,” Robin chimes in as she joins Stevie behind the counter. “And also a little bit concerning, if I’m being totally honest. Like, that’s a lot of time to spend thinking about fake frog turds.”

Eddie blinks at them once, twice, before the smirk falls off his face and he collapses forward with a groan, removing his hand from Dustin’s shoulder so he can drop his head into it instead. “Really, Henderson? Has our kind not suffered enough?”

Dustin huffs out a breath. “It’s important information!”

“And I’m truly honored that you want to share it with me. I am,” Stevie cuts him off before he can continue. “I love our mother-son bonding time.”

“I’m not your son.”

“But I think I’ll go to your father if I have any questions about DND in the future, okay?” Stevie finishes, and she can barely stop herself from grinning, especially when she starts to hear Robin choke behind her.

Dustin just looks confused now. “My father?”

“Yep.” Stevie lets herself grin now and returns her gaze to Eddie Munson, who’s looking over at her now with a confused expression on his face. “Which reminds me, what’s the difference between wizards and sorcerers again? I can never keep it straight.”

Eddie drops his hand and gapes at her. Like, his jaw is practically on the ground. He backs up, away from the store counter and spins around once to look behind him (at his friends, who are also looking equally confused) before turning back around. “I’m sorry, are you – me?”

Stevie shifts closer to him, resting her chin on her hand so she’s gazing up at him. “I don’t see any other dungeon masters around here, do you?”

“What is happening right now,” Dustin murmurs out, and it’s not quite a question or a statement.

“Go play with your friends, Henderson, Mommy and Daddy are talking.”

“I – Mommy and Daddy?!” And now Henderson is shrieking, and Mike is poking his head out from behind the stacks to shoot them a glare, and Robin is trying really hard to cover up her laugh with her cough, and Eddie? Eddie is flushed bright red and just staring at her.

“So, yeah, wizards and sorcerers. I know there’s a difference, I can just never keep them straight. And since Dustin says you know the most about DND out of anyone, I might as well take lessons from the best, huh?”

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD!” Dustin is practically shrieking, and then Robin’s running around the counter and pulling him towards Mike and Lucas, ignoring his protesting.

“I – you – what? What?!” Now it’s Eddie’s turn to squawk.

“Also, I’m really glad you came in today. I mean, it probably was for a movie because, you know, Family Video,” Stevie waves her free hand around, “but I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to come up.”

“An opportunity for what?” Eddie parrots back slowly.

“To flirt with you, obviously.”

“Obviously – obviously? Obviously?!”

“Yeah, obviously. I didn’t get a chance at the mall because you never came into Scoops,” and okay, she wasn’t planning on laying it all out on the line here, but Eddie’s looking increasingly like he’s two seconds away from running and she’d really prefer it if he at least believed her when he ran away, “which was annoying because our ice cream was way better than Jamba Juice anyways - ”

“What?”

“ – and the kids have been talking about you non-stop for the last three months, and it really means a lot that you took them under your wing, and, I mean, I already thought you were hot - ”

“WHAT?!”

“ – and judging by the handcuffs on your belt, I think it’s safe to say we have things in common outside of the kids. And I might not be like naturally interested in DND or whatever, but I’d let you be my dungeon master anytime,” she finishes with a wink and yep, she broke him. He’s frozen and flushed she really, really wants to see just how far down that blush goes.

The taller of his friends – Jeff, that’s his name – walks forward and grabs Eddie’s arm. “This isn’t some sort of joke, right?”

“Nope!” Robin calls out before sliding to a stop in front of the counter. “She’s been crushing on him for months. It’s honestly been sort of pathetic.”

“Gee, thanks Robin,” Stevie rolls her eyes. Reaching for a nearby receipt, Stevie grabs a pen and quickly scribbles her number on the back. “Here’s my number. I’m home most nights after seven and I have every other weekend free. Make sure he calls me if he’s interested,” she finishes up with a click of her pen, and then she’s passing the phone number to Jeff.

Jeff smiles at her, a small, shy sort of smile. “I will. C’mon, Munson. Let’s go before your face freezes that way."

He grabs hold of Eddie with his free hand – Eddie, who’s still flushed and staring at her – and he motions for their other friend to grab his other arm, and with that, the trio of Hellfire boys leave Family Video.

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Mike announces as soon as the door shuts, approaching the counter with a sour look on his face.

“I didn’t know you had game like that, Stevie!” Lucas crows, laughing at the sour look on Mike’s face. Dustin, on the other hand? Dustin looks as shellshocked as Eddie did.

“You – you’re into Eddie?”

“That’s an understatement,” Robin snorts. “Seriously, though, that was intense. I thought you were going to flirt with him, not kill him.”

“What?” Stevie shoots back defensively. “He wasn’t getting that I was serious and I wanted to make sure he knew that.”

“Don’t worry, we all know it,” Mike gags, and it’s enough to set Lucas off into giggles again.

“You’re into Eddie,” Dustin repeats, and then all of a sudden he’s beaming. “You like Eddie! This is PERFECT!”

“Oh, no, no, no! Dustin!” Mike groans, but Dustin is already running out the door.

“Don’t worry, Stevie! We’ll make sure true love prevails!”

“God, do we have to?” Mike whines again, but he dutifully follows Dustin out the door. Lucas shoots Stevie another wink and laughs before following suit, and then it’s just Robin and Stevie in an otherwise empty Family Video.

“That was probably a bit much.”

“Nah,” Robin shakes her head with a laugh. “It would take a lot for anyone to be ‘too much’ for Eddie Munson. He’s into you, dingus.”

“You think so?”

Robin knocks her head against Stevie’s. “I bet you five bucks he asks you out by next Saturday.”

“You’re on.”

/////

Three days later, Eddie Munson leaves Family Video with a wide grin on his face, and Stevie is too busy dancing around in excitement to feel too badly about her five dollars that are making a new home in Robin’s wallet.

#steddie #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #female Steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #platonic stobin #in this house we love robin buckley #tw: discussions of acid frog poop #too many acid swamps to count #honestly I need to come up with another d&d thing for these fics

120 notes · View notes

musings-of-a-rose · 1 year

Text

Then and Now

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4500+

Rating: Fluff mostly, except for one minor scene, but I'm leaving my regular blog warning here…Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: thanks to @marvelousmermaid for the prompt and photo inspo! I've been dying to write Tommy and fluff sounds perfect!

Please excuse any typos as I'm writing this from my phone, which I hate doing.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Main Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

This had been the work week from hell. Anything that could go wrong or take the most time possible, did. To say I was exhausted would be an understatement.

I jam the keys in the ignition to my car, flipping off my place of work, immensely grateful I have the next few days in a row off. My cell rings and I groan, assuming it would be work trying to drag me back in because apparently I'm the only one who knows anything. A quick glance at the screen shows me I'm right.

"Look, I'm off the clock. I'm taking my HR approved time off so figure it out or I'll see you in 3 days."

I hang up the phone, putting the car into drive and pulling out to the main road. I must have blanked out because the next thing I know, I'm parked in front of my boyfriend Tommy's house.

I sit there for a couple minutes, completely puzzled by my arrival here before a soft knock at my window causes me to jump.

"Sorry, honey! I was just checkin' on you."

My head turns and I meet his eyes, deep brown and full of concern and love. My entire body relaxes when I see his face and, embarrassingly, I feel tears start to make their way down my cheeks. I hadn't seen him in nearly 2 weeks, a work trip for him butted right up against a week from hell for me.

I open my door and he's there, kneeling in front of me, his large hands on my thighs, slowly rubbing them up and down in a comforting manner.

"Honey, what's wrong?" His eyes are wide and worried.

I shake my head, willing the tears to stop as I wipe at the ones already fallen. "Nothing. Just a hard week."

"You wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

He nods, rubbing his thumbs into my thighs. "Well let me know if you change your mind."

"Yeah. Ok."

We sit like that for a few more seconds before he speaks again.

"You're staying for dinner."

It's not a question but also not a strict command. It's then I realize how bizarre this must seem to him, my showing up unannounced at his house in tears.

"Shit, Tommy I'm sorry. I just.. I had a really long week and I blanked out and ended up here. I can g-"

"Don't you dare say go. Come on, honey. Let's get you inside."

One look into his eyes and he has me, those puppy eyes overriding any feeling I have where I don't want to be a burden. I nod and he smiles wide, standing with a groan as he extends his hand to me. I take it, allowing myself to be pulled up and out of the car. Pure instinct takes over and I nuzzle right into his large chest, feeling his arms close around me, hands rubbing my back.

"How's a bath sound?"

"Yes please." Tommy has one of those giant soaking tubs where I can fit my entire body and my boobs under the water at the same time. I told him once if he ever broke up with me, I was taking the tub.

A quick kiss to the top of my head and Tommy leads me inside, tossing my bag on the entryway table as he guides me to his room. He sits me on the edge of the bed, cupping my face with his large, warm hands.

"I'll be right back, honey. Just gonna pour you that bath, ok?"

"Ok."

I hear the water turn on and Tommy returns, kneeling in front of me again, helping me take off my clothes. It's not sexual but tender, Tommy taking great care to make sure I know this is for me and he expects nothing.

He helps me into the tub, a nice warm bubble bath with the special soap I had left there. He helps me settle and stands there a moment, a stray curl falling forward towards his eyes.

"I'm gonna whip us up a couple of steaks. Please don't drown."

I smile up at him. "With the promise of a world famous Tommy Miller steak? Not a chance I'd miss that."

He flashes me that smile, lighting up the bathroom. "I'll come back and check on you."

The bath helps to calm me, all the aches slowly leaching out of my body, the tension headache I'd been nursing all week with pain meds completely disappears. Once the water starts to cool, I get out, wrapping myself in one of his towels. It smells like him, wood and cologne and something distinctly him. I pull the towel a little tighter and head into the bedroom, pausing when I remember I have no clean clothes. Then I see them on the bed, one of his shirts and a pair of boxers laid out for me. Smiling, I pull them on, tossing the towel into the hamper before heading downstairs.

He's standing just outside on the deck, his back to the sliding door as he concentrates on grilling. I slide open the door and walk up behind him. Without turning, he addresses me.

"How was the bath?"

"Relaxing. Thank you. And thanks for the clothes."

"As much as I'd love to see you walk around naked, I thought you'd appreciate something to cover up with."

He glances towards me and does a double take, his eyes roaming across my body, or what he can see of it under his shirt. His pupils get wider and his eyes darker, swallowing hard.

"You-you look good in my clothes."

"You should see yourself in them." I run my hand down his back, holding it at his lower back. He shivers for a moment and then shakes his head.

"As much as I'd love to get in them with you, I want you to relax. This is about you, not me."

"Well what if I want you to?"

He lets out a dark chuckle. "Raincheck? I can see how hard you've been workin' and I know you're hungry."

I've never had a man turn down sex before. But it's not rejection - he's trying to take care of me how he can.

Before I can reply, he's taking the steaks off the grill, setting one each on a plate where vegetable skewers already sit. Everything looks mouth wateringly delicious.

"I may not be able to cook much of anything, but I can grill up a steak and veggies."

"Fuck yes you can."

Idle chatter while we eat, Tommy telling me about this asshole contractor him and Joel are forced to work with.

"It's only until the end of the month, right?" I ask.

"We're hoping we can drop him come October, yeah. September is going to drag on though. I don't know how Joel will make it another 2 weeks."

"Isn't his birthday soon?"

He nods. "Yeah. Sarah's got something planned I'm sure."

—----

The next morning, I wake to the smell of coffee and bacon, faint sounds of Tommy in the kitchen gently bringing me awake. I'm pleasantly sore, Tommy having spent some time between my thighs after I nearly begged him to, saying it would help me relax. And it did.

I stretch, feeling the soreness and remembering the night when a quiet knock raps on the door.

"You awake, honey?"

"I aaaammm," I yawn.

I hear him chuckle and when he opens the door, I see that smile I love so much.

"Mornin' honey." Tommy enters the room carrying a tray of food, eggs and bacon with a mug of coffee and a flower set on the side.

I sit up. "What's all this?"

Tommy walks over and sets the tray down over my lap, that smile stretching wider as he takes my face in. "I made you breakfast in bed. Bacon, extra crispy, scrambled eggs with Pico de Gallo, and coffee the way you like."

I pick up the flower, smiling. "Is this from outside?"

He laughs nervously. "It…is. It's a weed I'm sorry."

I laugh, touching his hand that was leaning on the bed. "I love it, Tommy. All of this smells amazing. You're joining me, right?"

"If you want me to."

"I always do."

Tommy sits on the bed next to me, eyes bright and wide as he watches me take a few bites.

"Is it good?"

"Delicious," I say with my mouth full of food.

There's my favorite smile again as he slaps his thigh. "Good. I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast in you."

I cock my head to the side. "You sound like you're preparing me for something. Do we have plans for the day?"

He tries to hide his smile, instantly looking guilty. "Maybe."

"Tommy Miller, what do you have planned?" I can't hide the smile from my voice so I shove more food in my mouth to compensate.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"I have no clean clothes."

A large hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. "Actually…." He gets up and walks to his closet, disappearing inside. I hear some rummaging and he remerges with a bag, handing it out to me. I take it and Tommy removes the finished tray of food so I have room. Opening the bag, I pull out a beautiful sundress, a floral leafy pattern embroidered onto the outside.

"Oh Tommy! This is…" I'm speechless.

"Do you like it? I wasn't sure but I know you like plants and I thought that color would look good on you."

His eyes are wide and round, like a puppy seeking approval. I set the dress down and cup his face, making sure he looks at me.

"It's beautiful, Tommy. Absolutely perfect. Thank you."

I pull him to me and kiss him, deepening it the longer it lasts. Soft moans between us,, Tommy pushing me onto my back, his body hovering over mine. I wrap my legs around his hips and he grunts, grinding into me once before breaking the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine.

"As much as I want to take you right now, we're on a schedule."

I raise an eyebrow as he pulls his head from mine. "Tommy Miller following a schedule? This must be serious."

He smiles gently, tucking hair behind my ear. "I just want things to be perfect for you. I know I'm not the easiest at times."

I brush a stray curl from his forehead. "You are perfect to me. I wish you wouldn't doubt yourself so much."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"I ask myself that same question every day."

—----

An hour later and we're on the road, mysterious bags loaded up into the back of his truck. I ask him repeatedly where we're going but he just gives me that same impish smile and says it's a surprise.

We pulled into the parking lot for the Blanton Art Museum, which I had been dying to check out but never made the time in the 10 years since I moved to Austin.

"You remembered?"

Tommy parks the truck and shifts in his seat to look at me. "Of course, honey. Ready to go in?"

"Absolutely."

We spent the next few hours roaming the museum, Tommy not paying the slightest attention to any of the actual artwork as he was too busy taking in my face. When I asked him what he was looking at, he said "The most beautiful piece in this place." I rolled my eyes but smiled, continuing on our way.

Lunch was street tacos from a food truck, one of Tommy's favorite spots that he'd constantly talk about. And for good reason - they were delicious.

We get back in his truck, starting to drive out of the city.

"We got a couple hours ahead of us, honey. You need a stop?"

"Not now. Where are we going?"

His lips curve up at the edges ever so slightly. "It's a surprise."

"It's a good thing I trust you, Tommy Miller, or a girl might get worried."

He laughs, chest and shoulders shaking with it. "Oh you should always be worried about me."

A couple hours later, he turns off onto a nearly hidden dirt drive, winding its way through trees and bramble. And then it clears, opening up to a beautiful cabin style house with a lake that I can see through the trees lining the back yard.

The house was exactly what Tommy had been talking about with me for months on end, asking my opinions on everything from architecture to the paint on the walls. It's like he reached in my brain and made it real.

"Tommy, this is…beautiful! Do the clients love it?"

His eyebrows pinch together. "Clients?"

"Yeah. Didn't you build this for someone?"

He's quiet a moment, studying me. "I did."

"And they're just letting you use it?"

"They won't mind. Come on! Time for a tour."

He offers me his hand getting out of the truck and I take it, loving the way his skin immediately warms mine. He doesn't drop my hand, using it instead to pull me to him and giving me a gentle kiss.

"I love you, honey."

"I love you too."

He leads me inside, his hand never leaving mine as he starts the tour. The house has 4 bedrooms and bathrooms, 2 offices, a large garage, beautiful windows that open to the outside all along the back wall of the open kitchen and living room, with a dining area. The entire place is furnished and absolutely breathing taking.

"Tommy, this is… you've really outdone yourself!"

He walks up behind me, having dropped my hand to let me explore the house. He wraps his arms around me, kissing my cheek.

"You like it?"

"Uh, yeah! You sure the owners won't mind we're here?"

"They're good. I promise. Now wait here a moment while I unload the truck."

I nod, eyes still sweeping over the beautiful brick fireplace in the living room. Tommy takes a few trips to bring in the mysterious bags, setting some at the edge of the hallway that leads to some bedrooms and the rest in the kitchen. He closes the front door behind him when he's done and starts to take things out of the bags in the kitchen. Lots of food, fresh veggies and meats, and..a picnic basket. He puts the food away and turns back to me, grabbing the basket.

"Hungry? I have a place I wanna show you out back. And I.. I made us a…well, a picnic." He holds up the basket, a slight pink settling on his cheeks like he's embarrassed about it.

"You made me a picnic?"

"It's… not much but I thought it would be nice. If you don't want to, that's fine-"

I grab his shirt and pull him down to me, my lips pressed against his as I squeeze his shirt tighter. "It's perfect."

"Ok well you better stop with that or we'll never eat."

"Well if that's the case-"

He puts his finger over my lips to prevent me from kissing him, mock shock on his face.

"Are you trying to take advantage of me, miss?"

"I most certainly am."

His demeanor shifts, a dark lust settling in his already dark eyes. "Save it for later."

That voice was commanding and it send a shiver of anticipation through me.

He leads me out back where a nice patio and firepit sit, past the small in ground pool and through the trees at the back. You can see the lake clearly once you pass the trees, a little dock jutting out into the quiet lake.

He spreads out a flannel blanket and sets the basket down, offering me his hand to help me sit. Once I do, he sets up the picnic, which turns out to be a beautiful board of meats and cheeses, grapes and crackers. A bottle of wine and 2 glasses are unloaded as well, the cork popping when Tommy opens it and pours a glass each.

We talk about the house and he tells me it was important to the owners that it was self sufficient. They have generators that use the power of the river a quarter mile away, a greenhouse, and 2 cellars, one specification for growing root vegetables. I perk up at that as I've always wanted my own garden and to be self sufficient.

He explains they're waiting on chickens and such and that a barn will be built on the property to house all of the animals.

"They appreciated my point of view as a veteran too. Said I would know what is really needed for survival."

"Were they preppers or something?"

Tommy shakes his head. "Not exactly. Just wanted some place where they didn't have to worry about an electric bill I suppose."

"Wouldn't that be nice?"

"You'd live out here?"

I look around, sighing slightly. "I think I would. Especially if I had the right people with me."

The more we chat, the more nervous Tommy becomes, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans and stuttering a lot, which is not like him.

"Tommy… you ok?"

"What? Oh. Yeah I'm… great. More than great really."

"Are you sure? Because you look like you might throw up."

He chuckles, slightly nervous. "I love you, so much, honey. You know that, right?"

"I do…"

"Then that will make this a little easier."

He sits up, shifting his weight to his good knee as he kneels in front of me. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out a small, black box.

"I have loved you since the moment I met you. You never judge me for anythin' and always let me be me. You've stuck with me through the nightmares and the good times. You're always there for me. And I hope you'll always let me be there for you too."

He opens the box where a beautiful ring sits, exactly my style.

"Will you marry me?"

Tears cloud my vision as I nod instantly, eyes shifting from his to the ring and back.

"I need a verbal confirmation, honey."

"Oh sorry, YES!"

The widest smile I've ever seen spreads across his face, and yet his eyes still contain doubt, as if he wasn't worthy of love. "You will?"

"You've had me since the moment I saw you, Tommy. I love you."

He takes my hand and slides the ring on gently. I pull him to me, laying back as my fingers pick at the edge of his shirt, finding skin there. He grunts, holding himself above me, kissing me deeply as if I would change my mind if he didn't.

"Oh there's one more thing, honey."

"There's more??"

"Remember how I told you the owners of the house wouldn't mind if we used it?"

"Yeah…"

"Well…that's because I..well we, are the owners. If you'd like?"

"You mean…we would own this place?"

"Only if you want to."

I plant my hands on either side of his face, bringing him down to kiss me. "What did I do to deserve you, Tommy Miller?"

"Must have been something bad."

He smirks as I smack him playfully. "I would love this house."

"Then it's ours."

—----

We had planned for a spring wedding here at our house, only wanting family and a handful of close friends to attend.

Of course that all changed just a couple weeks after Tommy had proposed. When the world went to shit.

I was at the cabin, bringing some boxes of stuff and more foods. I had the brilliant idea to start canning, so I brought along what I had made so far, along with other odds and ends. We had decided I would move in with Tommy at his place in the city and we would come to the cabin when we had time off.

It's very remote, so I didn't think anything of it when I couldn't find a TV station broadcasting anything. I just grabbed my book and headed off to bed.

A few hours later, I hear the door downstairs fly open and voices float up to me. Instantly I recognize Tommy's voice, but that's not the one I'm listening to.

It's Joel. The sounds he's making are unrecognizable, virtually inhuman. I have never heard someone make those sounds before then. They dug into me, pulling at every fiber of my being and I lunged from the bed, practically running downstairs, taking them 2 at a time.

Joel and Tommy are in the living room, both on the ground, crumbled into each other. Tommy is holding Joel, rocking back and forth and saying things to him that I can't discern. Tears are streaming down both their faces and I realize they're both covered in blood, Joel bleeding more from his side as if he'd been shot and it had missed.

It's then I realize Sarah is missing.

—----

20 years has passed since that day. We've been through so much shit, but so has everyone. Joel eventually left us to do his own thing, and Tommy and I eventually found a place called Jackson in Wyoming and settled down. We did get married there, with mountains as our backdrop instead of our lake house.

It had been a long week, the crops were being harvested and we were behind on preparing for the winter ahead. Tommy and I both had been working our hands raw to get Jackson ready for the season, barely having time for each other due to exhaustion.

A couple more weeks pass in this manner before a day off. Maria, who ran Jackson, insisted I take a day, as I was always the first to show up and the last to leave. And, as she lovingly said, "You're not getting any younger."

Light shines in through the window, the curtains blowing in the cool, early fall breeze let in by the propped window. Yawning, I stretch, hand automatically moving to Tommy, except my hand lands on an empty bed.

Sitting up, I rub my eyes, looking down at the empty space. Just then I hear clanging in the kitchen, followed by swearing. I hear his footsteps on the hard floors, our bedroom door being pushed open with a gentle nudge of his hip.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry honey."

"You didn't. Everything ok?"

"All good. Although we may be down a pan."

I chuckle and he moves towards the bed, a tray full of food in his hands.

"What's all this?" I ask, mouth watering slightly.

"You've been workin' so hard and I know your shoulder has been acting up. I wanted you to relax today."

"Tommy. You didn't need to do this."

"I know. And yet, here I am."

He smiles, curls falling forward as he sets the tray across my lap. It's got bacon and eggs, little tomatoes and onions cut up and added in.

"This looks delicious, Tommy. Thank you."

"Welcome, honey." He leans forward to kiss me, mustache tickling my lips.

"You're joining me?" I ask and he nods.

"If that's ok?"

I pull him closer, fingers clutching at his shirt. He chuckles as he scoots closer to me.

"Ok ok I get the hint."

We finish breakfast and lay in bed, tray put aside, and check in with each other. It's something we try to do at least weekly, wanting to be involved in each other's lives but also to make sure we have time for each other. You'd think there would be a ton of time in the apocalypse, but it's hard when survival is on the line.

"Ok time to get dressed, honey."

"Well that's a first - trying to get me in clothes and not out of them."

He smiles like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "I'd love to have you out of them but we're expected somewhere."

I cuddle further into his chest. "Can't we just stay here instead?"

A rumble vibrates his chest and he hugs me tighter. "I want to, honey, but we're on a schedule."

"Isn't it our day off?"

He kisses the top of my head. "Just come on."

Groaning, I get up and dressed, Tommy dressing as well. He offers me his arm as we walk out of our home, walking me down several streets until we arrive at the school.

"What are we doing here?" I ask.

He pulls me inside and I gasp. The entire school had been transformed into an art gallery, pictures painted and drawn by the students of Jackson. Little messages to us both are pinned next to each of them, explaining what the pictures were about. I'm absolutely speechless.

"Did…did you do this, Tommy?"

He nods. "I did. I know you miss the art galleries and now we have one."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"I love you, honey." He kisses me and we spend more time looking at the pictures before heading out. But he turns away from our home and heads towards the barns on the top of the main hill.

We arrive at the stables and he hitches a horse to a cart, extending a hand to help me up. He loads a couple of baskets into the back before jumping up himself, grabbing the reigns and leading the horse out of the barn.

"It's pointless to ask where we're going, isn't it?"

He nods. "You'll see soon."

An hour or so later, we appear at the lake, a secluded area that we've been to before. It's always gorgeous here and even more so now that some of the trees have decided to start fall a little early.

He helps me down from the cart and grabs the baskets, spreading out the picnic before motioning to me to sit. It's simple sandwiches and veggies, but he's also somehow managed to get a piece of chocolate and my eyes grow wide.

"Where did you score that?"

"Traded with the last caravan that came through."

"Tommy, this…this was a perfect day. Thank you."

We eat in silence for a few moments.

"Do you know why I chose today?"

I wrack my brain. "Honestly I've been going non stop, I couldn't even tell you the date."

He cups my face with one of his large, warm hands. "You have been. Which is part of the reason for this day. But also… I proposed to you on this day, so many years ago, before…" He gestures around.

"Oh, Tommy." I can't help the tears forming in my eyes. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize what day it was-"

He puts a finger to my lips. "None of that. I just wanted to do somethin' special. I love you, honey. I'm so grateful that we've made it together and I love spending my life with you."

The tears fall now and he uses his thumbs to brush them from my cheeks. Pulling me to him, he kisses me before gently pushing me back into the blanket. I nuzzle into his chest and he holds me to him as we watch the sunset, somehow together after the end of the world.

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage!(It is not required in any way!)

—---

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

All One Shots/Writing Prompts/Ficlets:

@itspdameronthings @Whovianayesha @tanzthompson @thatpinkshirt @petersunderoos96 @mswarriorbabe80 @hotchlover @hb8301 @fabilei @mypascalito975 @haleypearce @dindjarinswhore

#tommy miller #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x female reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfic #tlouff #The last of us #the last of us fanfic #gabriel luna #gabriel luna x reader #gabriel luna x you #gabriel luna characters #gabriel luna character fanfic #gabriel lunal character ff #gabriel luna character fanfiction

226 notes · View notes

onevolon · 2 months

Text

smile for the camera

Jack Mojave X F!reader

note: you take a picture you shouldn't have.

word count: 731

warnings: dark. angst. it's not in a desert but a forest. honestly idk what this is supposed to be lol

you can also read it on ao3.

masterlist

This was a journey from the start. Sure, it wasn’t the first time she witnessed someone being left at the altar. Crazier things happened at the weddings. It makes her wonder what made them finally snap and run away every time. Especially these two looked so in lovey-dovey. But now the groom is nowhere to be seen. Weird.

One thing that is more annoying than a bride bawling her eyes out though, when the wedding is canceled, nobody cares about what will happen to the employees or what they should do. Everybody is own their own.

And that’s why now she is middle of the nowhere in a fucking forest with all of my camera equipment trying to find her way to her car. Environmentalist piece of shits forced everybody to park miles away from the wedding location to not disturb the ecosystem more than necessary blah blah…

If she wasn’t so fucking lost, she might have appreciated the sounds of the birds chirping, the smell of the pine tree and the wind on her hair. But right now, it was extremely irritating to say the least. The smell made her stomach turn after the food she inhaled before they can take it. The wind was making her shiver to her very bones and… Maybe she should distract herself by looking at the photos.

She starts to scroll through the photos. Look all those happy faces… Now it’s all for nothing.

Okay this doesn’t really work.

She could try and take a couple of photos of the damn birds for her portfolio.

Carefully walking around the bushes, she tries to allocate the said animals. It is soothing to hear this rhythmic sound of these creatures and…

Something else was there…

Someone was…

…Someone digging something?

Yeah, there was a figure to her left with a shovel. What in the hell…

Stupidly, she gets closer while continuously pushing the button on her camera.

A man with a long coat… in a cowboy hat. Long hair… Dirty skin. You didn’t recognize him from the wedding. Who the hell-

“Well, hello there.”

She freezes.

“Wanted to see something cool, sister?” he says innocently.

She can’t move a muscle. Not even talk.

“Not a talker, huh. You would get along with him, then.” He says and point to the ground.

She instinctively follows his gesture.

There is a man.

On the ground.

Not moving.

Is he-

“Wanna join him, doll-face?”

You can’t look away. Not only because you’re both in danger but… he looks… familiar.

“I bet he would like that, now wouldn’t you, perv?” he nudges the man’s head with his boots and the man’s face turns towards her.

Oh, he looks blue.

He’s for sure-

The groom.

He is the groom.

“Was having quite the fun with that little bridesmaid. I was jealous not gonna lie. Wanted to have a good old adventure to myself.”

He killed the groom.

“And now we all are here.” He looked to her, self-satisfied.

Her heart was about to burst.

“Lost, aren’t you?”

“I-“

“Who are you?”

She doesn’t answer.

He casually drops the shovel and pushes the groom to the hole in the ground.

“The great questions, sister, the essentials… Where are you from? Where you going?”

She again doesn’t answer, too occupied to discreetly try and find something to use it as a weapon.

He starts to throw the pile of dirt on top of the man.

“To be or not to be?”

“Huh?” she says, distracted by the sudden topic change.

“Another great question. To be or not to be? It always comes down to that, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

“You choose to be, sister. To be here.”

She shakes her head.

“Oh, yes, yes you did. “ He smirks.

She begins to tremble slightly.

“No? Why don’t you run then? You can run.”

“I can’t move.” She says stupidly.

“Sure you can. In fact, when I count to three, you will flee like you’ve never done before.” He says while patting now closed grave with the shovel, putting some leaves on top of it to cover.

She starts to tear up.

“One…”

A tear drops to her face.

“Two…”

She takes a step back.

“Two and a half…”

Hurriedly puts down her camera and other stuff down.

“Three!”

She sprints.

“Game on, sister! GAME. ON.”

He goes after her.

#jack mojave #mojave #mojave film #jack mojave x reader #x reader #jack mojave x you #jack mojave x female reader #jack mojave x f!reader #jack mojave x fem!reader #x fem!reader #fanfic #oscar isaac characters #john ‘jack’ jackson #onevolon fic

25 notes · View notes

vixenpen · 8 months

Text

Our Year (Eddie Munson x Black Fem y/n)

Okaaayyyy, sooo, hi 👋🏾 it’s been five fucking ever since I’ve written anything on this page. But I love this story so much and I missed writing for a new fandom. So, before you guys read on, I have to mention that I’ll be moving this fic onto AO3. I’m also going to making y/n into an OC (still black of course) so if you enjoy this fic, feel free to read it over there and get to know Alissa Porter!

“Look, they’re leaving.” Michaela giggled.

“Aawww, did we do that?” Liz added, with a mocking chuckle.

“Guys, that wasn’t cool.” Chrissy replied.

“God, Chrissy, you’re such a drag tonight.” Michaela rolled her eyes. “Where is your sense of fun?”

“Where’s yours?” Chrissy snapped back. “We were supposed to be having girls night out and we’ve spent the entire night worried about y/n and Eddie. Can we just watch the rest of the movie, please?”

The rest of the girls fell silent in the wake of Chrissy’s outburst until finally Frenchie replied: “Fine, geez. No need to spaz out over it.”

The girls fell silent, turning their attention to the screen rather than argue back with Chrissy. Lucky thing too, because Chrissy was finally able to relax for the first time all night as they enjoyed the movie. An hour later, the movie was over and the night was still young.

“It’s only 10:30, what do you guys wanna do now?” Liz asked.

“We could always call up the guys and see if there’s a party going on.” Michaela suggested.

“Liz, aren’t your parents out?” Chrissy quizzed. “Why don’t we have The Team over for a get together?” She suggested.

“No way, remember how close we cut it last time when my parents told me they were coming home early?” Lizzie steered her station wagon into the procession of cars leaving the drive-in. “Let’s do Frenchie’s place.”

“Oh, so I get in trouble?” Frenchie exclaimed.

As they exited the parking lot, a loud fizzing sound caught Chrissy’s attention. Before any of the girls could figure out what was happening, Liz’s windshield was splattered with coke and soggy napkins.

The girls screamed as Liz slammed on the brakes, sending everyone lurching forward.

Tires screeched against concrete as the culprit sped away, but the perpetrators were far from anonymous as Eddie’s voice yelled from the distance.

“That’s for my tapes, you cheer cunts!”

“Oh. My. GOD!” Lizzie screamed.

“Those freaks!”

Chrissy’s mouth dropped. She hadn’t thought Eddie or y/n would have that in them.

“Now, should we just ignore them, Chrissy?” Liz turned to her, angrily. “Those freaks ruined my car.”

“They didn’t ruin your car, Liz.” Chrissy replied, rolling her eyes. “We got them and they got us back. Let’s just get to your place and hose it off before it gets sticky.”

“Fine.” Liz grumbled. “But this isn’t over. Especially not with The Freak’s bride.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we did that!” You laughed as the two of you drove away.

“Your aim and timing was perfect, babe.” Eddie laughed.

“Yeah, but I have a feeling I’m gonna be dealing with the consequences come next practice.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Eddie scowled.

“Oh no, Eddie please don’t start any trouble.”

“I’m not starting it, I’m finishing it. If those cheer cunts wanna come after you, I’ll be ready.”

“I can take care of myself, babe, don’t worry. You should be worried about those hoop heads coming after you after that stunt. Especially Jason.”

“I’m not worried. Jason’s scared of me. Has been since I kicked his ass in the locker room that time and definitely since everyone thinks I’m a devil worshipping magic man.” He wiggled his fingers at you, playfully.

“Wait, you fought him before?” You gawked.

“Oh yeah, Sophomore year. His sophomore year that is. He and his hoop head friends were talking shit about me being behind in my grade so I told him to say it to my face. He did, and I put him in a headlock. Body slammed him and everything. He’s only come at me twice since. I’ll admit, he definitely holds his own better since bulking up from basketball, but he’s never beat me in a fight.”

“Woooah! What!” You exclaimed, shocked by Eddie’s revelation. “Let me find out I’m dating a secret bad boy. Since when was my lover boy a fighter?”

Eddie shot you a sidelong smile that almost turned you on as much as learning about his hidden fighting skills.

“Hey, you learn a few things when your dickhead of a dad was a former jock. Anyway, his buddies keep his ass kicking under wraps, but they know the truth.“

You could only stare at your boyfriend’s unassuming profile as he stared ahead wearing a soft smile. As if kicking Jason Carver’s ass was a fond memory. His big, brown eyes were so soft and boyish and his smile was adorably innocent. Never would you have imagined a soul as gentle as Eddie’s could be capable of that kind of violence.

He took his eyes off the road for a split second to glance at you.

“Y/n? What’s up?”

“I can’t stop imagining you body slamming Jason Carver.” You shook your head. “That’s really fucking hot.”

Eddie chuckled.

“And here I thought you weren’t like the other girls who only liked bad boys.”

“I’m not,” you replied stroking his thigh,“but a good guy with a secret bad boy streak is a turn on.”

Eddie shifted in his seat as your hand inched closer to his crotch.

“Oh yeah?” His voice cracked.

“Yeah.” You giggled back. “And we never got to finish what we started at the movie…”

Eddie bit his lip.

“The night’s still young.” He eyed you back. “Wanna go back to my place?”

“Duh.” You smirked

“Alright ladies, let’s welcome our newest Hawkins High Tigerettes!” Coach Stacy clapped. She was a peppy forty something Asian woman with a valley girl accent and her ever perky attitude was both annoying and endearing.

You ignored the glares of Liz Rawlins and Michaela Washington as your fellow cheer sisters clapped along to welcome you and the six other new girls on the team. Once that was over, Coach Stacy continued.

“Now, we have a lot of work to do to prepare for the upcoming season, starting with a new cheer and chant. So, I want my veterans to help out the newbies as much as possible. The faster we can get through these new cheers the faster we can get to our stunt routines! Captains, let’s get started.”

Chrissy and Liz stepped forward all bright smiles to lead you guys in your stretches. So far so good. Most of the head cheerleaders hated your guts, but at least with an adult present they wouldn’t try to do anything about it.

Or so you thought. As Coach Stacy began to show you guys the moves for the new routine, you found yourself getting tripped, poked, and “accidentally” punched in the arm as the girls found their formation. It was clear, the core four, Chrissy, Michaela, Frenchie, and Liz had already spread the news that you were the team punching bag.

“Y/n, is everything ok?” Stacy asked, her brows wrinkled. “You seem a little off.”

“I’m fine coach, but the girls in my line are a little too close to me. I keep tripping. Maybe if I stepped forward on three instead, I could avoid their fists and feet.”

You demonstrated the step differently and Stacy nodded.

“Hmm, you might be on to something, y/n. We’ll try it your way on that count. Keep showing initiative like that, and you could be captain.” She winked.

Coach Stacy might’ve been impressed but your squad mates were anything but as they glared at you. Whatever. They were lucky you didn’t snitch on them.

Eventually, the girls gave up trying to get your goat in practice and things started running smoothly. Finally, it was time for your first ten minute break.

Coach Stacy exited the gym to make a call while the other girls gathered on the bleachers. Except for you. You headed for the exit, only to be intercepted by Frenchie, Liz, and Michaela.

Your heart revved with adrenaline, but your straightened and crossed your arms to stare them down.

“May I help you ladies?”

“You sure can.” Liz replied. “You can start by cleaning my car, Freakella.”

“Excuse you?”

“You heard her.” Frenchie cut in. “We know it was you and your shaggy dog of a boyfriend who trashed Liz’s car on Saturday.”

“And I know it was you three stooges who trashed my boyfriend’s on Saturday. So, as I see it, we got even. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need water.” You shoved Lizzie out of the way. “I’m exhausted from carrying this team on my back for the past half hour.”

The girls gasped as you pushed past them.

“Bitch.”

“Who does she think she is?”

You heard them whisper as you entered the half empty halls. The only people left at this time of the day were a few students in clubs, a handful of teachers, and the janitors.

You found the nearest water fountain and took your time hydrating. At that moment a wolf whistle piped up from behind you.

You whipped around to see your boyfriend’s sweet grin.

“Lookin’ good in that skirt, future captain.”

“Eddie!” You exclaimed, immediately running into his arms.

Eddie picked you up off your feet, holding you tight. After being picked on for the last thirty minutes straight, his warm comforting frame was such a relief. He smelled like his favorite cheap cologne and weed.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as he lowered you to the floor, never releasing your waist.

“Gotta make sure my little minions get home in one peace. They got AV club today.”

“Oh, the freshies you adopted?” You giggled, referring to the nerdy group of boys that Eddie had taken under his wing. Lucas, Dustin, and Mike were sweet, smart, misunderstood kids, and you loved how brotherly Eddie was with them.

“Yeah, my little protégés in training. You know some of these douchey upperclassmen can’t wait to pick on the fresh meat.” He rolled his eyes. “Cowards. Anyway, how’s practice going?”

“It’s… going…” You sighed.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s probing brown eyes took in your expression. “I know it’s going, y/n, is it going well or is it going bad is what I’m asked.”

“The core four are kinda out for my head right now.”

“Do I have to come in there?” Eddie frowned.

“No, don’t just… be here to walk me out when it finishes. It’ll be over in another half hour.”

“As the lady wishes.” Eddie booped your nose. “The kiddos should be done by then too.”

“Cool. Well, I gotta get back in, babe. See in a minute.”

Eddie kissed your forehead gently before letting you back into the gym.

The rest of practice went well enough, but it dawned on you that if these girls were trying their hardest to hurt you during the regular cheers and chants they could really hurt you during the stunt routines.

Shit. How were you going to navigate that?

As you guys started doing your last rundown of the choreography Coach Stacy taught you, the door cracked open and in walked Eddie.

He shot you a smile and a wave and you returned the gesture. That was when you heard the whispers start out. Before you could tell them to say it to your face, the door opened a second time and Jason entered followed by two of his fellow teammates.

Oh fuck.

You thought as your eyes darted to Eddie. You silently begged him to not engage with those assholes if they started shit. With fifteen minutes to go in practice, there was nothing you could do except hope the boys stayed in their own corners until it was over.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #black reader insert #archive of our own #black fem reader #stranger things fanfiction #80s aesthetic #80s #SoundCloud

49 notes · View notes

elementary-my-dear-daddy · 5 months

Text

Cafe

Analoceit (Virgil, Trans!Logan, and Janus)

Warnings: D/S dynamic, Edging, Vibrators, Exhibitionism/In Public

Read it on AO3!

This fic was inspired by this post by @pupplaylogan! Hope ya like it Revy :)

Summary: Janus and Virgil take Logan on a date to a cafe to try something new. Hopefully he'll be able to finish his drink with a vibe in his underwear and a lot of teasing.

“Are you guys ready to go?”

Virgil asked, waiting in the doorway of the bedroom, watching as Logan and Janus were getting ready. The three of them planned a brunch date at a local cafe that morning, since their date nights lately consisted of parallel play that left them wanting more interaction from each other. Sure just sitting together drawing, reading, and crocheting together was nice, but it was getting a bit old and they needed a change of scenery.

“Almost.” Replied Logan from their bathroom, fixing his hair and tie in the mirror. Janus had walked out from the closet half-dressed to meet Virgil, “Why don’t you go start the car, love, we’ll be out in a sec.”

Virgil shrugged and went to go grab the keys. Once he left, Janus hummed and turned to Logan, “You look absolutely ravishing, darling.”

“Hm? Oh, thank you Jan-mmph!” Logan tried to respond only to be cut off by his boyfriend shoving two fingers into his mouth. Janus donned an ear-splitting grin as he looked down at the other, “I think you might be missing a few things though~”

~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil was just about to go in to check on the two when they stepped into the garage. He noted Logan’s new manner of dress, a size-too-big knit black sweater, indigo pencil skirt, black tights, heels, and the thin silver choker he and Janus got him for their 3 year anniversary. Of course Janus had to indulge in his dress-up kink right now. He rolled his eyes affectionately as the two piled into the car.

“I was gonna ask what took so long but I think I figured it out.” Virgil said, starting to pull out of the driveway and drive down the road.

“What? I couldn’t help myself! I love how flustered it makes him.” Janus glanced back at Logan, who had both his arms and legs crossed while he looked out the window. It was just then when Janus pulled out his phone and opened a special app that would allow him to control the vibe currently resting against Logan’s clit. They were still traveling in the residential area they lived in, and as soon as they drove over a speed bump Janus would turn the vibe up onto its max setting momentarily.

Logan let out a squeak and grabbed at his crotch, the feeling gone almost instantly. A blush formed across his cheeks as he met Virgil’s eyes in the rear-view.

“You good, L?”

“Y-yeah. Yes, I’m fine. Apologies, the speed bump, uh, scared me.”

Virgil looked between him and Janus, “Hm. If you say so.”

Logan sighed and bit his lip. It happened twice more before they arrived at the cafe, but he was able to hide his noises after the first occurrence.

Virgil had pulled into a spot up front and parked the car. Janus got out first to open the door for Logan, who gave him a glare as he got out. As soon as the car was locked (8 extra times, so Virgil was sure it really was locked) Janus had pulled out his phone again and set the vibe on a low setting. Logan still had a visible reaction, walking with a different cadence with his hands straight at his sides. Virgil kept an eye on him as he walked trying to figure out what was going on with him.

“Lo?”

“Mhm?”

“What’d he do to you before we left?”

“Oh, Virgil, don’t be such a worrywort. We just wanted to have a little fun today!” Janus smiled at the two of them, a glint of mischievousness in his eye.

Virgil squinted at him, “He isn’t acting normal and he was before I left to start the car which means you’re behind this.”

“What ever could you mean?” Janus walked into the cafe with a wink.

Virgil and Logan followed, the former helping Logan by taking his hand and leading him in. They approached the cash register to order their drinks, with Janus quickly taking the lead. When it came to Logan’s turn, he felt the vibrations increase even more. He cleared his throat and managed to stutter his way through his order, fortunately not receiving more attention than a question about whether or not he wanted his drink hot or iced.

Logan tugged on Janus’ sleeve like a shy child as Virgil ordered and paid. He got close and whispered, “May I go sit down?”

“Ask nicely.” Janus replied.

“May I please go sit down, Master?” Logan whispered behind gritted teeth.

“Well, I suppose so. Go on.”

Logan rushed over to a booth in the corner of the cafe, tucked in the back so no one would see him hide his head down in his folded arms and shallowly thrust against the vibe. Soon both his lovers found him with drinks in hand, Virgil sliding next to him while Janus casually sipped his drink from across the table.

“Alright, quit dodging the question. What did you do?” Virgil questioned, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Janus huffed, “Must you always ruin the surprise? Fine. I made him wear his favorite vibrator and dressed him up. And planned on teasing him mercilessly till we went back home. But am I really at fault here? Look at him, he’s loving this!”

Virgil looked down at Logan, who currently had one hand in between his thighs to soothe the assault on his clit and one over his mouth to prevent any noises from slipping out. He rubbed his back as he realized what was happening.

“Jesus Jan, you really are a sadist.”

“Oh please like you’re not the one to give him a bruised ass and scratch marks.” Janus said while mindlessly amping up Logan’s vibe further.

“Only when he begs me for it.” Virgil smirked and made Logan take his hand away from his thighs, instead replacing it with his own, “Right, L?”

“Mmm, Uh-huh. Oh fuck Janus~ ”

“You’re so tense, baby. Why don’t you take a sip of your drink?” Janus offered Logan his cup. He managed to hold it and take a shaky sip, setting it back down quickly.

Virgil reached underneath his skirt, running two fingers down the length of his cunt through his underwear, “You should feel him, he’s fucking dripping.”

“Aw, well we don’t want him making too much of a mess, do we?” Janus immediately turned the vibe off, causing Logan to emit a loud whine. He bucked his hips into Virgil’s hand, who moved to tease and pinch his thighs instead, “Calm down, L. We’re in public . You don’t wanna get caught, do you?”

Logan shook his head, “No, Sir.”

Virgil put an arm around him, meanwhile Janus just gave him a cheeky grin, “Logan, sweetheart, would you be a dear and go grab me a few sugars and a stirrer?”

“Um, can’t Virgil? He’s closer and he’d have to get up already-”

“I didn’t ask him, I asked you. Don’t make me ask again.” Janus spat with a much darker tone.

Logan looked between him and Virgil, biting his lip and nodding, knowing that Janus was going to make this difficult. Virgil got up and allowed Logan to scoot out, at least he could be thankful they didn’t make him crawl under the table. As soon as he stood, the vibe started again, making a wave of pleasure rush through his body. His legs felt weak, but he just had to put one foot in front of the other to get to the station at the front with helpings of sweetener and other various drink add-ins. Simple.

It was, in fact, not simple whatsoever. Janus put the vibrations on an oscillating pattern so every step made him want to drop to the floor and whimper and moan. He was sweating by the time he grabbed a handful of sugar packets and a stirrer. He had to pause before deciding to just book it back to the table.

Logan was greeted with Virgil and Janus snickering in the corner, watching him struggle back. He practically collapsed into Virgil's side when he sat down, slamming Janus’ request down in front of him. His boyfriends just chuckled.

Virgil reached down beneath his skirt again, “Is there something wrong, babe?”

“ ‘S so much, please. ”

“You don’t even know what you’re begging for, huh?” Virgil asked, pressing the vibrator harder against him

“Ahhhh~ please Sir, ‘m close!”

“Really? You’re gonna cum in public like some pathetic whore?”

“ Yes. ”

Virgil and Janus shared a look. Janus pulled out his phone and ramped the vibrations up to max. Finally, Logan would be able to tip over the edge and this merciless teasing would be over!

All at once the vibrations stopped, suddenly deriving him of any relief.

“No no no no no -” Logan tried to buck his hips to seek any friction, but Virgil's strong hands pinned him down and prevented him from doing so. He whined and rested his head down on the table in front of him.

Janus leaned down to be at his eye level, “You’ll get off when we let you. And that certainly won’t be in public where anyone can see.”

He slid out of the booth and stood, “Come on, maybe we should just go home. I don’t see you being able to last much longer out here.”

Virgil gave Logan a nudge, who in turn just groaned. He felt like he was about to turn into a puddle of goo if he was edged any more and his legs barely worked.

“Up, Lo, I’ll carry you once we’re home. C’mon.” Virgil gave him another push.

He finally mustered the strength to stand, and with the help of Janus and Virgil, he made it to the car. After Virgil made on his promise to carry Logan into the house, the rest of the night was filled with more teasing torture. He would groan and beg for his doms to let up, only to be met with tasks to fulfill while his toy still continued to vibrate.

They’d need to do this more often.

#not safe for sanders #fics #nsfs analociet #jamming out #this was written in one day and usually it takes me like a week to finish a fic so sorry if the quality is different #I tried my best

23 notes · View notes

sea-owl · 9 months

Text

The Gothic Featheringtons have officially started to move to AO3. I'm gonna do it as a collection of one shots to make it easier on myself. I'll probably end up going through my stuff today to track down a few of the one shots on Tumblr today.

Here's the link: Link

When Violet came back to London from her year in mourning of her husband's untimely death, now in half-mourning with her family. She truly didn't expect what was waiting for her in the city.

Violet was taking a stroll with her three older daughters, her sons off ridding somewhere else in the park. Her youngest two in the stroller as she pushed them along. Her older boys were coming around into sight again when something dark flashed by the corner of Violet's eye.

Of all the curious things it was a black bonnet being taken with the wind. Running after that bonnet was a little red haired girl, possibly around Violet's Eloise's age, in a dark purple dress. Try as she might the bonnet was always just out of her reach. Then came one final push from the wind and the bonnet flew even further . . .right smack into Violet's third son's, Colin's, face.

Colin proceeded to fall from his horse right into the mud.

The little girl squeaked, darting forward and pulling out a silk handkerchief. "I'm sorry!"

Colin, being Violet's good natured son, only laughed as he sat up removing the bonnet from his face. "Well that wasn't well to do of me."

The little girl's cheeks turned red.

"Penelope!" Another voice called from the direction the little red head came from.

Two older girls, both with red haired as well, and Violet assumed Penelope's sisters, rushed forward to pull her up. Both of them also wore darker colored dresses such as a navy blue and one a dark silver. Coming up behind them had to be their mother. Her dress was the darkest of all in black with a shall tying a baby to her chest.

Violet had not seen anything like it before. She honestly could not fathom why a family in full mourning was walking out in Hyde Park like this.

After checking to make sure the two children were alright Violet turned her attention to the other mama. She hadn't seen her before, a new comer? It would explain why Violet was coming up blank on a name. But still the full mourning clothes were odd.

"Lady Portia Featherington," the woman introduced herself, a Spanish accent in her voice. "My," she pushed, her nose wrinkled up. "My . . .what is the word? Oh never mind. Mi familia, had just moved to London from . . . Espana . . .no, oh Spain!"

So Violet was right. The woman was new. Perhaps they haven't gotten new dresses yet to signal they're coming out of full mourning or coming out of mourning all together due to the move. "Lady Bridgerton," Violet introduced herself.

The two women began to walk together, Portia introducing her daughters, Prudence, Philippa, Penelope, and baby Felicity. Violet then introduced her own brood of eight. Penelope seemed to get along well with Eloise and Francesca. Philippa and Daphne quietly talked while Prudence seemed more content to watch over her sisters. Violet did notice that the girls' English was better than their mother's.

"Why move to London?" Violet asked Portia.

"Mi esposo. . ." Portia paused again. "Um, Lord Featherington?"

"Your husband," Violet offered.

Portia nodded. "My husband, he is English. We had to move back for his estate."

Violet nodded. "We just recently moved back ourselves from our country home."

"I am glad you did," Portia said. "It is nice to see someone who knows black and darker colors are happy colors. All this pastel is nauseating."

Violet paused. "Are you not in mourning?"

Portia blinked. "No we are not. Is that why the English are all dressed in such bright colors? You use dark colors for mourning? How sad."

The two families were now approaching Gosvenor Square. Violet saw servants moving items into the house across the square from her's. All the items were dark. Dark wood, jewel tones in the fabrics, and accents of silver instead of the gold most other families of the ton preferred.

"Ah this is my home," Portia smiled. "If you excuse us. I have to go write to Tia Madea. I have to let her know Penelope has already stolen breathe out of a boy. Oh if we're lucky she'll be another Tia Circe!"

With that Violet watched her new neighbor gather up her daughters and lead them to the house Violet would never thought one would decorate like that.

#bridgerton #gothic featheringtons #slight polin #first meeting of the gothic featheringtons #violet bridgerton #portia featherington #forgive my spanish #I grew up on spanglish

28 notes · View notes

kiwiana-writes · 22 days

Note

Do you have advice on how to make friends in fandom if you don’t write or draw or make gifs or videos or edits? I ferally comment on and reblog people’s posts/fics/art. I send people asks (not on anon, contrary to this one). I’ve tried DMing folks, especially those who’ve reposted things about being ok with being DM’d, but either never hear back or it fizzles quickly. I’ve also tried joining discords but find it overwhelming to even figure out where to start with those.

I love fandom, but it often feels like I’m driving by a party I really want to go to but I can’t find parking. I’m not a writer, that’s probably a terrible analogy.

I honestly have never had a hard time making friends online until I tried to make friends in fandom. I feel like there must be something wrong with how I’m approaching the space.

I mean, I’m going to keep commenting and reblogging regardless, but I’d also like to make some friends while I’m at it.

Ugh, honestly anon, I really really feel for you. I… am not good at making friends in fandom. At least not in terms of being the one to approach. I kind of just let myself be forcibly adopted by people who seem cool 😅 But that’s not a helpful strategy for you!! I would love if other people could weigh in with ideas for this anon, especially folks who either aren’t writers/artists, or maybe made fandom friends BEFORE they got into writing etc. Off that top of my head I’m gonna cold call @firenati0n and @celeritas2997 as people who seem to just have a knack for making friends, but I’m sure there are other people out there who may have tips for you.

I will say — tumblr DMs are fucking atrocious, at least for my adhd ass who has a terrible tendency to read messages intending to reply later and then they immediately fall out of my head. On something like discord the list of people you’ve messaged is pretty clearly displayed, so if I see someone’s name at the top of the list I’m like “oh shit that’s right”, but tumblr squirrels away the messaging function entirely so I never see it to give me a kick and a reminder. I shudder to think how many people I’ve inadvertently done exactly what you’re talking about to 😭 Discord DMs are a much better experience for me, but YMMV, and I do absolutely get what you mean about discord servers: by nature, the public ones are gonna be the big ones and they can get overwhelming quickly.

I guess the only other tip I can think of right now is to have a contact method in your AO3 profile — more than once I’ve had amazing comments from a regular reader, really wanted to reach out to them, and haven’t known how.

I really hope someone has something more useful for you, because I’ve been there, and I hate the thought of anyone feeling like they’re outside a party they weren’t invited to. It’s not invite-only; it’s one of those wildly irresponsible parties where someone chucked the address on Facebook and we’ll keep going till the cops shut us down 😂 But I GET IT, I’ve been there, and I’m really hoping some folks jump in the replies/reblogs with some suggestions for this anon?

#anonymous #advice wanted

16 notes · View notes

alicedrawslesmis · 2 months

Text

I hope my presence here hasn't been just me complaining, cause I haven't dedicated myself to art in a while lol I am Burned Out... I don't like being a negative presence

in the Positivistic sense not in the new age sense? you know? not pretending to be happy when things are bad, I want my presence to be pulsating with life even if I'm sad or angry or numb. I try not to fall into negation. Most millennial humor I grew up with is this kinda ironic 'haha I'm so depressed 🤪' thing I just don't vibe with at all. I like feeling all my feelings. If I'm depressed and numb to it all then good, lets explore that. If I'm lost and aimless then good, let's be aimless and see where this can lead me to. I want to feel the full breadth of human experience and not live life negating it. I want to reflect on what I'm doing I want to create new things! Work with the world and not despite it

but unfortunately cause I'm totally lost at sea rn this means my posts are lacking and so the internet "persona" ends up being only someone who complains. That's not where I'm at. I don't even know if this makes sense to other people who can't see my brain, am I even making sense. Anyway

I am experimenting with a lot of things art-wise to get my groove on. I've bean reading a bunch. I've been lifting weights which is turns out is super fun and I should've started ages ago. Like I didn't believe the gym could be fun, I thought people were just faking it but it turns out like. It's just self expression like any other activity. And I love to see number go up. And I love making that face you do when you're lifting heavy weights you know the one? And grunting. It's very freeing to just be able to do that. Like all my life I've been bogged down by thinking the gym is for assholes and that I should try to do the Normal Sports that I honestly fucking hate. I hate ball sports. I don't understand swimming as a sport you're trapped doing laps in that freaking pool it's the most boring sport of all time. Sure I liked thinking about nothing and swimming but laps in a pool?? Devil invention. Running is kinda the same although you can run interesting places and aren't trapped in a blue rectangle. Just do the sport you actually want to do. Go to a fight club idk. Learn to kickbox. Punch some stuff. Do push ups, I love doing push ups.

What else? I've been walking my dog for 2hours every day late in the afternoon and getting to hang with his friends at the dog park. He isn't very friendly but he's also not aggressive so it's mostly chill. He's made a friend named Draco Malfoy (she made sure to tell me it was her kid daughter's idea) and everyone calls my dog Sirius Black cause he's got black fur and is, and this is the technical term, giant. Kind of annoying that Harry Potter is still the main thing people go to to describe him. Except for one security guard who I thought was gonna say he looks like Sirius but then said he looks like Sam from Twilight. This was an awesome day

I've been trying to sew and mend my clothes. I replaced the buckle in my bag cause it was broken and I feel kind of amazing about it.

I've been writing some stuff. All unfinished yet. I want to see if I can finish the short story I've been trying to work on besides the Les Mis scripts. I have trouble finishing things I write, which is a problem that, if AO3 is any indication, is probably the world's most common roadblock in writing.

Went to the satanic themed goth club on good friday, that was so fun. We had a blast. Place was PACKED. All goths have the same sense of humor.

I guess that's it for life stuff. I do feel kinda bad that I can't get myself to make fanart right now. I'm just having thoughts on the nature of art and of fanart and the impact of it on the world as a whole. And particularly thoughts on social media and the internet and what it even *is*. What is it for? We really need to work that out.

#personal #it's just a long post not a sad post. just little life updates

8 notes · View notes

lady-z-writes · 1 year

Text

Part 2 of this post (also found on ao3)

Hopper x reader

Warning: explicit.

Snippet:

“You aren’t naked on my desk in thirty seconds, I get myself off,” the tone is warning, quiet, and the look on his face is hungry.

The music sounds in the other room, but you can hear Hopper counting down as he watches you get undressed.

Completely bare for him in twenty seconds, you gasp at the cool desk against your ass. Hopper has undone his jeans and is palming himself over the material. If he makes you wait, you’re gonna leave a wet spot on the desk.

---

It’s not like you missed him or anything, you just get flirty with a few drinks in you and no one at this bar strikes your fancy.

You have his number memorized. Of course you do. Though, you’ve only called twice. Once for pretty decent phone sex…the memory makes you inhale sharply.

Tipsy calling someone from a payphone…who the Hell are you?

You’d made the choice to stay in town over the summer; claimed it was that you missed old friends. Really, you’d been spending lots of time pining over one Chief of Police.

“Yeah?” a gruff voice answers.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

A deep chuckle greets your ears.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm!”

“Ah, Jesus…” if the bar was quieter you’d hear him undoing his belt.

“Come pick me up.”

“Oh, is that a demand? Because you and I both know how this is gonna go if it is…”

You roll your eyes, step closer to the wall, and drop your voice quieter.

“I want you, Jim Hopper.”

There’s a loud cheer in the bar, patrons watching some type of sports game.

A hum, “Sounds like you’re kinda busy. I’ll talk to you…”

“You ass,” you hiss. “Please, big guy?”

He laughs again. “Ok, so lemme guess: you went out for a drink or two, thought maybe you’d find someone to fill the space and there’s no one that knows what you want. Not like I do.”

His voice and the alcohol…you want to play with yourself, but you’re in public standing in this hallway by the bathrooms.

“Yes,” you exhale.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You can imagine he’s stroking his cock to this and you let out a little whine, though you’re sure he can’t hear you over the kerfuffle in the bar.

“Jim, I’m…” you nod and smile as a woman walks by. Quieter, you say, “-I’m in public.”

He breathes heavy. “And…? Come on, baby girl, be forward.” He uses your words against you and you feel yourself heating up in an almost-embarrassed, almost-angry way.

“Jim,” you try to be stern but his silence meets you and you know if you want your way, you’re gonna have to give a little. “I want your mouth.”

“Ohhh,” he seems to appreciate your effort. “Where?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“My thighs,” you’re practically up against the wall talking into the receiver.

“Nah, where do you really want it?”

You give. You have to. He’ll insist on it, “My pussy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d love to eat you out right now.”

“Then come do it,” you blurt out.

He gives it a few frustrating seconds, “Where are you right now?”

“Andy’s.”

“Be ready.”

You’re so relieved and then you’re anxious. You’re a rush of nervous energy as you hang up, pay your tab at the bar, and walk out to the patio to wait for your ride.

Twenty minutes. It takes him twenty excruciating minutes to show up. As soon as he’s parking, you stand up to meet him but his door slam surprises you.

He’s exhaling cigarette smoke as he strides over to you. Those damn jeans and a fucking blue flannel…God, you’re melting as his height once again overwhelms you. You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he walks right by, opens the door to the bar.

“You coming or not?”

Your mouth is dropped open.

“Apparently not,” you grumble an innuendo, storming back into the bar.

Hopper barks out a laugh at your retort, taps you on the ass when you walk in.

You’re at the bar. Again. Sitting there next to Jim, feeling that tension that existed the minute you ran into each other at Aunt Karen’s party.

Apparently, he’s old friends with the bartender here. Well, hard to not be when Hawkins is pretty small. And no one gets out of this town.

You’re nursing another drink when you feel his fingers dance across your thigh. His large hand grabs you and you inhale sharply, almost choking on the mouthful of alcohol.

When he slips his fingers between your thighs, you grip his hand; reflex. But you don’t want him to stop, not really. You want him to take it somewhere else though.

“Mr. Ryland’s social studies class? Woo, think we were smoking under the bleachers more than we were in class.”

They continue their conversation and it’s all fine and dandy but you’re way too distracted to focus on anything but being silent and inconspicuous. One sound and he’ll stop, you know that.

Under the bar, his fingers flick against your clit and you’re almost gasping but covering it with a fake cough.

You shoot him a look but he’s pretending to be so engrossed in conversation. You know he sees you. You know you’re his main focus and he’s watching you from the corner of his eye. It’s new to you to have someone so confident and playful but gruff and stern.

His fingers play along the seam of your jeans; teasing you and not putting pressure on your clit anymore.

It goes on like this for five minutes; him building you up just to barely tease you or rest his hand motionless on your thigh. You want so badly for him to put continuous pressure, ease how riled he’s gotten you, but you’re sure people are noticing his hand under the bar – sure it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.

“Finish your drink,” he instructs roughly when the bartender finally leaves to go serve someone else.

You have never guzzled down a drink so fast in your life.

By the time you make it to the parking lot, you’re lightheaded and giddy. Fingers pulling at his shirt, you urge him toward you, grab him by the back of the neck to dip him down to kiss you against the brick building.

He lets out a low growl, “Here?” he shames you. “Christ, woman…”

You whine, “Fine, okay, just make me cum…”

The parking lot’s in the back of the bar, not on the main road and at this hour not many people are stumbling in.

Hopper lowers his eyes to your mouth then blinks back up to meet your gaze. He inhales slowly before letting out a growl.

His grip fumbles for the button of your jeans. You’re breathless when he ghosts a touch over you, dips his middle finger inside your pussy.

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby girl…”

His fingers feel fantastic – the size difference between his digits and yours makes all the difference and your muscles are tensing around him.

It’s not enough. You want his cock.

But for now, you’re gonna have to handle that desire.

“God, Chief…”

This floors him and soon he’s pumping his finger into you with such pressure and speed that you can’t help but reach your orgasm in mere moments. After all that teasing…and now you’re out here in the dark parking lot where anyone could see, getting finger fucked by the Chief of Police. You don’t stop the moan that escapes you when he makes you cum.

“So fuckin’ loud,” he chuckles, kissing your temple before slipping his hand from you and allowing you to button up.

You’re breathless when he pulls away from you. Someone’s in their car, watching you, and when they meet eyes, you feel a tinge of embarrassment…and then pride.

Following him, you rush forward, grip his arm and pull your body closer.

You watch him lick his finger clean of you as he meanders to his Blazer, not caring about the audience.

“Let’s get you home,” his deep voice rumbles when you’re once again on the passenger’s side, reminded of your first night with him.

“What?”

“Hm? Not enough for you?” he teases – you know he’s teasing – but you worry that he’ll leaving you wanting.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that pants tent you’re sporting.”

“Pretty bold of you, considering I’m driving you home…”

“As if road head wasn’t a thing.”

You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows hard.

“Ooh, you’re too much,” he grips you by the hair and pulls you into him again, lets you slide into his lap – squeeze yourself between his belly and the steering wheel as he lays the seat back – and he grinds his hard cock against your clothed pussy.

“Here?” you repeat his words from minutes ago.

“No,” he grumbles. “Bad idea. Whole fuckin’ town’ll be talkin’.”

“Let ‘em talk.”

You wish you’d worn a dress. Maybe he would’ve let you fuck him in the Blazer. Instead, he lets things get heated between the two of you, lets himself get good and worked up, and stops before he reaches his breaking point.

Before you know it, you’re upright on the passenger’s side again, trying to focus your attention on anything but his still-hard dick…the dot of precum that you can see when the streetlights hit the passing vehicle just right.

“Can’t go home. El’s having a sleepover,” he finally breaks the silence.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You’d let him take you anywhere at this point. The whole stopping and starting thing has made you desperate for him.

“Wherever you want, Chief.”

And it hits him. He puts the pedal to the floor.

The station.

Chills run down your spine when he pulls up to the fucking police station. You’re buzzing.

“Callahan’s probably on shift, but ignore him. We’ll go to my office.”

“Why’d we park in back…?”

You don’t think you can do this. What’s the excuse gonna be? How are you just going to walk into the station at one in the morning with the Chief who isn’t even in uniform?

And then your mind is drifting…fuck, if he were in uniform…

“You comin’ or what?” he calls to you, holding the door open.

You’re feeling slightly tipsy, face heated as you step through the door. The first thing you notice is the loud music. You imagine they do this to keep themselves awake for late night shifts at the station.

“Hey, Chief, what’s…uh…what’s goin’ on?” Callahan walks from the lobby toward a room with desks, sipping coffee.

“Forgot my wallet here,” Hopper thumbs toward his office, doesn’t acknowledge who you are which leaves Callahan surprised.

You can feel his eyes on you, but as you wait for Hopper to unlock his office, you see Callahan visibly shrug and return to the other room where the music is playing.

“You don’t pull this off with me, you don’t get any privileges tonight,” he huffs against your ear. “Follow my lead.” As you’re nodding, he leaves his office open, pauses in the hallway with you, then makes a point of walking toward the exit, pulling you along. “See ya,” he waves toward the room Callahan’s in.

“Bye, Hopper,” comes a voice over the music as Hopper opens then shuts the front door.

You two press against the corner, out of eyeshot, still inside the building. Now you know why he parked in the back…

A few moments go by before Hopper barely peeks in on Callahan to see if he’s still looking. And then you’re urged to sneak back toward the office.

You’re breathless by the time you make it back, Hopper quietly shutting and locking the door behind you.

The excitement of once again sneaking around is overwhelming and you find yourself so humored by the situation, clinging to his shirt once more, enjoying the proximity of him.

“You aren’t naked on my desk in thirty seconds, I get myself off,” the tone is warning, quiet, and the look on his face is hungry.

The music sounds in the other room but you can hear Hopper counting down as he watches you get undressed.

Tantalizingly slow, he approaches the desk, shoves some papers into another stack, then puts his hands on either side of you.

“Lean back,” he instructs.

Your naked back presses to the cold surface beneath you as he gets on his knees before the desk, pulls your legs over his shoulders, and starts kissing up your thighs. He remembers what you told him you wanted, is eager to please.

The feeling of his facial hair is like nothing else you’ve experienced. Back arching off the desk, you can’t help but cry out when his mouth meets your core.

He chuckles. “Didn’t think I’d forget, did you, duchess?”

You shake your head but you know he isn’t looking because he’s eating you out like a starving man; tongue sloppy and – judging by the moans he’s releasing – he’s enjoying.

“Fuck, so good, Jim.”

“Chief,” he corrects you.

You swallow, nod, “Sorry, Chief.”

“Mmm, better,” he goes right back to it, doesn’t use his fingers though like he knows you want. “Gotta be honest, baby girl,” he breaks away to pepper kisses on your thighs. “M’not gonna be able to wait much longer.”

“Then fuck me.”

Eyes meeting yours as you lean up on your elbows, you see his dark pupils.

It’s all a blur how quickly he shifts positions, but you watch him slide down into his chair, motion you over before pulling his cock out.

“Ride my cock, honey.”

You climb into his lap, easily slide down on his cock, throw your head back when he fills you completely. The moan that leaves you feels like an out-of-body experience and you almost forget where you are.

He chuckles again, kissing your neck, “Quiet…” he reminds you.

You’re sure you hear the music turn down in the other room, but you can’t care about that now. The slightest inclination that you give a fuck about being caught and you know he’ll use it against you; know that he’ll make this stop.

You’d rather the whole town watch you than have him pull away from you at this moment.

Feeling so full of him is extremely pleasurable. He’s girthy and he knows just how to fuck you.

His thumb is pressing against your clit as you ride him – the pressure of his hand against you just adds to the stimulation. He wants you to break, wants to see you sweat because he knows you’re loud; from the phone sex and the first night you met…you’ve proven that.

“Ungh, kept thinking about this,” he admits while he kisses your tits. “Right here, in this chair. Beating off at work…” he huffs a laugh and then, “what the fuck did you do to me?”

Pride swells in your chest as you bounce on his cock.

“Fuck, I’ve been so wet for you, Chief, since we met.”

“Oh, yeah?” he hums. “You think about me?”

“Nothing satisfies me like you do,” you admit. “My fingers, my toys…” his eyes shoot open at that and you can almost see his thought process. “Nothing makes me cum like you do.”

You feel his thrusts up into you deepen, feel his cock twitch inside of you. He loves what he’s hearing.

“Fuck, fuck, hang on…” he gasps, gripping your hips. “Y/n, hang on.” You don’t stop. He’s digging his fingers in harshly again, just when the bruises from last time healed. “Y/n,” it’s a warning. You know it is, but the power you’re feeling knowing that he’s damn near orgasm this soon?

“Chief, I need you to cum.”

He shivers, panting. “Uh, uh. No. Not until…”

“I will,” you interrupt, nodding furiously, voice breathy. “Can’t you feel how close I am? How tightly I’m squeezing your cock?”

He gasps, hips stuttering as he’s trying to stop himself but he can’t help his movements; clearly way passed the point of no return.

“I want you to fill me again,” you admit. “Only you. I’ve only let you…-”

And that’s all it takes – Jim is groaning as he urgently thrusts up into you, growling when he feels your orgasm pulsing around his.

A low whine leaves your lips at the overwhelming feel of all this; his warmth filling you, your own orgasm tipping once he’s growling your name.

You don’t even realize how loud you’re both being until the music turns down significantly in the other room.

And then it’s like you’re too pleased to care if Callahan heard you, too fucked to worry about getting caught.

Surely, Hopper will punish you later for not controlling yourself, but that’s a thought for another day.

Right now, you feel your heartbeat throughout your whole body, can hear Hopper still gasping in the afterglow. You nuzzle against his chest, noting that he’s still mostly clothed. You want him completely naked for you; are satisfied but so not.

“Next time needs to be in a bed,” you groan as you shift your sore knees, lift yourself off of him.

A bit of his cum drips down your thighs and you swipe it off, dip your finger in your mouth as your other hand reaches for a tissue.

Hopper watches with his lips slightly parted, looking completely engrossed and satisfied.

“Oh, you’re so sure there’ll be a next time?” he teases, voice sounding slightly groggy, eyelids heavy as he blinks up at you.

You nod. “I think I’ve done a lot of the chasing though,” you shrug, tossing the tissue. “Think you need to put in some work for me, sir.”

The title clearly affects him as you see him take a sharp breath.

“Is this a challenge?”

You don’t know how long you’ll last without wanting more of him, don’t know how difficult it’ll be to not call him when you’re tipsy and wanting him to put his mouth on you…but you’re sure going to try to hold back.

Jim Hopper has yet to realize what he’s gotten himself into.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper fic #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper x you #jim hopper #hopper x reader #hopper x you #hop x reader #hop x you

30 notes · View notes

spacejammie-eimmajecaps · 7 months

Text

20 Q's for Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @grungeeuvu

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

At present, I have 46 fics posted on ao3. Used to have over 50 but I deleted/orphaned some

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Haikyuu is the only fandom I write for right now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, almost always

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably this one

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings so this question feels impossible to answer lol

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, I've only ever gotten 1 comment that was a bit rude, though it didn't seem intentional

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not often, the vanilla kind

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Setting counts as a crossover, right? I used to have a haikyuu fic that was set in Neverland (like from Peter Pan) but I deleted it because I wasn't happy with it. Was going to fully rewrite it, just have not had time/energy to do so. And I have an outline made for a haikyuu fic that's set in the Jurrasic Park universe (starts out similar to the first movie and goes from there, and almost every single haikyuu character is in the story somewhere)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of

12. There was no question 12 so I'll make one up myself: What's the longest you've ever spent working on one fic? And the shortest?

I've been working on SGB for almost 2 years now, that's the longest. The shortest would probably be just a couple hours.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Impossible to pick a favorite

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

SGB😭😭😭 (jk, I'll finish it no matter what, it's just gonna take a few more years probably)

On a serious note, I don't think I'm actually going to rewrite the Neverland AU I deleted, and I'm not sure if I'll ever get around to finishing the Jurrasic Park AU

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ermmmmmm I'm not sure, maybe dialogue? I think I've gotten much better at that than I used to be

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Adding last-minute details that aren't necessary and only serve to create openings for plot holes that I later have to fix somehow

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Don't really have thoughts on this

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Haikyuu

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Tie between these two

I'll tag: @astrowaffles @wewindondowntheroad @paintbrushyy @stormears @axreliono @redrocketpanda @maybe-a-dinosaur @sunflowersatori @themultifandomdisaster @chameliyun @kleiner-ghost @tsukikitsune-exe @novatix

#tried to remember who all my ao3 writer mutuals are but i think i forgot some #sorry if i missed anyone #feel free to say i tagged you if you want to do this<3

14 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 10 months

Text

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 6

Chapter 6 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve runs into Eddie at the quarry and they share a moment, before Steve is found by Hopper, who takes him to the Byers house.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: f-slur, homophobia mention, child abuse mention, internalized homophobia

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6: The Night

“What am I doing out here?” Eddie repeats. “I’m ignoring everyone who did graduate while I am still stuck in this hellhole. A more curious question is: what are you doing out here?”

He seems unconcerned with the fact that he has to do senior year for the third time as he scrambles up onto the car to sit next to Steve. Though there is a little edge to his voice that is definitely dulled by the joint that is hanging from his lips.

Steve lets out a deep sigh and looks back over the quarry. Eddie already knows him better than almost anyone, despite the fact that they have barely spoken. So he just replies honestly: “My parents kicked me out for being a fag.”

Eddie’s nonchalant pose changes as he turns to look at Steve with big eyes. In a soft voice he says: “Shit, dude. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Steve answers, looking Eddie in the eye, which reveals the shiner he has on his face. It is clear Eddie sees, because he sucks in a shocked breath of air.

Carefully Eddie reaches out and cups his cheek. Steve lets him, because he’s been craving some sort of kind contact ever since it happened and Eddie is on the top of the list of people he wants touching him. Not that he’ll ever tell Eddie that. Especially not after tonight.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, those sweet brown eyes boring into Steve’s own.

“Billy called me a fag, my dad heard,” Steve explains. “He found out about the cheerleading and hit me before throwing me out. Said I can come back if I have a wife and a son. I’m no longer their son until then.”

“He sounds like a fucking asshole,” Eddie tells him.

The blunt statements gets a laugh out of Steve, who agrees: “Yeah, he is.”

There is a moment of silence between the two where they look at the stars. Then Eddie asks: “So, what are you going to do now?”

Steve doesn’t want anyone to know he’s homeless, not even Eddie. He shrugs: “Going to find a wife, I guess. But a job first. Not like I got into college.”

“What?” Eddie exclaims in a bewildered tone. “You’re gonna try and get back in their good graces after that?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “What else can I fucking do, Eddie? Frolic around and find a boyfriend to live happily ever after? That’s not going to happen. We both know that. The best I can hope for is that no one finds out I got kicked out and find a girl willing to date me after that spectacle. He landed the first hit right there in the parking lot. Everyone saw!”

The words must feel like a slap in the face for Eddie, because he rears back, the hand that had fallen from his cheek to his shoulder leaving all together. Steve tries not to miss the warmth.

“Well, fuck you, dude,” Eddie frowns. “You don’t know what can happen. There’s a whole world out there.”

Steve crosses his arms and says: “Well, I’m stuck here, aren’t I?”

“And that means you have to conform to what they want?” Eddie argues back. “Just say fuck them and be whoever you want to be. They can leave if they don’t like it.”

“What, like you do?” Steve shoots back. “I can’t live like that, Eddie. I’m not that kind of person. I’m not like you.”

Eddie looks even more hurt and says: “Like me? A freak, you mean? Someone who won’t settle down with a girl I won’t love?”

“No,” Steve says, realizing his mistake. “I’m not brave like you.”

It looks like Eddie is about to argue, snap back, when the words hit. He looks a little stunned, as if what Steve is saying is ludicrous. “What? Stevie, you are so brave. What are you on about?”

Warmth explodes in Steve’s chest at the words. He wants to lean into them, bask in Eddie’s attention and kindness. But he can’t. He meant what he said. He is going to try and find a girlfriend to settle down with. He’s too scared to try and be gay. He’s not ready to be out there. So, he shakes his head and says: “I’m not. I hide. I run away.”

“You know how fucking brave it was to join the cheer team?” Eddie argues. “I couldn't believe it when I first heard. That takes some balls. You did that. You didn’t care. That was fucking badass, man.”

“I guess,” Steve sighs. “But that bravery only lasts until someone looks at me.”

“Your parents don’t seem like they deserve your efforts, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him. “You don’t need to make them proud if you don’t want to.”

“But it’s not just them,” Steve says. “It’s this whole fucking town. It’s everyone, who looks, who talks, who knows, who judges. It’s- It’s like I can feel their eyes on me. I could ignore them for a bit, but not like this. I don’t want them seeing me like that.”

“Not everyone sees you like that,” Eddie says quietly. “I don’t.”

Steve looks at him, there seems to be a layer to the statement that he can’t quite get. He could read into it, but he’s not going to. It’s not going to happen between them. They’re too different. Eddie is too out there and Steve can’t deal with that.

“I know,” Steve answers anyway, equally soft. “I know.”

They fall quiet, looking out of the silent quarry together. Eddie relights his joint and takes a deep drag. Steve tries not to stare as Eddie’s lips suck on the filter and how the smoke slowly falls out of his mouth.

Eddie catches him looking and grins. Steve blushes and looks away. Eddie makes a soft noise at that and Steve looks back with a confused look to find Eddie offering him the joint. His brain short circuits at the idea of putting the joint that had been in Eddie’s mouth in his own.

He nearly takes him up on the offer just because of that, but in the end he refuses. He isn’t in the mood to get high, he gets emotional when he gets high and the last thing he wants is to cry all over Eddie.

When he does Eddie shrugs as if to say ‘your choice’ before taking another hit. He looks relaxed like this, leaning back on the roof of Steve’s car. The moonlight illuminates his face beautifully, almost ethereally.

Steve lets his mind drift off in the silence, until it is broken by Eddie, who says: “There is no shame in hiding.”

“What?” Steve replies, more as a prompt to elaborate than a question.

“I don’t want to make it seem like you need to be out and proud,” Eddie explains. “God knows I’m not either. It’s okay to hide that you’re queer. I just meant that you don’t have to try and strive for that heterosexual dream that your parents want for you. You don’t have to force yourself to change. It’s okay to just be you.”

No one has ever told Steve it’s okay to be him. He has never been good enough for his parents and all the choices he has made for himself have been judged by his peers. Just Steve has never been okay. Except with Chrissy, but even she doesn’t know he’s gay.

The fact that Eddie, who barely knows Steve, who should hate Steve for who he used to be, thinks he’s okay just by himself makes something comforting curl up into his chest. Steve can feel the blush on his cheek as he whispers: “Thank you.”

“Course,” Eddie smiles back, almost a little shy.

They break eye contact and fall quiet again. This time it’s Steve who breaks it by saying: “I would, you know, not try.”

“But?”

“But I can’t.” Steve doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain to Eddie, to get some sense of understanding from the other boy, but he does. “Everyone saw the fight with my father. If I don’t show that it wasn’t true, I’ll be the town pariah.”

“That’s already my job,” Eddie protests, though it falls flat seeing the circumstances. So, he sighs and says: “Yeah, I get it. That sucks, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve smiles, feeling that understanding and camaraderie he was craving.

“I won’t tell anyone about you getting kicked out,” Eddie promises suddenly.

It honestly hadn’t crossed Steve’s mind that he would. Eddie doesn’t seem the type to do that, especially not with what they share, but he’s glad nonetheless. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me for not being a dick,” Eddie says. Then he offers: “You can crash at mine for the night if you need. It won’t be the most comfortable, but a roof is nice.”

For a moment Steve considers taking him up on the offer. However, he knows it’s not smart to get closer to this boy. This boy that he likes, who is sweet to him, who makes him laugh, who he can have a chance with if he lets himself get close. This boy, who could break his heart.

And the part he hates himself for, the practical part that assesses risks and thinks strategically, warns of the rumors that will go around if people find out he spend the night at Eddie’s. It would be smarter to keep his distance.

So, he shakes his head and politely lies: “Thanks, but it’s okay. I have a friend to crash at.”

“Alright,” Eddie shrugs. “Just know my door is always open. Me and my uncle Wayne both have a habit of taking in strays.” His face splits open in a cheeky grin as he winks.

Steve remembers the day in the cafeteria when Eddie stood up to Billy for him, when he told Steve he was under his jurisdiction now. That it was Eddie’s task to protect him. He doesn’t bring that up, however, instead saying: “You’re a fucking dork, Munson.”

“Oh it’s Munson now?” Eddie laughs. “Well alright then, Harrington.”

“I take it back, I take it back,” Steve laughs too, not wanting to loose the bit of closeness with Eddie, even if he knows it’s stupid to get close.

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles, taking another hit, before stubbing the joint out on the sole of his shoe, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

After that conversation drifts to less serious topics. They talk about all sorts of things. At one point Steve goes off on a tangent about why cheerleading is way harder than it looks and why this girl from another team was a total bitch during the competition. Meanwhile, Eddie explains DnD to Steve, when he can’t follow his new campaign idea.

It’s fun, Steve is pretty sure he hasn’t laughed this much in ages. They share dumb shit their friends did, like Gareth’s pants ripping on stage and Chrissy tripping over air. And just talk about stuff without having to hide.

They sit there for hours until Eddie breaks a natural lull in the conversation by saying: “I should probably get home. I want to catch a bit of sleep before my uncle gets home. And you shouldn’t show up at this friend’s place too late either.”

Steve’s mood drops at the reminder that this moment isn’t going to last forever and that he’ll have to sleep in his car tonight. It’s already a bit too late to be socially acceptable to show at some house and Steve suspects that Eddie doesn’t believe him, but he is glad the other doesn’t push.

“Course, I should get going too,” Steve nods. “Your car close to here?”

“Yeah, big boy, don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Eddie tells him. After that he hesitates, making Steve wonder what he’s about to do. Then Eddie pulls him into a quick hug, before he skips off into the darkness with a wave and a: “See you around, Stevie.”

And just like that Steve is alone again.

He sits on his car for a little while longer and looks up at the sky as if it will give him better answers than the ones he has now.

The stars don’t grant him any further wisdom, so he sighs and gets into the backseat of his car, locking all his doors. He’s glad it isn’t winter, because he would have frozen his balls off. But tonight the temperature is comfortable.

Still, he tosses and turns for quite a bit, not really managing to fall asleep, but managing to doze off at least.

A knock on his window startles him for his sleep-awake limbo. He rubs his eyes, before he realizes what that knock means. Someone has found him. Someone knows he isn’t sleeping at home. He wonders if he can spin it as having had sex when he looks up and meets Hoppers eyes on the other side of the window.

Hopper might be more sympathetic, he hopes, but it will also make this a thousand time more awkward. They’ve been the two protectors of the group during all the Upside Down shit, which created a bit of a bond. However, this isn’t Upside Down shit, this is real world shit and Steve has no clue where Hopper stands in all of this.

Reluctantly he opens the backdoor and scoots so he’s sitting on the edge of the seat. He doesn’t look up yet, hoping Hopper hasn’t seen the bruise on his face. He greets: “Hi, Chief.”

“Hey, kid,” Hopper greets back. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. You’re not easy to find, you know.”

Hopper makes it sound like he’s been looking for him specifically instead of stumbling upon his car in a bout of bad luck. In his confusion, Steve forgets why he’s looking down, so he looks up and frowns: “What do you mean?”

He has a front row seat to how Hopper’s face morphs from amused exasperation to anger when he sees the bruise. Steve ducks his head again, as if that will undo it being seen, and says: “It’s nothing, it was just an accident.”

“Jesus, kid,” Hopper breathes. “No need to lie to me. Jonathan said you got into it with your father, but that looks worse than just a slap. What happened?”

“Jonathan?” Steve repeats, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Yeah, Jonathan,” Hopper confirms. “He was taking pictures at the graduation, saw it happen and told Joyce. She called me in a worry. I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

Of course, Jonathan. Steve now remembers Will over the radio talking about it. He hadn’t thought that Will worrying would be because Joyce was worrying, but now he also remembers Will in the arcade telling him that Joyce asked her boys to keep an eye on him.

Joyce has been worrying about him. She probably knows why he and his father fought, has heard all about it from fucking Jonathan. But still she’s worried. She called Hop. She send him out to look for Steve, because she’s worried.

He can barely believe anyone would care this much for him. His own parents have just tossed him aside like he is nothing, but Joyce, who he barely knows, whose son he insulted and fought, who’s only interaction with Steve has been through the Upside Down, just cares about him.

Without his permission tears start to slide down his face and sobs wrack through his body, bruised ribs aching with the movement.

“Hey, hey, now, come on, it’s okay,” he hears Hopper say, sounding a bit panicked at the sudden crying.

Steve wants to explain that he’s okay, just overwhelmed and tired, that he also doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t. All he can do is make a gesture with his hand, a vague waving motion, before more sobs overtake him.

A hesitant hand rests on his shoulder, heavy and comforting. Unconsciously Steve leans into it, which makes Hopper step forwards, until Steve can bury his face into Hopper’s stomach. Together they stand there until Steve is done crying about the unfairness of today, the unfairness of the world, for himself and for the parts of himself he has lost.

When the crying finally slows down, Hopper squats down with a groan so he can look Steve in the eyes. Steve doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, aware of the wetness on his cheek and the bruise that resides there, but Hopper cradles his face like he imagines a good father would and forces Steve to look at him.

“Kid,” he starts. “It’s gonna be okay. Just tell me what happened. Why are you all the way out here? What did he do to you? You can tell me, I promise.”

“I- I-” Steve says, stumbling over what he wants to say. He doesn’t want Hopper to hate him too, but he’s scrambling to find a good lie to explain it all. In the end he chokes out: “I tried to tell him it wasn’t true.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Hopper soothes him. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I- I kept trying to tell him, but he wouldn't listen and then- and then he punched me again,” Steve hiccups. “And I went down and my- my mom, she just st- stood there. And he- he kicked me. He threw me out, Hop. He threw me out.”

Steve is near hysterical again as he remembers all he has suppressed throughout the night. The moment he has deliberately not thought about.

“Oh, kid,” Hopper says in sympathy, pulling Steve into a hug as he sobs without tears. He holds Steve tightly and angrily says: “We’ll get the bastard. Don’t worry.”

“No!” Steve exclaims, before he can think about it, pulling away from the embrace.

“No?” Hopper frowns, confused by the reaction.

“No,” Steve shakes his head, confirming what he said. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to press charges. I just want everyone to forget about it. He’s probably already gone by now anyway. Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure, kid?” Hopper checks, looking into Steve’s eyes as he does. “I can make sure he never sets foot in Hawkins again.”

“I’m sure,” Steve tells him.

“Alright,” Hopper nods, letting it go. He sets a step back and says: “But Joyce is going to want to know what happened when you get there. She’s probably blowing up my radio about if I found you yet. Don’t think you’re getting out of that one.”

Steve had almost managed to forget about Joyce and having to leave the safety of the quarry. He pleads: “Do I have to go?”

“What was your plan?” Hopper asks, with the air of someone that knows there wasn’t a better alternative plan.

“Uhm, stay here?” Steve offers anyway.

“No,” Hopper shuts it down without remorse. “I’m not letting you sleep in your car. Now you can pick, leave it here and drive with me or drive to Joyce yourself.”

“I’ll drive myself,” Steve gives in, wanting to have his car should he have to escape a second house tonight.

“Good choice,” Hopper nods. “I’ll see you there. No funny business.”

“Yes, Chief,” Steve says dully as he gets behind the wheel of his own car. Hopper stands there and waits until he turns on the ignition, before he turns to leave for his own car, parked a bit off from Steve’s.

Hopper drives behind him the entire way, ready to set chase should Steve try anything he doesn’t like. Steve almost hates how well Hopper has estimated his character. Because while he knows Joyce loves her boys, Steve isn’t one of them and it is harder to accept someone, who isn’t close to you like that.

And yeah, Steve is aware that she has had Jonathan and Will keep an eye on him and hounded Hopper to go find him when he went missing after the fight with his father, but still… A part of him is terrified of what he’ll come to face.

He already knows that he’ll deny it all if asked. He doesn’t care if they will accept it or not. He wants to ignore it exists. He wants to forget about it.

He meant what he told Eddie, he’s going to find a girl willing to date him. He’s going to make the town forget that there was ever any doubt about his sexuality. He’s been the target of this vitriol for only a few months, but that has been enough for him. He isn’t brave enough to face more of that, despite what Eddie might think.

So he can’t help, but feel like a man preparing for the gallows when he parks in front of Joyce’s house. Hopper must have radioed, because she is waiting for him under the porch light, looking relieved as he pulls up to the house.

Steve stays seated behind the wheel of his car, unable to make himself leave the safety of it until Hopper is standing next to the door.

Slightly unwilling, Steve opens the door and follows after Hopper, able to admit to himself that he hides behind the older man. He doesn’t know why the small, unassuming figure of Joyce scares him so much. Maybe because he knows her rejection will hurt almost more badly than that of his own mother.

Shyly he greets her: “Hey, Joyce.”

“Oh, Steve,” she sighs in a sympathetic yet unpitying way, as she steps forwards. Without thinking Steve sets a step backwards. With Hopper he’d been too out of it, but now he can’t help but think about all the ways he can get hurt again. A small frown appears between Joyce’s brows that she quickly wipes away, instead asking: “Can I hug you, Steve?”

That has him fighting tears again. He didn’t know a human could produce that many tears in one evening. Fortunately he manages to fight them off as he nods.

Immediately Joyce hugs him. It’s a bit awkward, because she has to bring his head down to let him hide in the crook of his neck, because she is so much shorter than him. However, once he’s situated, he can tell that this is one of the most comforting hugs he has ever had.

He takes a shuddering breath, but doesn’t break down again. Instead, he just clutches to Joyce and lets himself be held.

Joyce doesn’t let go for a good long while. When she finally steps away, it’s to inspect his face under the light hanging on the porch. She asks: “Do you want some ice for that, honey?”

“It’s okay. Barely feel it anymore,” he lies with a small smile. He doesn’t care that he’s lying, he can live with the dull ache. It feels like a deserved punishment, like the concussion Jonathan gave him back in junior year.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks.

Steve bites his lips and chances a look at Hopper, whom he told about the kicks. Hopper raises a brow, which sends a clear message. Still, Steve doesn’t want to admit the extend of it and he tries to rationalize it because it could have been worse. “Just some scrapes and bruises.”

“Alright,” Joyce lets it go for now. Steve doesn’t know if she believes him, but he is glad she changes the subject. “I’ve got two curious boys in there. Before we go in, do you want to talk about it with me? What do you want me to say to them?”

Indeed, behind her Jonathan and Will are trying to watch the three people on the porch through the window, while also trying to be stealthy about it. It reminds him a bit of the time with Billy and he has to swallow at the thought.

Then the question hits him and the feeling of getting watched creeps over him again. His shoulders tense as he says: “Not much to say. Nothing happened.”

That is a lie to all of them, but the message comes across anyway. Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. Not with Joyce and Hopper and definitely not with Jonathan and Will. He knows Will must have questions and he should probably assure the kid that he’s fine and it’s not all bad, that Will will be okay too. But he’s not in the mood for that now. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

“Okay,” Joyce says, easily. Steve is sure she’ll get Hopper to tell her everything Steve told him, but he tries to ignore that. Just like the two adults are doing. “Jonathan can sleep with Will tonight and you can take his room. I’m sure you can use the rest.”

When she mentions it, he can feel the exhaustion hit him with full force and he nods tiredly.

She leads him into the house, sending Jonathan and Will a look that has them stay right there and not say a thing. Steve is grateful for it. Joyce shows him to Jonathan’s room, where she lends him a pair of pajamas, something he has forgotten in his haste.

Before she leaves him to change and sleep, she says: “We’ll probably need to talk about it a little more in the morning. Just some schematics, nothing to worry about. Try to get some sleep now, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. Though he would have agreed to anything if it meant getting to sleep and letting oblivion take him. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Joyce smiles.

She goes to leave the room, but Steve stops her before she can. “Joyce?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she smiles. “You never are.” And with those earth shattering words, she leaves him alone.

He stands there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the words, before he gives up. He’s too exhausted for any more emotions. So, he changes and crawls into the bed. Sleep taking him before his head can hit the pillow.

When he wakes up the next morning, his head is pounding and his eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand ton. He lets out a groan and curls into himself, in doing so falling off the bed.

“Wha?” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open, an unfamiliar room coming into view. Jonathan’s room, he realizes. Fuck.

All that had happened the day before comes flooding back. It hits him in the chest and leaves him breathless for a second. He still can’t quite believe yesterday is real and he is actually at the Byers house instead of his own. It seems like he always ends up here when something life changing happens, he wonders if the house is cursed. If the Byers are. Or he is.

Steve sits on the floor, staring at the ground. He should get up and drink something to negate the crying headache, but when he leaves he’ll have to face Joyce, maybe even Hopper. And Jonathan and Will. He can’t face Jonathan and Will.

Jonathan, who had seen it all. Who had witnessed his shame, his humiliation and who told Joyce it happened. After all they had been through together, the names Steve had called him, it had to be Jonathan, who saw.

And Will? How can he face Will? Will always looks at him with those eyes that are half awe, half desperate reaching for the connection they share. Steve has never confirmed it and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to now. What can he tell Will, who knows what happened? How can he explain, when he doesn’t want to understand himself?

With that he isn’t even thinking about Hopper, who found him sleeping in his car, because Steve is homeless now. Or Joyce, who told Hopper to find him, because she wants him at her house for some reason.

It’s all too much.

So, he sits on the floor of Jonathan’s room and hugs his knees to his chest and stares. He doesn’t really think about it – he doesn’t want to think about it – he just looks at the ground.

A soft knock snaps him out of his revelry and he looks up. Steve isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there, but apparently is has been long enough that he can’t keep ignoring the outside world anymore.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Joyce’s voice comes through the door. “There is breakfast if you’re interested.” Steve can’t bring himself to answer her, feeling frozen. Joyce speaks up again: “Can I come in?”

He can hear the worry in her voice and instantly feels bad about his silence, when she has been there for him. Still, his mouth doesn’t cooperate beyond a humming sound.

Joyce must take the sound to be an okay, because the door gets pushed open and she poked her head in. Her eyes lock onto Steve, still curled up on the floor, and her expressions softens into something sympathetic that makes Steve’s skin crawl.

Quickly he uncurls into a normal seating position, acting as if his location is a very normal one. He croaks: “Good morning,” voice rough with disuse.

“Good morning,” Joyce greets softly, entering the door and sitting down on the desk chair, before turning to Steve, who has gotten up and now sits on the bed, legs folded. She asks: “How are you feeling, honey?”

“I’m fine,” he says, the reply an ingrained reaction. To make it more believable, he adds: “Just- you know- It hasn’t landed yet, I guess.”

“That’s totally understandable, Steve,” Joyce tells him. “Can you tell me what happened? I heard some of it, but I want to hear it from you.”

“My father got the wrong idea about me and kicked me out,” Steve shrugs. He is determined to keep up the facade as long as he can. He isn’t confirming shit to anyone. That only gets him hurt and he is tired of hurting.

“You know,” Joyce offers tentatively, “it would be okay if it was the right idea. I won’t judge you, if it is.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Steve snaps, not in the mood and feeling cornered.

“Okay, okay,” Joyce immediately backs off, her hands in the air in a disarming manner. “Just in case, honey.”

Steve still doesn’t fully trust it, but he needs as many people as he can get in his corner right now, so he is a little more forgiving than he wants. So, he huffs: “Thanks, but not necessary.”

The hiccup creates a small silence between them. It’s clear that Joyce has been preparing to have a very different conversation. If Steve has to guess she expected tears and a confession, worries she could soothe and support she could offer. But that’s not what’s happening.

It is admirable how she bounces back after a moment, saying: “Hopper mentioned you were sleeping in you car?”

“Of course he did,” Steve sighs.

“We’re just worried about you,” Joyce responds to that, pointing to the one thing Steve still doesn’t understand.

“Why?” he asks. Too curious not to. When Joyce looks confused, he explains: “I was a dick to Jonathan in junior year and you barely know me. Why do you even care that my father thinks I’m a fag and kicked me out? Just why? I don’t get it.”

“We don’t say that word here,” she snaps with a force that has Steve blinking.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce smiles. “Just don’t do that again.” Then she lets out a breath and says: “You saved my boy’s life. Jonathan told me what happened here. How you came back. I owe you so much, Steve.”

At the words, a lump appears in Steve’s throat. He has never really thought about how he saved Nancy and Jonathan. It was just something he felt like he had to do, to make it right. He never expected to be thanked for it. He looks away, slightly bashful.

“And last fall, you held down the fort, you kept those kids safe,” she goes on. “You’re still so young, honey, but you were the third adult here. I know I can count on you. You did so much for my family. Of course I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Steve says, stumped for anything else to say.

Joyce luckily doesn’t push him, instead she repeats: “There is breakfast if you want. I can also come bring you a plate.”

Steve is tempted the moment he hears the offer. He’s not quite ready to be looked at yet. So, he softly says: “I’d like to say here, if that’s okay with Jonathan.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Joyce says. “Should I bring you some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

She leaves with a squeeze to his leg. He’s still reeling from what she said, he never thought he would have impact on anyone, not anything positive. And he’s never been trusted. But apparently Joyce has him higher than he ever thought possible.

When Joyce comes back with a plate with eggs and toast, it hasn’t fully landed yet. So, he just takes the plate a small: “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Joyce smiles. “It’s fine to stay here for a little. Jonathan is off to his internship for most of the day. We’ll look later about a more permanent sleeping arrangement. You can stay as long as you like.”

The lump from before comes back in full force. It’s an odd feeling to be wanted. He has only experienced it with the cheer squad. And Eddie.

He remembers Chrissy’s look at graduation. She might be worried. He can’t face her yet, doesn’t want her to know what happened between him and his father, but he does want her to know that he is okay.

“Can I call someone?” he asks.

“Of course, honey,” Joyce assures him. “I’ll ask Will to go play at Mike’s today, so you can have some peace. I have to go to work soon, but feel free to anything in the house.”

Fuck, she’s so nice and Steve isn’t sure he deserves it. However, her words remind him of the others, who might have heard Will over the radio last night. How they might know. With fear he asks: “Who knows I’m here? Who knows what happened?”

“No one, except for us and Hopper,” Joyce assures him.

“But the radio?” Steve asks.

“Will used a private frequency to contact you. No one heard,” Joyce explains. “It’s okay. I’ll ask them not to tell.”

“And Jonathan?” Steve presses, needing to be sure that Jonathan won’t tell Nancy. They work together if he remembers right and she’s his girlfriend. He really doesn’t want Nancy to know.

“Jonathan knows not to say,” Joyce tells him, a grimness in her voice that has Steve remembering Lonnie.

He doesn’t want to prod as to how Jonathan would know, but he realizes the Byers might have more reasons than Steve’s saving their life to be worried about him. It aches that this family has to go through so much. And he feels a bit bad that Joyce is comparing, because his father never hit him before yesterday, he mostly just left.

However, he doesn’t say anything about that and just nods. He takes a bite of his breakfast and thanks Joyce again. She assures him once more that it’s fine, then goes to get ready for work. Steve listens to her going around the house, hears how she ushers Will out of the house as well, before he is blessedly alone.

He creeps into the living room and calls the Cunningham house. Mrs. Cunningham picks up: “This is the Cunningham household, to whom am I speaking?”

Steve freezes. He doesn’t know who’ll have heard about what happened at graduation and he doesn’t want Mrs. Cunningham to forbade her daughter from seeing him. He lilts his voice up slightly and says: “Hi, ma’am, I’m in Chrissy class. I’m Stttt-an? Stan. She helped me with English this year, I- I have to take the summer classes. I wanted to ask her something before I have to go today. Can I speak with her?”

Mrs. Cunningham tuts a little as Steve holds his breath, then she says: “This stays over the phone,” in a threatening manner, before calling Chrissy’s name.

There are some noises over the phone, before Chrissy’s confused voice asks: “Stan?”

“You actually know a Stan?” Steve asks.

“It’s you,” Chrissy smiles. “Great cover.” Then her voice dims again. “Are you okay? What happened? Should I come get you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Steve says. “I’m staying at a friend’s house until my parents leave town again. Let him cool down for a bit. Just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

“I’m glad,” Chrissy says, sounding a bit relieved. “They’re saying all sorts of horrible things about you. I was worried.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Steve assures her, with a dull pain in his chest. “It’s just stupid lies by rumor hungry people. It was a misunderstanding. We’re cool now. I do need to find a job. I’ll call you when I have one and you can come by. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Chrissy answers. She sounds a lot happier than she did earlier and Steve is glad for that. He hates when she’s sad. “Oh, my mom is glaring at me. I’m gonna have to hang up. Please call me when you can, okay?”

“Sure, will do,” Steve promises, before he hangs up.

He’s going to have to lie a lot more, to a lot more people and it fucking sucks. But he doesn’t want to deal with the alternative. And it’ll only be temporary, he promises himself, just until people forget what they used to say about him and move onto new rumors.

It’s not like he has many people, who want to come by his house. He still has to figure out what to do about the kids, but Dustin will be off to camp soon and the others have a summer break to spend with each other. He has dealt with Chrissy and he knows Lisa is off on a big vacation, because her parents want to spend as much time with her before she is off to college.

Maybe he can do this. Yeah, he can totally do this. Just find a job, get enough money that he can pretend that he just moved out of his parent’s instead of being kicked out. Find a girl, convince everyone he’s straight.

Easy peasy.

A/N:

I'm not gonna be able to make the next two upload moments, but i'll be back before you know it with the next chapter :D

21 notes · View notes