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chelseeebe · 3 months

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falling.

a/n: wow man, i truly am awful but i’ve been very ill and very busy and have seriously neglected writing so have a lil something i wrote to ease back into it! it’s a continuation of seven minutes in heaven and on my knees (for you) but is very much fluff and lovely<3

18+ mdni. smut. mentions of r being drunk but mostly just love and fluff<3

everybody knew.

or at least now they did.

there’s not much room for secrets when you’re drunk and clambering all over him in front of a room full of your friends, was there?

eddie’s never seen you so.. loose. the bottle of wine had ignited something within you, clearly. your fingers twisting into his shirt, sticky, gloss-covered lips attached to his neck.

he’s grateful that your leg is slung over his lap, hiding the uncomfortable rising in his pants, made worse by your constant fidgeting and the soft whispers into his ear.

it wasn’t as if you two were much of a secret anymore anyway, robin, nancy and vickie had all figured it out that day he answered your door in his boxers. and now at least most people had caught on.

“i need you eds,” you whisper sultrily, not a care for his poor growing boner. there are only so many dead puppies you can think of before it stops working, by the way.

“we can’t..” trust, he had already surveyed the house and decided that sneaking off would be highly risky, too much chance for interruption to make it worthwhile.

“we can,” you beg, practically growling into his ear, “let’s go home,” fingertips now dancing down his shirt, dangerously nearing the waistband of his jeans.

he blinks, turning his head to face yours, noses bumping against each other, “it’s not even ten.. we can’t leave yet,” he wouldn’t have sex with you like this anyway, too much pinot grigio coursing through your veins to make it right.

you huff, nostrils flaring in your tiny tantrum, “you’re so mean,” jutting your bottom lip out.

eddie’s eyes dart around the room, catching a few stray looks, people confused about your position or why you were practically straddling him of all people. “people are looking at us..” and the thing is, no matter how many times you could tell him that you wanted him, no matter how many times you showed him that you wanted him, he wouldn’t believe it.

“i don’t care,” you scoff, connecting your lips hastily, a new feat compared to the sly neck kisses you’d been giving prior.

it had never been about hiding for you, more so about keeping things just for you two. nobody else needed an opinion or opportunity to ruin things, that was it. but now, the longer you continued to hang out and enjoy each other’s company outside of fucking, the more he felt himself falling.

now, eddie reckons he was probably in love with you from the second you’d dragged him into that closet but now he’s pretty certain he is. it’s different now, a level of consideration there that wasn’t ever apparent before.

it had been solidified for him a couple weekends ago during a game of spin the bottle, when it had landed on you and then subsequently jason. eddie’s heart stopped beating until you swerved his mouth, landing a small peck on his cheek in place of a real kiss.

that was different.

“please can we go,” you beg, fisting the soft material of his shirt, keeping your lips lingering over his.

he clears his throat, and really, you should know him by now. you should know that an ounce of attention from you would result in a stiffy he couldn’t shake. his eyes fall to his crotch, “i can’t.. i can’t get up,” cheeks flushing a ruby red.

your eyes join his, peering down between your leg and his stomach, a grin spreading across your devilish face, “i can fix that,” tilting his chin upwards with your painted nail, “if we go home.”

his forehead knocks against yours, giving up on this nonexistent fight with you, “fine, give me.. five,” hoping he somewhat hide his indiscretion from your friend’s prying eyes.

he does eventually, get off the chair, craftily readjusting his pants as you gather your bag. robin’s head perks up, brows raised at the sight of you leaving already, “i’m gonna walk her home.. too much to drink i think..” wrapping an arm around your shoulder, guiding you through the party and out onto the street.

the front yard is littered with drunks, paying no mind to you and your unsteady feet.

you’re so loud, giggling as eddie attempts to rein you in, a tight grip on your arm while you wobble over the sidewalk.

“hey,” you pout, stopping in your tracks. fuck, he just wanted to get home, as much as he adored whatever antics you were up to, he was freezing his balls off and you’re plastered.

“what?” he replies softly because no matter how annoyed he was, he’d never take it out on you.

your eyes are hazy, glossed over and barely able to focus on him but they’re full of love, “all i want to do is kiss you,” lopsided grin growing bigger.

eddie just smiles because there are no words he could ever jumble together to reply to that. not the way you deserved anyway.

“can i?”

how could he say no?

with your eyes round and glittering in the moonlight, lips pouted perfectly.

“of course you can,” he laughs, hooking his arm around your shoulder, pausing just before your lips meet his, revelling in the moment.

you press your lips to his, a little sloppy but full of love, tender and soft. you smile as you pull back, gripping onto his leather jacket, “we can go home now,” smiling into the night.

eddie feels a little sick. he hopes to god that he’s right about this, that you feel the same way he does. all signs point to yes but how’s he to know without your confirmation?

he’s abruptly awoken when the bathroom door slams shut, a collection of unpleasant sounds come from the other side.

he’s not surprised you’re sick, in fact, he’d left a your trash can to the side of the bed last night, just in case.

see, eddie’s not really an early riser but he doesn’t mind being woken up this early when he’s being woken up by you. vomit or no vomit.

you emerge from the bathroom with a colossal pout and a minty breath. sliding back into bed with a small groan. “did i wake you?” you ask, nestling back into his side.

“mhm,” he hums, appreciating the warmth you bring, “i don’t mind, you okay?” he asks, sliding an arm around your shoulders.

“i am now,” smiling slightly. your hand creeps down, making him jump as your cold fingers rest on his stomach.

he watches with tired eyes, hoping this is going where he thinks it may. your hands, despite feeling frozen, are always soft, he adored the tender way in which they met his skin.

you hum, body vibrating against the side of his body, “go brush your teeth,” poking him lightly in the ribs.

“yes ma’am,” eddie practically leaps out of bed, following your orders in hopes that you were implying what he thought. scrubbing his teeth with such ferocity that the toothpaste ends up everywhere.

he’d clean it up later, he thought. too excited to jump back into bed with you to care too much.

you’re already smirking in the low light, propped up slightly by the pillows, holding the blanket open for his return, “hurry up, it’s cold.”

oh he obliges, flying to the bed in record speed, hovering above your waiting body, boyish grin plastered across his face. perhaps one day he wouldn’t almost die every time you suggested sex or flashed him that look.

that day was not today.

your lips latch onto his, hands already finding his sweatpants, delicate fingers hooking into the waistband as you tug them down. he’s already hard, hasn’t been able to program that out of his brain just yet.

eddie’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, sliding inside and it’s this moment where he’s grateful you made him get up to brush his teeth.

your hand, still a little cold, wraps around his cock, eliciting a gasp in response, pulling him from your lips. “fuck, your hands are cold,” eddie laughs in your face, quickly forgetting the icy temperature when you start pumping your fist.

“you want me to stop?” you ask, smirking devilishly.

“fuck no,” he chuckles, burying his face in your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin. this gets you fired up, squeezing the base of his cock gently.

your head tilts back, allowing him more room to nibble and lick at your bare neck. he struggles to get your shorts down, grunting into your chest when your hips buck upwards against him.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, emerging from the curve of your neck to gaze down at you, his absolute favourite position.

you don’t reply, instead, your tongue pokes out, licking your lips in anticipation. your legs wrap around his back, pulling him in tighter. personal space was an after thought, he thinks you’d climb inside of his skin if you could.

this position is still fairly new to him, looking down at you pressed between the mattress and his body. sometimes he’d be smushed against your chest as you attacked his neck and other times it was more hasty and rushed.

but this- this time, he’s focussed on your face, lingering inches above as his hair falls down against your cheeks.

sliding between your slick folds, nudging inside as his teeth bite down onto his bottom lip, struggling to contain the moan gathering in his throat. he’d been here enough times to know how to move without your bed hitting the wall, it had become an art.

slow, steady strokes, making sure he was moving exactly the way you’d taught him. appreciating the way in which your lips parted and the soft, melodic noises that tumbled out of them.

and yeah, you guys have had sex. plenty of times in fact.

but this felt different somehow, something more.

there’s a lot of that happening lately and eddie’s still unsure about how it makes him feel or if he’s supposed to feel a certain way.

you’re in his hoodie, under his body, moaning his name. that had to mean something, right?

eddie’s hips collide with yours, groaning when your legs tighten around his waist, everything about this feels overwhelmingly intimate. your forehead pressed to his, gazing through hooded eyelids, rolling slightly with every thrust.

“hmm,” you groan, full of rasp, “just like that eds,” manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades, pinching slightly but only spurring him on.

it’s still early, the rest of your house definitely still sleeping, forcing him to swallow his moans. you’re touching yourself, arm threaded between your bodies, circling your clit.

it drives him crazy every time, he assumes that most men wouldn’t appreciate it, a lack of confidence in their abilities or whatever. but eddie loves it, loves that you can make yourself feel good too.

your eyelids flit, breathy moans at every move of his hips, he knows what this means. has learned every tell of your body, the way your mouth falls open and your mind seems to shut off.

“fuck,” you gasp, tightening your grip on his shoulders. moving against him in the final throws, the tip of his cock nestling against the sweet spot.

this is where eddie loses it a little, thrusts becoming sloppy as your fingers work at your clit. he can feel every part of you, squeezing around him and the soft pants that dance into his ear.

his forehead dips, pressed against yours as his senses overcome him, throwing him over the metaphorical edge. “uh shit,” he garbles, spurting his release into your quivering cunt.

you squeak underneath him, mouth agape as your legs shake around his waist, eyes squeezing shut as you cum. it’s fucking magical every single time, it could probably bring him back to life if it really came down to it.

“oh my god,” he breathes, brushing the hair from your forehead, still lingering above as you float down to earth.

your eyes peek open, a smile inching onto your face, once again holding onto his cheeks as you press a solitary kiss to his lips. this was his favourite part of it all, the aftermath.

it usually meant cuddles and chats about nothing. when you were your truest self. eddie wanted to live here for eternity, gazing at the stars in your eyes, happily listening to whatever ramblings you came out with.

the morning is quiet bar you both trying to catch your breath, he can feel your racing heartbeat against his chest and almost wants to say it. to admit to everything he had been feeling.

but you beat him to it. “i love you,” you beam, grinning away to yourself, seemingly unaware of what bomb you had just dropped.

eddie chokes on his spit, coughing and sputtering as he climbs off of your body. lying back on the mattress as his chest heaves. oh my god, he thinks he might be sick.

his head was already spinning, only made worse by your declaration of love. his senses are heightened, looking over at you with bewildered eyes.

“what did you just say?” begging for clarification.

really, the only possible explanation was that this was a dream and he’s about to be rudely awoken and find himself in his own bed, having none of the last six months happen.

“i said,” you smile, pulling yourself into his side, “i love you,” wriggling as you pull your shorts up, intertwining your legs as you do.

“i thought you said that,” eddie laughs deliriously, still frozen in shock. he’s in utter disbelief, just staring at your face in hopes that he’s not cruelly torn out of this moment and it is real.

you tut, pouting slightly, “do you maybe wanna say it back?”

“i do,” he rushes, “i mean, of course i do- love you, i mean,” stumbling over his words, his heart is pounding out of his chest, “i love you too, is what i’m trying to say,” cringing at his severe lack of nonchalance.

even with your extensive training and advice, he’s truly still that weird little virgin boy, still head over heels for you. that’d never change,

“good,” you twinkle, nestling back into his side, arm thrown over his stomach, “you scared me for a minute there.”

he doesn’t understand how you weren’t already well aware that he infatuated with you, he had thought it had been plenty obvious. the man near enough started drooling when you’d touch him for christ’s sake.

“i thought you knew,” shrugging slightly, “i don’t exactly hide it.”

your shoulders shake as you laugh, slightly jittery and still exuberant from your session, “how was i supposed to know you weren’t faking it?”

eddie’s brows thread together, perplexed at your assumption, “you’re the first girl i’ve ever really liked.. let alone loved, i don’t even know how to fake it.”

“shut up,” shaking your head, “you used to like that girl..” clicking your fingers together, “the one with the hair.. whatever her name was.”

“what? you mean carly?”

carly was a friend, helping him pass his marketing class. he had maybe gotten the feeling that she liked him but nothing ever came of it. she wasn’t his type and besides, he’d had his eye on someone else anyway.

“carly! yeah.. you were obsessed i swear, i used to be so pissed off.”

woah. what?

“i didn’t like her.. not like that,” he didn’t, in fact, eddie’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you in reality, “you were pissed off?” he teases, pulling you in tighter.

he felt like he could now, like everything had been established and this was it. you were together. you loved each other.

you give him an over dramatic sigh, “yes i was pissed off,” settling your head on his chest, “i thought you liked her and not me,” he can feel your eyelids flutter shut against his skin, “i’m glad you didn’t though.”

eddie laughs, moving your body as he shakes. he can’t help himself. you were pissed off at the thought of him liking someone else. you. it’s almost nonsensical.

footsteps echo through the hall, stopping outside your door alongside a chorus of whispers. you groan quietly before they pound on the door, obviously eager to collect the gossip.

“what?” you call out, not moving from your position. maybe before you would’ve sprung apart, trying to cover up the obvious but now you embraced it.

robin, nancy and vickie pour into your room, sly smiles on their faces. it’s fairly obvious what had just gone down in here. his cheeks were still blood-red, your leg thrown over his, entangled in the blanket as one.

“so,” robin smiles, pursing her lips, “you have a good night?” alluding to your very public displays of affection.

“i had a fantastic night, thank you,” you grin, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room, eddie respected the fuck out of that.

“mm i’m sure,” robin quips, raising her brows before perching on the end of your bed, “you remember anything from last night?” she asks curiously, cocking her head to the side.

you bite down onto your lower lip before answering, “i may have been informed,” rolling your eyes slightly. the other two girls giggle in unison.

“so it’s official?” robin asks outright, not wasting any time. she’d never been one to beat around the bush, jury’s still out on whether it’s a pro or a con.

your shoulders shrug, eyes trailing to eddie, “i’d say so,” smiling knowingly.

they had no idea what had actually just occurred, ignorant to the declaration of love that had happened just moments before they burst in. he knows you’ll probably tell them the second he’s gone but for now he appreciates the secrecy of it all.

a moment only meant for the two of you.

robin grabs onto your ankle, shaking it as she roars excitedly, “i fuckin’ knew it,” beaming with a certain smugness.

your eyes roll back again, “have you got what you wanted now? can i sleep this hangover off without anymore interference?” your words are sharp but hold a tone of humour.

“yes yes, you can go back to being degenerate perverts now,” robin laughs, standing from the bed, vickie guides her girlfriend out of the room with a raise of the brows.

nancy lingers, “we’re going for breakfast in a little while, if you two wanna come,” flashing her tightlipped smile before following after robin and vickie.

the door clicks shut and eddie lets out a sly sigh of relief. they were his friends too, he just wasn’t a fan of being interrogated by them when he’s practically naked and still recovering from your confession of love.

“i’m sorry,” you apologise for their abruptness though it’s unneeded.

eddie just smiles, relishing this moment. you’re lying on his chest, his girlfriend, you love him and he loves you and that’s all there is to it.

“i love you, i really really love you.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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*my humble offering to @steddie-week (and the s4 anniversary!) | ao3 link here*

Like most bad ideas, it starts with a question. Eddie is sitting on the ground, messing with the laces on his sneakers. Tying, untying. Mindless shit.

Steve is taking up the whole damn park bench, practically laying on it. Hasn’t said a word in the last ten minutes.

And Eddie sort of hates the silence. Would like Silence to get decapitated with a chainsaw or something equally gruesome. Needs that particular volume to die the loudest death possible. For the sake of irony, of course.

So Eddie kills it - the silence, that is. The lull taking up all this air between him and Steve Harrington.

He kills it with a question:

“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Steve’s head snaps in Eddie’s direction. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man.” Steve sort of twitches, right between his eyebrows. Shoulders going lopsided, unnaturally angled. Uncomfortable.

Eddie shouldn’t be feeding off this tension so much. Judging by Steve’s body language though, the answer must be a good one.

He leans forward, almost singing the words. “You sure about that?”

Pushing is fun, darkly playful. Eddie enjoys getting under people’s skin, crawling around till they shrivel up. Is it wrong? Morally unethical? Well… the verdict is still out on that.

Besides, he’s been around Harrington enough lately to know that it doesn’t take much to make him surrender.

“Fine.” Steve huffs. He lifts himself to a sitting position, knees bobbing up and down. It takes all of Eddie’s leftover energy to not gloat about how easy that was - how quickly Steve caved. Teasing can (will) come later - right now, he wants answers.

Secrets.

“So, Robin and I went to this party in the city… got pretty shitfaced.”

Eddie throws his head back. “Lame.”

“Story’s not over.”

Oh? Interesting. Eddie places his hand over his heart, then waves it back at Steve. “My sincere apologies. Continue.”

Steve rolls his eyes, clears his throat (not that he needed to but whatever). “Anyways, she somehow convinced me to go to this tattoo parlor with her. Said her friend worked there and she wanted to visit them, so-”

“Wait wait wait. Don’t tell me this story ends with you getting a butterfly tattoo on your lower back.”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

There’s this serious expression in Steve’s eyes. A combination of dark colors and pure annoyance. Eddie is sane enough to know that annoyance isn’t something he should find endearing, but he does. On Steve.

Just a little.

He shrugs, and Steve continues. “Well, it turns out her friend wasn’t working that night. But the piercing lady was working and was like… superpersuasive.”

“Look, Munson, I don’t remember many details after that. Like I said, totally shitfaced. I just know when Robin and I woke up the next morning, we were so fucking sore. And not like, hangover sore either. We were sore in the same exact place. Right here.”

Steve’s pointer finger is gesturing at his stomach. Right in the center.

No. Absolutely not. Either Steve had severe stomach pains that night, or he’s suggesting that…

No.

“Yeah. There you have it.” Steve says. Blankly nodding into space. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done is get a matching belly button piercing with my best friend. Jesus christ, that’s freaky to say out loud.”

The Silence sneaks up on him. Stabs Eddie in the back when he isn’t looking because he’s too busy trying to imagine Steve Harrington with a piercing of any kind. Let alone the most famously slutty kind.

Wrong, so very wrong. He should never let the words slutty and piercing clutter up his imagination while thinking about Steve. The silence has been too long now. Gotta say something, anything.

“Bullshit.” His tone is harsh. Doesn’t mean for it to be. “There’s no fucking way.”

Steve pouts, crinkles his forehead. “I swear on my car - I’m not making this up.”

And see, here’s where the bad idea comes in. This stormcloud of pouting and piercings and chest hair, it’s all becoming dangerous. That urge to provoke is in Eddie’s bloodstream. He has to tip the scale, twist the knife of chaos as far as he can. Self control is out the fucking window.

“Prove it then.”

“Fuck off, Munson.” Steve laughs, maybe scoffs. Either reaction is a little confusing. “Seriously, this isn’t truth or dare.”

The truth is already out though. It’s the dare that Eddie is hungry for. “You can’t just drop a nuclear statement like that and expect me not to ask to see it.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask.”

Eddie clamors over to Steve, all theatrics and fake agony. “Please, Lord Harrington.” He clasps both hands together, rests his cheek on Steve’s knee. Batting his eyelashes till Steve cracks a smile. “Let me see the metal that has punctured thy skin. I beg of thee.”

Steve shoves him off. “You’re such a dork.” It’s lighthearted, barely qualifies as shoving. He’s become way too decent for actual aggression these days.

A fact Eddie tirelessly clings to when Steve stands up. Lifts the bottom of his shirt and puts it in his fucking mouth.

“Holy shit.” Eddie mutters. No time to consider how pathetic it comes across.

In theory, this should all be stupidly unattractive. The way Steve holds his shirt between his teeth. The way he mumbles incoherent shit between the fabric in his mouth. The way he keeps pointing at it, poking it.

That shiny, teardrop-shaped metal. Just… hanging from Steve’s belly button, swinging slightly with every small movement. Eddie’s eyes start to swing with it, back and forth. Back and forth. Maybe those roadside hypnotists are onto something, because the dumbest piece of jewelry has Eddie captivated.

He could just be captivated by the guy attached to the dumbest piece of jewelry. Piercing.

Jesus Christ. Eddie really didn’t think his life could get any weirder. But here he is. Staring at Steve Harrington’s belly button piercing. Fucking mouth-breathing at the sight of it. Probably seconds away from salivating.

He really should consider seeing a licensed psychologist. Fix his terminally horned-up brain once and for all.

“It’s…” Eddie swallows, his eyelids feel heavier than his stare. “Not what I expected.”

The fabric drops from Steve’s mouth. Unevenly falls around his waist... hips. “What were you expecting?”

To laugh. To mock. Threaten blackmail for six lifetimes, maybe more.

Instead, Eddie gazing at it the way people gaze through telescopes. He peers lower, tries to see if it’s silver or gold. Hard to tell at sunset. None of Eddie’s typical instincts are sinking in. All he wants is to feel the metal rolling over his tongue or get it trapped between his teeth. See how it tastes mixed up with Steve’s skin.

“Fuck.” Yikes. Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud. Straightens up from his questionable position, does it so fast that his spine sounds like bubble wrap. “Sorry, sorry.”

What the hell is he apologizing for? Cussing? Having a skeletal structure? Christ almighty, he’s a mess.

Steve’s lips spread into a grin, doesn’t look like his own. Looks more like the kind Eddie might give after pulling off a successful decoy in one of his campaigns. “What’s wrong with your face, man?”

“My face?”

“It’s all…” Steve trails off. Sighs and sits back down on the bench. “Nevermind.”

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, understands exactly what Steve is referring to. He feels feverish to the touch, must be a shade of red that is so deep, it’s noticeable in the darkening sky.

“Sorry… sorry.” Steve hangs his head. Seems troubled even though Eddie is nailing that particular routine all on his own.

“Think that’s my line.” Eddie jokes.

“Right.”

Silence is lurking around them yet again. Eddie hates it, but he’s running out of steam here. The embarrassment is on display, his cheeks and neck covered in splotchy red patches. His voice is higher, somehow, as if his vocal chords are shrinking. He’s undergoing a crisis and crush simultaneously and it is not an attractive look for him.

“Just go ahead and get it over with.” Steve says. Interrupts whatever cynicism that’s currently brewing in Eddie's head.

“Get what over with?”

“The teasing.”

“Oh that’s not… it’s um… you don’t…” Eddie can’t pick an appropriate response. They’re way beyond politeness and niceties. And any bullshit he tries to pull isn't gonna be convincing. So it’s best to stay honest. Embarrassing, but honest. “I think it looks pretty good.”

“You do?” Steve looks softer.

“Yeah. I mean… Bowie probably has one, and he’s a fucking superstar so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Bowie, huh?”

“I like Bowie.” I like Bowie? What a beefhead answer. Eddie joins Steve on the bench, hopes it distracts from that very un-cool line.

“I like Bowie too.” Steve messes with his hair a bit. Elbows Eddie in the side and chuckles. “You should get one.”

“A piercing?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hold your breath, man. I’m not letting that nightmare creator you described anywhere near my lower abdomen. Not gonna happen.”

Steve reaches out, runs his knuckles down the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Stops at the crease of his nostril. “What about one right here?” His voice is even, calm. Too calm for what he’s asking.

His hand is warm, slightly calloused. The only two thoughts Eddie can process without going fully catatonic. Steve’s hand is on his face and it’s warm.

Slightly calloused.

“Uh. Dunno.” Eddie says. A hoarse whisper in reply. “Probably not.”

Steve scoots in closer, never taking his hand off Eddie’s face. Just moving it around. Exploring. He brushes along to Eddie’s ear this time. Holds the edge of it between his thumb and index finger, looking straight at it.

“What about right here?” Steve’s eyes stay fixed on Eddie’s ear. Every touch seems natural, just questions that involve connection or something.

Internally, Eddie is dousing flames. Fanning them left and right. Running in circles, fucking clueless on how to properly calm down. Be civil. Be Dude Civil. His breathing is so rapid, he knows it. Can hear it between them, collecting space. Decides it would be best to mimic Steve. Fix his eyes only on him, borrow the stability as much as possible.

“Mmm… maybe.” Eddie gets stuck on the ‘mmm’ sound. That’s how good it feels having someone touch him like this. Careful, yet heavy in curiosity. Rolling the tip of his earlobe between two fingers, just enough pressure to create heat.

It warrants that sound.

Steve’s glance drifts before his fingers do. Eyes landing on Eddie’s lips, slight hesitancy before his hand follows. Eddie has to hold his breath now. Minimal oxygen is the only way he’ll survive this moment, which makes no fucking sense, but it does all the same.

“Here would look really good.” Steve slowly traces the curve of Eddie’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. The back and forth pattern is disarming. Makes Eddie’s lips part, mouth slightly open.

Just enough to speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

If Eddie passes out from lack of oxygen, he’ll regret it. He’ll regret not taking the risk, finishing what Steve has started. Because this surpasses friendly touching.

This is charged in electric shockwaves.

Eddie dips in, kisses Steve before he can move his hand out of the way. Steve makes a sound, not even a surprised one. It’s sweeter, laced in relief. Eddie pushes in, wants more, whatever he can get. Has his fingers wrapped around Steve’s wrist, the same hand that’s dragging down his face, his neck. Stopping at his chest.

Every rumor is true, that kissing Steve Harrington is like the gates of heaven opening up. That his tongue could work miracles on amateur lips with a few licks and curls. But no one ever told him about the noises he makes - and those are the best fucking part. Heaving breaths, pleased whines, each one captured with Eddie’s mouth before they get any louder.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe those are just for Eddie. Reserved for kissing him.

Goddamn, he’s delusional. Completely delirious from kissing a dude with a belly button piercing.

There’s a light getting brighter, almost approaching them. Eddie opens his eyes, quickly backs off while Steve does the same. Has to literally detachhimself from wherever his hand was busy wandering all over Steve’s body.

Headlights pull into the nearby parking lot. Eddie squints to get a better look at the car. It’s Robin and Vickie, showing up fashionably late as always. Sure, he’s grateful that it’s just them, the queerest people in his circle of weirdos. And while they’re reasonable people with shit like this, even they’dbe shocked to know that Eddie and Steve just sucked face for a solid three minutes. Probably best to not mention the gory details, not tonight. Eddie hopes Steve is thinking the same thing.

Both of them stand up, rearrange themselves to look presentable. Less tousled and kiss-bitten. Steve spends a few extra seconds with his hair before turning to Eddie, eyebrows high. Likely a non-verbal ask if his hair is looking as godly as ever.

Of course it does. Looks even better knowing Eddie’s nails were just digging into it.

Steve is a few steps ahead of Eddie, heading for the girls, when Eddie does it again. Kills the silence with a question.

“Can we… do this again?” It’s edging on desperate, he’s so fucking aware of that. Self control really proving to be a major downfall with him tonight. Should definitely consider taking classes, train his willpower or some shit.

Steve stops walking. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look at Eddie as he speaks. “My place.”

Oh. That’s… wow. Unexpected. Eddie jogs up to Steve, beside him. Way too eager now, sort of buzzing for more information. Hints of excitement or maybe a smile. Anything, really. He’s at that level of weak for this guy.

Steve just keeps walking, but leans in, right next to Eddie’s ear. The same one he messed with earlier. His voice is quiet, but Eddie hears every damn syllable:

“I’ll leave the window unlatched for you.”

For him.

Maybe Eddie isn’t completely delusional after all.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddieweek2023 #day six: true #truly truly dumb and fun #major himbo and major himbo-enjoyer #was this an excuse to cause chaotic piercing headcanons? always.#okayokay I hope you like Eddie drooling over Steve on this fine Saturday afternoon xx #*bows and scurries back off into my writing corner*

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ask-maxie-boy · 1 year

Text

Goonion's Ghoul (Part 4)

Bruce does a little digging. This one's a little more serious, but dont worry, the shenanigains resume next chapter <3

Part 1 & 2 Part 3

The pool hall was fairly quiet tonight. It was a dim place who's customers were the only thing shadier than its corners. The smell of smoke lingered in the whole building, but the usual cloud that held over the room seemed to be gone.

The "No Smoking" sign on the door was new, and it seems like people were listening. Bruce fiddled with the stick match between his fingers - he wondered if it was going to be a problem.

"8 Ball, side pocket" Clack!

"Tch. Good game, whatever."

As the men and small crowd around them get their bet earnings, Bruce approached with a predatory grin. "Hey fellas, mind if I get in on a game?"

Most of the men seemed to be sizing him up, but one in particular (the one who won the last match) inhaled sharply. "Matches fuckin' Malone, I haven't seen you 'round here in a while! You sonofabitch, where ya been?"

'Matches Malone' pulls his titular match out from his teeth, and puts on an annoyed face. "Bah, deal went south, had to lay low for a while." Someone handed him a pool stick, prompting Bruce to nod and grab some pool chalk.

"I getcha. We can go a round, Matches. Loser buys a round at the bar for everyone."

"Jeez, I said I was just layin' low and thems are the stakes?" Matches' grin comes back, a gleam rolling along his aviator shades. "Guess I could use a free drink, so why not?"

The other guy rolls his eyes. "Well, aren't you confident. Promise that'll changes once the game starts."

The game gets set up quickly, and they let Malone break. He lines up his stick, but isn't too concerned about exactly how to hit this shot.

"Say," Bruce asks, "I heard there's a new way of gettin' some help around here. Any'a you know about it?" The cue ball slams into the triangle of other balls.

"Oh, you're askin' about the Goonion? You don't gotta beat around da bush. Even if you weren't in good company, there ain't no need to be hush about it." The 7 ball rolls into a corner pocket, a solid color sunk.

Its an easy shot to the 5, side pocket. "Wouldn't expect that from a big band 'a criminals," Bruce says, casually lining up the hit, "but I guess that's Gotham for ya. So, how do I get in contact?" *Clack!*

"There's a big place on 29th street, down by Proctor Ave." The 5 cleanly rolls into the next pocket. "They put up a big sign just yesterday, you cant miss it."

The next shot is a bit more tricky, trying to get the 3 without hitting the 10 in. "No shit? A big ol' sign that says 'Hey, a buncha lackeys here!' right out in the open?"

The other guy snorts. "I mean, the cops don't give a damn, and the criminals are already in on it. That just leaves the bats, but between you and me? I hear the robins are in on it."

Not only does Bruce miss the 3, he knocks the 10 in, closely followed by the cue itself. A scratch. "Well, now I know you're just fuckin' with me."

His opponent grabs the cue ball with a chuckle, and puts it just by the 12 for a clean corner pocket hit. "Like how you were with that last shot? Yeah, yeah, I'm messin' with you... kinda. There's a runnin' joke that the robins should be considered one of us."

Second stripe down, Bruce's eye twitches, hidden by his large sunglasses. "I don't see whats so funny about it, considering how many times we've had our ass handed to us on a black-n-blue platter by 'em."

Its a more difficult shot to hit the 9 in the side pocket, but the opponent aims anyway. "Yeah, Danny's got this big ol' thing about how Vigilantism's a crime and Batman's a crime lord. Ya kinda have to hear him say it, but damn if it isn't funny." He makes the shot, but the cue ball slides in the pocket with the 9, as Bruce bites back a grumble.

Its his chance to get back in the game, and clean it up. Bruce puts the ball on the table, and lines up a shot that should also get him in position for the next few. "Danny, eh? Whats his deal anyway? Everyone seems all buddy buddy with the guy, but I can't find out a thing about him. He some kinda "

The normal sound of a pool stick hitting the cue is clean, crisp, and short. A satisfying ricochet right to where it was aimed, sealing a calculated move into victory.

That is not the noise that echoes through the hall.

Instead, the stick bounces off of the cue strangely, shaking awkwardly as a much harsher CLACK! attacks everyone's ears, as the ball rolls slowly in the wrong direction, and hits nothing.

His opponent, and everyone with and without money on the game, look right at him. Some are giving dirty looks, some seem angry, others just discontent. A few look ready for a fight to break out, as the sudden tension ensnares him. He gets the feeling its not the bum shot they're upset about. "Uh... any chance I can try that hit again?" He asks sheepishly, analyzing exits, preparing for the brawl that might happen, and a cover story for how Matches got out of being attacked by this many people.

Bruce winces as his opponent places their hand on his shoulder, but doesn't strike back just yet. His opponent still seems tense, but not rearing back an attack. "Matches, you'se a good guy, so I'm gonna let you off easy on this one. But for 'da future, dont go askin' around about Danny. He doesn't like people poking into his business.”

The crowd seems to calm down a bit, but there's still a few bad looks being sent towards Bruce. He puts some hint of worry in his voice, dusting off his suit to sell the idea that that shook him up. “I.. I see. Caposh.”

His opponent goes back to the table, picking the cue off the table after Matches' bad hit. “...He's just a kid, Matches. Smart, kind,” he lines up his next shot on the 11, “I'd call him naive if he didn't prove he knew what he was doing.” A clean shot, into the side pocket.

“If you're goin' to the Goonion, you'll meet him and see.” Another easy shot, 13 into the corner. “He does good work. The Hood may have started the union, but Danny stoked the flames, kept us together when we wanted to fall apart.” A hard hit, the cue ball stopping dead as it strikes its target, knocked straight into the pocket. “He fought for us, went up against some of the most dangerous people in Gotham and told them to kneel.” Someone in the crowd murmurs, “Stronger together,” which has him roll his eyes. “Yeah yeah, we all did it, sure. But someone needed to face 'em down, and not only did he bite the bullet,” 14 ball, corner pocket, “he spat it right back out at 'em.”

“He got us dental!” Someone cheers, and most of the crew cheers with him, clinking beer bottles together.

“Point is, he's a good guy who does a good job, and the least we can do is stick our noses out of his business.” 15 ball, opposite corner. “We don't need him getting hurt because we couldn't do that.”

Something flickers in Bruce's eyes at that last comment, noting the slightly somber tone. “...he didn't ask you to stay away, did he?”

“He didn't need to. I told ya, you'll get it when you meet him.” He points out his last shot, “8-ball, corner,” and hangs over the table to aim his cue. “People like him don't usually stick around Gotham, and not by their own choice. If someone finds out you're the one who made him leave, whether you meant it or not...”

The 8 ball rolls cleanly into the pocket, a promise fulfilled. “You'll be lucky if you're found with a bullet to the head.”

An open secret. One that puts him in harms way if the details get out. Details people are purposefully avoiding, out of gratitude. Makes things difficult for him.

“...Well, a deal's a deal. A round on me, everyone!”

@akikkobara @thegatorsgoose @addie-lover-of-stories @apointlessbox @screamingtofillthevoid @semiprofessionaldumbass @sailor-goddess @malice-of-the-sunrise @savaton @spikedlynx @emergentpanda-blog @starlightcat04 @demented-trashcan @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff @soren1830 @vixen-uchiha @rowanaway-fromthisbs @space-dreams-world @wolfeyedwitch @the-legal-shipper @gmkelz11 @dannyphantomphan @idkmrpianoman @somuchyikes @blankliferain @thatonegirl10 @thewondersoflebanon @cass-brightwood @coruscateselene @hallowsden @avelnfear @ultimatebluff @kryzs2000 @blep-23 @jaguarthecat @all-mights-asscheeks @meira-3919 @ricekristytreaty @illya-roma @mentalcarebear @wackyattack @fisticuffsatapplebees @love-has-no-labels @dat1angell @igotafewbadideas @thordottir45 @idfk-man10 @choppedphantomsweets @dragonfirefeather @smol-book-nerd @randomkiddoscrewingaround @alinmenttreasure @queen-of-the-grapefruits @cyber-geist @bianca-hooks123 @gaelic-holiday

#the goonion #dc x dp #dp x dc #goonions ghoul #haha bruce get fucked #also please dont put danny in danger ;c #told you the goonion takes confidentiality very seriously

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superblysubpar · 6 months

Note

#82 from the first smut prompt list SCREAMS enemies to lovers hate fucking with either steve or eddie. bonus points for rockstar!eddie or king!steve

Hello lovely! SO. This dialogue actually fit perfectly in a little thing I'm working on - not quite hate fucking, but I've got this little modern!eddie one shot that's almost done. He's not quite a rockstar, but he does play with his band still from time to time. Anyways, enjoy the 500ish word teaser of it and let me know what you all think! Ready for the oneshot? 👀

Pushed up against the brick, barely a block down from the bar, and he had his tongue licking into you. A hand on your hip that dared to rise higher and higher, rucking up your sweater until his nails could scratch your side, till his fingers could rest against your ribs, thumb playing with the lace he found. His other palm was flat against the cold stone, legs spread wide, taking up space and caging you in.

His lips were sure, warm, tinged with the bourbon of his cocktail and the cigarette you interrupted. They moved over yours gracefully, silky and smooth, parting your mouth easily and swallowing your sigh. The sort of kiss that felt like your lips touched something electric, a quick prick of a shock straight down your spine until you felt warmth flow through your body, surging and shooting across your veins. Passion and confidence explode out of him as he keeps kissing you like his life depends on it, pulling your bottom lip between his and tugging, teeth biting into the soft skin a little mean. Underwear growing far more damp than you were expecting it to tonight, wet lace and cotton sticky with arousal.

Your palms pressed against his chest, feeling the smooth and hard pecs beneath the black cotton shirt, and you can’t help but wonder how many more tattoos like the ones that disappeared under his sleeves lie beneath it. He releases your lip with a pop, breathing heavily and giving you another quick peck as your fingers descend, scratching as they go and making him shiver.

He noses at your cheek, lips ghosting over your jaw as you breathe heavily, chests bumping as you both catch your breaths. Your fingers reach the hem, tugging it free from where it’s tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. His hand has dropped, toying with the edge of your skirt, fingers daring to skim the thigh beneath it and he swallows harshly as they trail higher. The skin beneath your tights has erupted in goosebumps and you shake your head, laughing breathlessly.

“I…what the fuck am I doing. I don’t like you. You’re not my type.”

He smirks, fingers landing where your body wanted him most, feeling how wet you are, the damp patch on the outside of your tights. He chuckles as your body arches against the brick at the press of one finger, then two, and the gentle circles he makes against your clit sending your stomach into knots even through the layers.

A kiss pressed to the hinge of your jaw, nose dragging down your neck as his open mouth leaves a trail of hot breath and more goosebumps and your hips circle his wrist, pressing down onto his fingers with more weight.

“Really? Because your pussy’s saying something different, sweetheart.”

Groaning at his crude comment, it quickly turns into a whine as his mouth latches onto your neck. His lips pressed gently in a kiss before his teeth tug at the skin between them, your fingers pull at his belt loops, needing more.

Fuck, maybe Robin and Steve were right about this after all.

#taylor's asks 💋#eddie munson #modern!eddie munson #fic sneak peek #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson oneshot

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eelnoise · 6 months

Note

For the lyric prompt, 'i have my sentence now, at last i know just how you felt, i dig my fingers in, expecting more than just the skin' with Zoro? I don’t have anything specific in mind for this one, so feel free to wing it 😅

confluence

anon your brain has sent me into a frenzy. this fic is absolutely getting another part or 2 at some point because i have some thoughtssssss!!! anyway, hope you enjoy! zoro x gn!reader c/w: fluff!! zoro is injured but what else is new :)

With the most wounded of the crew still out of commission for the time being, the reality is that, for now at least, everyone is okay. They’d come out stronger from worse many times before now, and the reprieve of that alone should be enough for any one soul to rest.

Though as soon as your tiny frets and forceful bouts of self-reassurance had qualmed enough for you to drift, taking the gentle hand of sleep’s guide and luring you off into an almost peaceful slumber does a swift series of rough knuckles rapping at the door to the tiny room you’d been given and a rumble of your name beyond it.

Your jaw tenses, the ever familiar tone of probably the single worst person to be up and about, and with haste you don’t expect, are you opening the door and looking right up at Roronoa Zoro. “What are you doing?” you lip sluggishly, brows furrowed in a strange expression that lies between annoyance and concern. “You know you need to be resting.”

“Feel fine,” he replies, pushing past you and just… allowing himself into the room. “Just tired.”

You click your teeth, but you just huff and close the door behind him. “At least sit, Zoro.”

He doesn’t just sit, but lays flat on the bed with a harshness you’re not sure he should be exerting, and you can’t help but to sigh and smile weakly. Zoro looks at peace, both eyes shut as he stretches out his limbs, all but covering the mattress. It’s not often he looks so relaxed

Kneeling next to him, you begin to lovingly run your fingers through his hair, and a warmth floods your chest when he emits a very pleased hum in reply. “How’d you even know which room I was in? You’ve been knocked out cold for the past week.” It isn’t an attack, nor is your tone aggressive at all. If anything, it’s soft.

He turns his head towards you, gaze locking onto yours as he feels the sensation of your fingers through his hair. There’s something in his eyes, something that speaks volumes about how much he appreciates this moment of intimacy - despite the fact that he usually wouldn’t show such vulnerability. Because even if he wouldn’t admit it, he is anything but ‘fine’.The extent of his wounds were enough to knock a fully grown elephant out for a week, let alone a human man. But what is Zoro if not durable? “Robin,” he answers, a short reply but one that makes sense the more you think about it.

“Fair,” you concede, leaning your head on the edge of the mattress. “But you didn’t think to ask where your room was instead?”

“Wanted ta see ya,” Zoro says casually, as if he hadn’t been on the brink of death mere days ago.

The admission hangs in the air between you two, and there’s a hint of guilt in his voice - guilt that he might have caused trouble by simply showing up unannounced like this. But then again, he never did follow social norms too closely in the first place.

He wanted to see you? He wakes up, aching and bruised, serrated with gashes and the first thing he means to do is to see you?

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure it's enough that even the incredibly oblivious swordsman would notice if his eyes were open.

Zoro lifts his hand and reaches out, grabbing onto yours, holding it tightly as if afraid that if he lets go, you’ll vanish before his very eyes. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Needed somethin’ real bad.”

There’s no shame or embarrassment in his voice; only raw honesty and desperation. And it’s clear that he meant every word he said - because despite how tough he pretends to be, deep down inside lies someone who craves nothing more than a little bit of affection and care.

"Anything," you reply, eyes fixated upon the man beneath the touch of your fingers. "Anything you need, Zo.”

He takes a deep breath, the grip on your hand easing. "Just... didn’t feel right waking up without ya." It's a simple explanation, but it carries so much weight behind it. Despite being surrounded by people he considers friends and family, there was something missing that only you could fill. And in that moment, as he opens his eye and gazes at you longingly, it becomes clear that Zoro sees you as something more than just another crewmate or ally - you're someone who has the power to make him feel whole once again.

You smile, and when you lean in to press a kiss to his forehead you feel yourself being pulled onto the bed alongside him. The surprise makes you gasp, though once you feel his arms around you and your back against his chest do you hum into him, enjoying the warmth he provides. "Just be careful, okay?" you murmur, snuggling into him carefully. "Don't want you to rip yourself open or anything on my bed."

Zoro chuckles softly, pulling you even closer and wrapping his arms around you tighter. "Trust me," he says with a confident smirk, "I won't rip myself apart."

His body is still recovering from the injuries he sustained while fighting, but he seems determined to push through any pain or discomfort for the sake of being close to you. And as he holds you tightly, it becomes apparent that Zoro sees this moment as a rare opportunity to showcase how much he values your presence in his life - something that goes beyond the usual camaraderie shared among pirates.

In this intimate moment, there's a depth of emotion that transcends words, leaving both of you lost in a sea of feelings and care.

It's soothing, being in his arms. You hadn't realized just how much you missed this. Your relationship with Zoro had become something soft like this, him joining you for rests, naps, and just wanting to be around you. It was something you had to get used to through his emotional misguidance, but when things had become normal you learned just how to be affectionate with him, and now it's something you cherish and love. And though it never went further and mutual sought comfort, and even if you do consider the idea at times, you’re more than happy to lie here with him like this.

Zoro's arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he feels the warmth radiating from your body. For a moment, he forgets about everything else - the pain in his side, the lingering exhaustion, even the fact that he's currently lying on top of your bed. All that matters is being near you, feeling your heartbeat against his chest and breathing in the scent of your hair.

As he holds you, memories flash through his mind - moments spent together over the years, from teasing banter to intense battles to quiet moments of respite like these.

Zoro smiles, and even if you can’t see it, you can feel it. It’s in his very presence around you, his joy, his comfort, his you.

"I missed you," you quietly admit into his arm, and as the words leave you his grip tightens around your waist. And, god, does it feel like home.

"Missed ya too," Zoro replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Feels good to be back with ya."

He doesn't say anything more, but the sincerity in his tone speaks volumes. Even after everything they've been through together - the fights, the arguments, the misunderstandings - Zoro still finds solace in your presence, and he cherishes each moment he gets to spend with you.

And as you lay there together, wrapped in each other's arms, it becomes clear that your relationship has evolved into something far deeper than either of you ever expected. While neither of you may have explicitly admitted your feelings for the other, there's an undeniable connection that runs through every touch and every word exchanged between you two - a leash upon your hearts that defies definition yet remains stronger than steel.

Zoro closes his eyes, letting the warmth of your body envelop him as he slips into a peaceful slumber. His mind is filled with images of you - your smile, your laugh, your gentle touch. In this moment of relaxation, all thoughts of pain and exhaustion fade away, replaced instead by a sense of contentment and satisfaction.

For a brief instant, he feels like he's found what he's been searching for - a true sense of belonging and purpose within the chaos of the world. And even as sleep claims him, he clings tightly to the memory of your embrace, knowing that it will serve as a source of strength and motivation as he continues on his journey towards becoming the world's greatest swordsman.

You both drift off, falling deep into the exact respite that you had sought prior to his inclusion.

And it’s perfect.

—

You wake up slowly and twist around with care, taking in the sight of Zoro's face as he sleeps beside you. His features look so calm and peaceful, and you can't help but wonder if he's having pleasant dreams. Reaching out, you brush some strands of hair away from his face, stirring him from his slumber. "Did you sleep well, Zo? Good dreams?” you query as his tired gaze meets yours.

Zoro's eye flutters open, and he smiles weakly upon seeing you sitting up. "Yeah," he replies, his voice still slightly groggy. "You were in them."

The admission catches you off guard, but you can see genuine sincerity in his expression - a reflection of the depth of feelings he harbors for you despite not expressing them outright. "Thanks for bein’ here," he adds, offering a small nod of gratitude. "Makes everythin’ seem better."

You feel your face flush, his admission not just flattering you but truly moving you. Was it due to his most recent near-death experience that makes him fawn over you so? Whatever it may be, you smile and lean down to kiss his forehead - but you're taken by surprise when you're maneuvered downward until his lips press into yours in a bit of a forceful, inexperienced kiss, but one you reciprocate in earnest.

The kiss takes you both by surprise, but as it deepens, you can feel the passion and intensity that lies beneath Zoro's inexperience. He's always been fiercely protective of you, but now it seems like he wants to claim you in a way that goes beyond mere protection - to show everyone that you belong to him and only him.

Despite your initial shock, you find yourself responding to his kiss with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer as your hearts race and your bodies heat up. This unexpected moment of heightened intimacy feels both thrilling and terrifying, like stepping off a cliff into the unknown.

Zoro's kiss is messy, but it's full of meaning. Words he cannot say aloud are spoken though each smack of your lips and hums of joy, and as his hand finds its way to your neck to press you closer to him, you find yourself melting into his palm.

Zoro's emotions spill out through his actions - the desperate need to hold onto you, the desire to mark you as his own, the raw passion that burns within him. It's a declaration of sorts, one that speaks volumes about how deeply he feels for you even without using words.

Despite the intensity of the moment, there's also a vulnerability to it that reveals just how much Zoro craves your affection and approval. He wants nothing more than to make you happy, to know that you feel the same way about him, and as he breaks away from the kiss with a ragged breath, he looks at you with a pleading expression that seems to say, "Was that okay?”

You nod, eyes heavy lidded and lips glossed with saliva and puffy with love. And it seems as if that’s all it takes for him to continue, as at once is Zoro upon you again, this time with a little more ease. You sigh into him when his hands reach your hips, it feels so right and so good, like a long awaited tether tying you both into a knot. You want to kiss away his pain and discomfort, to hold him to you until he's healed and whole. To be his anchor and his safe haven. To just be his.

Zoro's hands grip onto your hips tightly, holding onto you like a lifeline as he pulls himself closer, seeking comfort in the warmth and safety of your embrace. He feels like he can finally let go of all the pent-up emotions and anxieties that have been weighing him down since the battle - and in that moment of release, he feels a profound sense of relief wash over him.

As he leans against you, he closes his eyes once again, savoring the feeling of being held so closely by someone who means so much to him. It's a moment of pure bliss, one that makes all the hardships and struggles worthwhile, and he knows that he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #zoro fluff #op fluff #x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #opla zoro x reader

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fuctacles · 7 months

Text

Making moves the nerd way

"Halloween" for @steddieholidaydrabbles Part II of the previous warm-up but can be read alone

G | 1k | no cw | almost getting together, slightly oblivious Eddie

next up

Eddie was sitting on the kitchen floor, painting empty pizza boxes while Steve was trying to focus on making dinner. Despite the newspapers spread around him, he managed to stain his surroundings with grey paint.

“How much do you have left?”

"I'm making a graveyard, Steve, not a random burial site with three corpses. It would go faster if you helped me, you know?”

“Well, do you want to eat? Because I can’t cook pasta and paint tombstones at the same time.”

Eddie grumbles something under his breath.

“Point taken.”

So they resume their activities, a weird mixtape of Metallica, Queen and Tears for Fears playing in the background.

“Okay, little Picasso, time to eat," Steve announces eventually.

"Don't call me like I'm a toddler," Eddie scolds him, but the fact that he's peeking over the table while on his knees, eyeing the plate put there, does nothing to help his statement.

Steve smirks at him, at the half-tied mop of hair surrounding his eyes over the counter.

"Wash your hands before eating. Kiddo."

"I'm older than you!" he protests but hops up anyway to do as he was told. It's good Steve reminded him though, he'd probably just throw himself at the spaghetti like a savage, paint stains or not.

They eat and discuss the acceptable damage to Harrington's lawn to prop up the gravestones. Eddie's devastated to hear he can't just put holes in the ground.

"We can prop them up with sticks. Or weigh them down with rocks. We'll figure something out," Steve shrugs and that placates him for the time being. He helps with the dishes but is quickly shooed back to his art station. Steve joins him later, with a hand in his hair.

"How is it going, baby?"

Eddie grumbles, not looking up.

"I know you mean it in like, a kid way, but maybe don't call me that?" he says, double-focusing on the cardboard in front of him.

"Okay, kid, sorry," Steve amends, petting his hair, and scratching his scalp gently. Pretends not to see Eddie fold under the treatment. "Does my little artist need help?"

"Your little artist has been asking for help for the past two days."

Steve snorts, detangling his fingers from the long hair.

"That's fair, sorry. I guess you wore me down," he says, sitting down. "What do I do?"

Eddie finally turns away from his work, considering him.

"You can paint them over," he decides, handing him the grave he's been working on. "I'll cut them up." He grabs a new pizza box for himself, the needed shape already drawn on it with a Sharpie. His scissors follow the outline slowly and jaggedly, struggling with the thick cardboard.

“How many do we need?” Steve asks, dipping the brush in paint.

“At least ten. I don’t have stuff for more anyway, figures I can just make extra later when I have time and supplies.”

Steve looks around.

“We have like, three,” he observes.

“Well, chop chop then, my little helper.”

Steve sighs and gets to work.

While he’s happy to indulge Eddie and help him out, he’s been imagining their evening together differently. Getting one-on-one time in their little traumatized family was a rare thing unless you're already an established couple. Or him and Robin, but that's because they work together. Needless to say, it was hard to make a move on someone. Even with something already brewing between them.

“So, are we putting our enemies’ names on them?” he settles on learning more about Eddie instead. Hopes he doesn’t mind treating his graveyard project like a shared effort, that Steve says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’.

“Oh, I’m totally absolutely putting Vecna on one. Other than that I think I’ll keep them fantasy-themed. Maybe use all the NPCs my Party killed throughout the campaign. I think we’ve seen enough of that in real life.”

“You said it.” Steve mentally kicks himself in the ass. Just his luck to start a topic that goes straight into the trauma of their Upside Down past. How is he supposed to make a move now?

He shuts up and starts painting the cardboard more angrily while Freddie Mercury screams his lungs out in the background. He doesn’t notice when the cardboard cutting ceases.

Not until their hands brush when they both reach for the paint. He looks up to see most of the boxes cut up and shaped, waiting for paint.

“My hand started to cramp from the scissors. And you looked so peaceful, I wanted to join you,” Eddie explains. Steve watches him bite at his bottom lip, mulling something over. “I’ve always liked working with someone on projects like that. Help out with school play scenography, make Halloween costumes with Wayne…” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but the soft, genuine smile tells Steve otherwise. “So uh, thank you, for letting me do this here. For joining me, too.”

And Steve realizes this could be a date, too. He could make a move like this, on his kitchen floor, fingers stained with paint.

“Of course. I have this weekend off, we could work together some more,” he offers. Then frowns at Eddie’s stunned expression. “What?”

“You want to spend your time off with me, playing with paint?”

“Well, I was hoping you have something more planned. We could work on our costumes, maybe?”

He’s alarmed when Eddie makes a pained noise.

“You’ll take Aragorn from me!”

“What?”

“We’ve been fighting over Lord of the Rings characters for Halloween costumes and if you join us there’s no way Henderson will let me keep him.”

“I don’t need to join in, I’d rather just help you with your costume.”

To this, Eddie turns suspicious.

“Why?” he squints.

“Eddie,” he sighs, staring fondly into his eyes, and grabs his wrist for good measure.

Eddie’s eyes go big like saucers when it hits him.

"Holy shit. Do you want to have a nerd date with me?”

Steve chuckles.

“I guess I do.”

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddieholidaydrabbles #i like nerd dates #i dont get them #but i like working on stuff with friends

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space-invading-pigeon · 2 years

Text

Steve's twenty-one years old and convinced that he is a failure.

All his mother ever talked about was how she couldn't wait for him to get married and give her a beautiful daughter-in-law to gossip with, and all his father talked about was how he wanted Steve to join the family practice and be a big shot lawyer.

Steve is interested in marriage, but the person holding his heart isn't exactly his mother's vision of a perfect partner, and to be entirely honest, Steve is willing to go through every single end-of-the-world fight again before he becomes a lawyer. He hates arguing, especially about topics he isn't too passionate about, and he's been more interested in cooking ever since his parents started leaving him alone so often for their "business trips." Because of all this, Steve really believes that he's some failed attempt at the perfect child, and he hates himself for it.

***

When he starts making lunches for everyone, it's mostly to calm himself: he can't follow every single person in his found family around all day, but he can make sure they've got plenty to eat, that they know he cares for them. It's not much, but it quiets the voice in his head (suspiciously Richard Harrington-like in both tone and word choice) that tells him he's being ridiculous or that packing a lunch for all these people is an embarrassment to the family name.

Everyone loves their personalized lunchboxes, so much so that Mike "lets" Steve make him lunch, too, after only a week. (It's packed with high-calorie finger foods, all of which have textures that don't make Mike want to scream. They're usually shaped like knights, swords, and shields) Steve's pretty much set for life, anyway, since Hopper strong-armed his father into leaving Hawkins back in '83, so Steve is happy to spend his time and money making his family happy.

Erica is the one who notices how much Steve loves to cook and actually DOES something, though. She demands a certain quality to everything she's involved with, and she's never shied away from telling someone they needed to step up, but she never once has a negative thing to say about Steve's food (the only complaint she had was with her first lunchbox: not enough food). It drives her actual parents crazy, that Steve can get her to eat anything he makes, when Erica has gone to bed hungry or fallen asleep at the table because she refused to eat something her parents made.

All this to say, it's Erica's doing that Steve is signed up for so many events. She doesn't even ask; if they need food, she volunteers him, and Steve can't say no to his Kids, so he always comes through. Steve is the envy of all the PTA bake sales, school dances, and even Parent-Teacher Nights with his cooking, and Erica is his number one promoter. She even bullies Hopper into signing Steve up for a booth during the Hawkins Fall Festival (in '87, since the 1986 festival was cancelled because of the "earthquake"), and her Encouragement™ is how Steve ends up with forty batches of brownies, several hundred dozen cookies, fifteen pies, and a veritable mountain of other sweets packed into a small canvas tent one morning in mid-October. Erica doesn't do work unless it benefits her directly, but she spends all day in that booth with Steve, Joyce, Robin, and Argyle, manning the money box so that the other four can just serve treats. They make so much money that Steve buys their entire groups dinner (and if he leaves fifty bucks in the pocket of Wayne Munson's coat, that's just how it goes).

Steve continues to make lunches, but after the festival is over, he starts getting calls to his house AND Family Video, asking him if he'd cater, if he could make a dessert, if he was available MONTHS in advance for a block party. It's overwhelming, but people adore his food, and just that thought motivates him enough to start booking each request.

By the end of January 1988, Steve has raised enough money to seriously look into starting his own business. Numbers make him sick (not really, he just hates math), so he asks Joyce to help him with finances, and before spring break, Hop's is up and ready for business. (Hopper cries when Steve tells him that he's naming his bakery after him- that's his boy and he's bursting with pride and love for this idiot kid)

#chef steve #steve harrington #stranger things headcanons #the party #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #eddie munson #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #will byers #max mayfield #el hopper #emansteveation

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lavendermunson · 6 months

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i could see you as my addiction - steve harrington

chapter 3 of miss americana and the heartbreak prince

summary a perfect date makes you forget about all the worries, the insecurities and the future. even if this time you weren't careful, who's keeping tabs anyway?

content warnings +18. some mentions of insecurities, so much fluff. allusions to sex. dry humping. slight nipple play. heavy make out, touching. no p in v next time babes.

w.c 3.5k

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter (soon)

Something is wrong, something is definitely wrong.

You find yourself sitting on the sofa at your private studio, no one joined you today since you came in a rush trying to come up with the melody for a song you wrote, about him.

But it’s odd, nothing comes out of your head, and you let your fingers linger on the strings of one of your favorite guitars, the one with flowers painted by one of your artist friends. It’s been two hours and nothing comes to your head, not even the first note. If you could, you would smash this guitar right on the floor so it breaks, you are sure it’s some type of curse, usually, you lose sleep working but right now you are too tired to do so, and truthfully, your mind has been thinking about another thing, Steve.

Not necessarily on his large hands, his cute face, or his soft lips. No, it’s the worry that eats you alive. You wish the sofa could swallow you whole and teleport you to another universe where life is easier, when your life is not printed in newspapers and your face isn’t in every corner of the city. You love your life but it’s overwhelming, more so when it comes to dating, to love. Past mistakes tattooed in your head, dreadful memories and bad luck, seems like you are not worthy of love and you’ve been believing in it until you saw him.

Robin is right, she always is. Some things look like a fairy tale. Like it’s a dream and you are going to wake up, empty-handed and never knowing if someone would ever love you for who you really are.

Your heart starts to ache, your teeth now biting off the rest of the old nail polish making it look chipped now. The buzz of your phone makes you flinch, you look at your hands in disgust and realize you are more than nervous. You catch a glimpse of the screen and see his nickname, causing a smile to spread across your face.

little secret: hey beautiful :)

about tomorrow… i decided to skip practice, i know, don’t lecture me about it

it would be better if I took a day off to be with you, does that sound okay?

unless you have other plans, i’ll understand but i kind of have a plan so i hope i am lucky enough for you to take a day off with me

The typing bubble goes away indicating it’s your time to reply. Steve never sends so many texts in a short span of time, was he nervous? Anxious? Excited? You had a combination of the three emotions sitting right at the top of your belly.

you: hi handsome <3 yes, absolutely! all day with you sounds perfect.

don’t worry, no lecture for today because I know how good you are at what you do. where are we going?

little secret: do you wanna make me blush?

uh, it’s a place a couple of hours away from the city… a farm, garden… i don’t know a friend owns it and we can have all the privacy we want

Perfect, privacy. Not that you don’t want to scream the world that you are dating the most perfect guy, but it’s exactly what you need, some moment alone with him.

you: privacy? to do what? ;)

little secret: oh i have a few things in mind…

You joke, trying to get rid of your nerves. But you blush at his reply.

little secret: eight am sounds good? Is it too early? i’ll pick you up

you: no, it’s perfect. i’ll send you my address!

little secret: great, have a nice day beautiful

you: you too, handsome <3 can’t wait to see you again

——

The next day comes, and you are hyper-aware of your nerves as you look in front of the mirror. You’ve changed your outfit at least five times, the room is full of clothes on the floor. You shouldn’t worry about it but you are, you want this to be perfect.

It’s almost eight am and the only thing you can think about is how are you going to get out of the city without being seen and followed. You guess Steve has it covered but… what if he doesn’t?

Sixth change of outfit and last, you fix the hem of your skirt and put on some cherry chapstick, this time you went for a natural make up look to be more comfortable. You get your purse closed and sit on the couch while you check social media. It has never been your favorite hobby but it’s quite gratifying to see your friend’s faces and their new adventures.

Robin’s “good luck” text pops up on your screen, You thank her and moments later Steve arrives.

You prepare yourself for what's coming, praying everything goes well and that your nerves won't eat you alive.

“Hi, beautiful. You look amazing” he says, standing close to the black SUV. He leans in to leave a kiss on your cheek and hand you a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey handsome” you blush at the feeling of his lips against your face, something you are addicted to. “These are so pretty, you really didn’t have to”

“Or course i did, i have to spoil you”

He winks and takes your hand to help you get into the vehicle, you see it’s completely dark so no one can look into it.

——

After the total chaos of switching cars in an empty dark parking lot and Steve’s driver keeping the secret of you two together, you are now in a quieter part outside of the city. The road looks empty, it’s a place you’ve never visited but you get intrigued at how calm it is. Your hair flows with the wind thanks to Steve’s old and classic convertible, the sun hits his face when you look at him. Sunglasses sit on the bridge of his nose and you miss that spark in his eyes whenever he sees you. His hand lingers on your thigh, feeling your hot skin under his soft fingertips, his hand keeps moving up with seconds and you let your body relax, your back pressed against the seat.

The radio has been playing old songs and there’s a quick change to modern songs. The first one is a new song from your friend Vickie, following up it’s one of Corroded Coffin’s most popular songs and then you hear a melody too familiar.

“Oh, I love this song” his hand travels from your thigh to the radio’s tuning knob to turn the volume up. Missing the feeling of his warm hand on your skin, you take his hand in yours and place it on your thigh again.

He grins at you while the song starts to play louder and you hear your voice.

“No, no, no!” you cover your face with your palms, shaking your head as you hide the red tint on your cheeks.

“What? I love this song, it’s fun” Steve sings along, surprised he knows the words when you look at him with a smile on your face. A laugh falls off your lips when he gets to the chorus, screaming the lyrics of your song.

“It's time, oh-oh. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling twenty-two” he keeps singing, taking your hand up in the air and dancing. “Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you” he takes a quick look at you, dedicating your own words to you.

You eventually join him, not only singing your song but a few that pop up on the radio, making the ride smoother, feeling like it went away quicker and you finally arrive at your destination.

“I’m sorry about your ears,” he says, letting go of the steering wheel and taking the keys out of the ignition. A frown forms on your face, watching every one of his movements.

“Sorry for what?”

“Your ears, I know I am a really bad singer but I do love music!” His laugh is contagious, seeing him smile so much is a thing that will be in your head forever.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know how to play baseball so I think we are even”

“Are you admitting I'm a bad singer?”

“No, no I didn't mean it like that”

As soon as the car comes to a full stop, he gets out and rushes to your side, holding the door open for you and extending his hand to assist you in getting out. You take his hand and step out of the car, accidentally bumping chests with him.

“I didn’t mean it like that” you repeat.

“I know, honey”

He takes off his glasses, placing them on the collar of his shirt and his free hands find your waist. You do the same and tangle your arms around his neck, getting closer to him and brushing your lips with his in a quick kiss.

“I can teach you to play and some other things” he whispers on your lips, you nod and close the gap between you quickly.

As his lips move against yours, his hands squeeze your waist and his tongue finds its way into your mouth, it bumps with yours making him groan. Your head leans to the side to give him more access, the kiss becomes quicker, hotter and you feel so desperate to get more of his taste. Cigarettes, mint and a dash of cherry from your lips. He pulls away to take some air and looks at you with a smile, your chest rises up and down quickly as you try to do the same.

“I- we should get inside and eat something. I’m starving”

You pinch your brows together, knowing how you both seem to push each other when it gets too much. Just like you at the concert, afraid that anyone will see you and start to scream. Anxiety sits on your stomach again, knowing that even if no one is watching you there is always a wall between you and Steve that will be hard to break.

You join him inside the house, it’s small but pretty. Pictures of his coach, Hopper with his wife and kids are all over the walls. They look so happy.

When you ask for a vase for the flowers he shows you where they are, not leaving his sight of what he is getting from behind the kitchen counter.

“I’m ready, let’s go!”

Steve has a picnic basket in his hand and a bottle of wine in the other. You follow him to the back door after placing your flowers in the vase along with some water. There’s a nice, big garden and to a big tree that casts a big shadow that looks like the perfect place for you to sit down and eat, you look around and see a lot of vegetables, fruits, and flowers planted on the floor. You notice the family likes to do gardening and eat fresh food, it all looks perfectly placed and taken care of.

You find Steve on his knees, taking the food out of the picnic basket. There are sandwiches, fruit cut into tiny pieces, a cheese board, and some chocolate truffles. You sit close to him to help him, getting the plates out along with some cutlery and the wine cups.

“You… Did you prepare all of this?” a smile shows on your face, which Steve loves. He nods, pressing his lips together to hide a grin.

“I had a little help but… yeah I did”

“Help? From who?” you ask.

“Uh, my friend Nancy”

You remember her, noticing how she was so close to Robin and it made you smile.

“Nancy, yes. I haven’t officially met her but my best friend, Robin… she couldn’t stop talking about her the other night and I-” Your pause makes Steve’s brows form a frown.

“You okay?” he asks you, not knowing if it’s something he did or hasn't done. He doesn’t know what’s happening but you are completely frozen in your place and your smile disappears.

“Your friend, Nancy. Does she know about us?”

“No, she just- I told her I had a date but I didn't say with who” He lies.

“Does your friend Robin know about us?” he asks, you can see his curious eyes scanning your face.

“No, I- nobody knows. I haven’t told anyone” You lie and it feels very wrong.

Robin is your best friend, you tell each other everything and it is inevitable for you to not tell her but you lie because, of course, you don’t want Steve to be disappointed. He told you this was a secret.

“Oh, yeah, same” he sits down, his back pressed against the tree while he takes a sandwich and starts eating. He looks at you, taking pieces of fruit on your plate and being quiet.

If you asked Steve’s friends, they would tell you he gets distracted pretty easily whenever he is outside his games. He isn’t used to catching when someone needs to be comforted until the other person mentions it, because for him it has to be obvious. If someone is mad, they have to be screaming or making aggressive gestures because that’s how Steve grew up. His parents were always tossing things at each other, when Hopper gets mad he yells, and when Eddie is pissed he calls him an idiot.

But with you, it’s different. When your smile fades away, Steve thinks that it is normal but you are now quiet and not looking at him, he is missing your attention and his brain finally wakes up.

“Is there something wrong?”

When you finally look at him, you get closer to him. Your arms bump with each other and Steve’s arm comes behind your neck to rest on your shoulders and leaves a small kiss on your cheek. He lets out a sigh knowing that he knows you still want to be close to him.

“Speaking hypothetically” Not ready for the answer but pretty impatient for it, you decide to rip the band aid off. “If I told someone else about us, would that be bad?”

You lied to Steve. He lied to you. It’s a rough start but it’s a little lie, something you can manage.

“No, not if you trust that person” Steve bites his lips, your head rests on his chest and he rubs your thigh. “But I think we should keep it between us, still. I- I think it’s more special that way”

But it’s not, and Steve knows. He is used to lying to protect himself, lies are better than saying what he actually feels.

“Totally, it’s more special this way” You try to convince yourself but it’s not working, yet, you try to change the subject and ask him about this house, Hopper, and his kids.

He tells you all of their stories. From meeting him to meeting his kids to his fight with Jonathan and Will’s friends hanging out with him as if he were the babysitter. Eventually, he found a family in all of them even if they aren’t connected by blood.

He asks you how you met Robin, and you start by telling him she has been your friend since you were kids and even though you had nothing in common she has been your rock and you’ve been hers. She is the one you trust more than anyone else.

The sun has been setting down, leaving the sky in a shade of pink and orange but the warmth of the day never leaves. You are not sure of when you got to this, your legs straddling him as his back presses against the tree, the empty plates scattered all over the place while you sit on his lap. His hands are all over your skin, fingertips traveling all the way to your breasts to give them a light squeeze.

You stop kissing his neck leaving soft kisses on his sharp firm jaw and leaving a peck on the corner of his mouth before entangling your lips with his. After giving him permission, your head leans to one side as you cup his face gently, thumb tracing his cheek where his moles rest. Your lips brush against his tenderly, he savors the taste of your cherry chapstick and the remnants of strawberry, chocolate, and wine that make his heart flutter as the way he is becoming addicted to your lips, to you.

As the kiss deepens, your tongues meet for the first time, dancing in a perfect rhythm leaving a trace of passion and longing, an intimate moment you both needed so much. The world seems to disappear around you when one of his arms goes under your skirt to touch the soft skin of your ass, his hands are soft but the warmth of his palms elevates you. His other hand sneaks to the back of your body to unhook your bra with one hand, impressive, you help him get rid of your bra and he breaks away from the kiss to admire your hard nipples under your top.

"You are so fucking pretty" he whispers against your lips, his words tingling on the bottom of your lip before they touch his mouth again.

His hand goes back to squeeze your breasts again, pinching your nipples with his fingers to give you extra pleasure but it's not enough. Your hips start to rock involuntarily against the hard bulge in his pants making him hide his groans over the kiss combined with your low moans. Wetness pooling on your panties as the rough material of his jeans gives you a pleasant ammount of friction.

He is lost in you, in the way you move over him and the way you are kissing him. He has never felt this, he has kissed other girls but no one has earned a place in his heart like you. He is putty in your hands, goosebumps adorning his arms as his heart beats as fast as when he is playing. It's a feeling he has never felt outside the field, the power you have over him is something unmeasurable.

As one of your hands rests over his cheek, the other goes under his shirt to touch every inch of his skin and try to memorize it. You feel the same, lost in him as your heart bumps against your ribs like a hammer. You swear you can see the stars, the questions, and the doubts fading into insignificance as you explore each other's bodies with warmth and desire.

You break from the kiss, both trying to catch your breath as your chest rises up and down. His gaze is heavy on you, looking at your pretty eyes with so much desire and admiration, his hands leave your body to cup your face and squeeze the soft skin of your cheeks.

Steve looks at your face, your perfect glowy eyes making him feel warm.

He smirks at the sight of your flushed cheeks and your pink puffy lips knowing he caused this. You are an angel, he thinks, you are here to save him and to make him happy and he wants to keep you forever.

"If you could look at you the way I do, you'll see how much I want to scream to the world that I like you a lot" Steve hesitates for a moment, being trapped in the lavender haze of your presence and your bodies being connected, tangled.

"I like you so much too, i'd give up the stars just to see your face every night" You look at him with the biggest smile on your face, he leaves a peck on your lips and smiles with the same happiness you are feeling right now.

"Do you think we could-" He gets interrupted by a ring on the kitchen phone, is incredibly loud it makes you both jump. He freezes in his place, not wanting to leave his position, he is so close to you that it makes him crazy.

"You should get that, it could be important"

Steve helps you get up, telling you to wait and not move from where you are. His unfinished question is still on your mind. Do you think we could... what? Have sex? Tell the world we love each other? Wait, does he love you? Do you love him? Already? Is it too soon?

He comes back to you jogging, short of breath and with a sad frown on his face.

"I'm sorry, Nancy just told me I have to get back. Hopper wants to have dinner and if I'm not there he is... I'm sure he is going to kick my ass"

You nod, looking at him with the same sad frown but trying to smile so he doesn't get to read your mind and see your worries. "Don't worry, it's okay Stevie" You know how much Hopper means to him, how Steve feels he owes him so much for helping him get to where he is now.

His heart skips a beat at the nickname, Steve sees you reach down to get your bra back. He is quicker than you and grabs it for you.

"Let me help" A mischievous grin shows on his lips.

You turn around giggling as you take your top off, he sighs when he sees your naked back and the soft fabric of your top on your hands he misses the view he was waiting for, dreaming of.

"C'mon! you are not doing this to me!" Steve yells, defeated as he gets closer to you and helps you put your back on.

"I'm sorry, maybe next time handsome" You tease, a soft chuckle leaves his lips and helps you get dressed, hooking your bra and helping you get your top on again. He hugs you from behind, hiding his face on your neck and kissing it.

His wet kiss turns into a bite, where he starts to suck on your skin to leave a mark. You shut your eyes, appreciating the little sting on your neck, but the smile never leaves your lips knowing he is marking you. No one will know who did it, but everyone will know you already belong with someone.

"I'm sorry we have to go, i really wanted you to stay" his arms lock you in with your back pressed against his chest. "I hope we can see each other again and soon"

"We will, we will see each other many times from now on" Your hand finds his face and then his hair, you play with it for a moment just enjoying this hug before he takes you home.

The night comes, and the day ends. But this is just the beginning.

tags @eddiesguitarskills @hipsternerd9 @afraidofshrimp @rexorangecouny @crowssixof thank you for the support!! (comment if you want to join the tag list!!)

I hope you like this series, feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR! . ♡

this chapter is very cute but there's some angst coming...

#leia writes ⊹#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington au #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x female reader smut #leia’s ma&thbp #singer!reader #baseball!steve harrington #꒰ leia's steve ⊹ ㅤ꒱

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estrellami-1 · 4 months

Text

Jemma

I’m not super happy with the ending but I would die for Jemma.

When the bell rings, Robin wearily sighs, stands, and affixes her hat on her head. “I hate you,” she mutters to Steve on her way out the door. “You and your stupid fair plan.”

Steve chuckles, knowing she doesn’t actually hate him or his plan; she just hates when it’s her turn to serve someone.

It’s a fairly straightforward procedure, which means Steve is surprised—and a little concerned—when through the door, he can hear Robin floundering her words. “Oh, no- don’t cry, please, it’s- it’s okay, it’ll be okay, um- Steve? A little help here?”

He forgets the hat, walks out of the break room in three long strides. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks when he sees a little girl standing in front of them, big blue eyes watering. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Hi, there. Where’s your mommy?”

Her lip quivers even more. “Calaf’wnya.”

Steve’s brows hit his hairline. “Okay, uh, where’s your daddy?”

That, apparently, was the wrong question to ask. She bursts into tears. “I dunno!” She sobs and hiccups, and Steve and Robin turn wide eyes onto each other.

“I do not know how to handle kids, Steven,” Robin hisses at him, looking about four seconds from her own breakdown.

Steve doesn’t think he’s fantastic with kids, but he’s at least better than Robin, so he nods. “Can you handle the store while I help her find her dad?”

Robin nods. “Please.”

He nods to her, then moves to crouch in front of the little girl. “Oh, hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll help you find your daddy, okay?”

Her eyes seem even bigger and bluer with the tears. “Pwomise?”

“I promise,” he nods. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Jemma.” She crosses a black curl in front of her face, like she’s embarrassed.

“That’s a beautiful name, Jemma. I’m Steve. Can I guess how old you are?” He grins at her excited nod. “Okay. Hmm… are you… three?” She shakes her head and holds four fingers up. “You’re four? Oh, wow. You’re so big! Can you guess how old I am?”

She looks at him with big eyes and asks wonderingly, “Two hundwed?”

He ignores Robin’s snort as he picks Jemma up. “Not quite,” he answers. “I’m twenty-six.”

Her eyes get even bigger. “That’s so many,” she says wonderingly. “Do you know evewything?”

Steve stifles a laugh. “Not quite everything, but I do know a lot. But I bet you know a lot, too. D’you know your daddy’s name?” She shakes her head. “That’s okay. Do you know what your mommy calls your daddy?”

Her face brightens. “Asshole!”

Robin collapses in giggles onto the countertop. Steve fights not to follow her example. “Okay,” he says. It only comes out a little shaky. “Does she call him anything else?”

“Eddie,” she nods. “Sometimes baby, but that’s when she has hew juice and is happy.”

Steve’s heart clenches. “Okay,” he answers. “How about if I put you up on my shoulders, so you can be way up high and see everything, and we go yell for your daddy?”

“M’kay’!” She agrees, so Steve situates her on his shoulders before turning back to Robin.

“You gonna be okay for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be fine,” Robin nods, grinning at Jemma. “You’d better help her. She needs it more than me.”

Steve chuckles. “You’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it!” She calls on his way out of the store.

In the main hall of the mall now, Steve’s breath tries to catch in his throat. There’s a lot of people, and he’s not exactly sure how to do this. Finally, he decides to just go for it, parading up and down as he yells. “Eddie! Jemma is looking for you!”

“Daddy!” Jemma tries to help, even if her voice is too small. Steve gives her a high-five anyways.

On his way down a side hall, he hears someone behind him. “Jemma!”

“Daddy?” Jemma squirms on Steve’s shoulders, and he turns around to see a man running their direction. “Daddy!” She squeals, kicking in earnest, trying her best to swan dive off Steve’s shoulders.

He quickly lifts her off and holds her securely enough she won’t fall as he and Jemma’s father move towards each other.

“Oh, Jem, I was so worried about you,” he says quietly, taking her from Steve. “You can’t do that, okay? You can’t run off, remember?”

Jemma’s lip wobbles. “‘M sowwy, Daddy,” she says. “I wanted ice cweam.”

He kisses her forehead and hugs her close. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers, then looks at Steve. “Thank you so much for helping her.”

Jemma wiggles in his grasp. “Daddy! Daddy he wowks in the ice cweam stowe! An’ he helped me! An’ his name is-” she frowns, turns to look at Steve. “I fowgot.”

Steve chuckles. “My name is Steve,” he tells both her and her father. “Eddie, right?”

“That’s me,” he confirms with a nod. “Please tell me she wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” Steve promises, then grins. “She’s an absolute riot, actually.”

Eddie winces. “What did she say this time?”

“I think this might be my fault,” Steve admits. “I was trying to find out your name, so I asked what her mom calls you.”

“Oh no,” Eddie whispers.

Steve nods. “She was very confident. And, uh, very willing to share.”

Eddie winces again. “Baby? Or-”

“Both,” Steve nods, then smiles. “But it worked out in the end, we found you. And maybe you two could get a couple of cones? On me?” He grins. “I’ve found there’s not much that a good ice cream cone can’t fix.”

Eddie smiles apologetically. “We’ve actually got to go,” he says, then shifts. “But maybe I could give you my number? Buy you dinner to thank you?”

Steve grins as he looks Eddie up and down. “Just dinner?”

Eddie stares at him. “I’ll try to get a sitter.”

“Deal,” Steve grins, offering his hand to shake.

When he makes it back to the store, he grins at Robin. “Put a tally on the scoreboard, Robin, I’ve got a number. And, if I play it right, a date.”

Robin judges him with her eyebrows. “Did you really hit on a girl out there?”

Steve snorts. “No. But Jemma’s dad is very appreciative. He wants to thank me over dinner.” He smirks and leans over the counter to get into her space in a way he knows annoys her. “And he’s gonna get a sitter.”

Robin narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t know what you are, Steve Harrington, but one day I’ll figure you out.”

Steve snorts. “I don’t doubt it.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @mischivarien @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @inadequatecowboy @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual steddie #robin buckley #they’re almost-friends in this one #no upside down au #she doesn’t hate him #she just likes teasing him #jemma munson #kid fic #Eddie Munson has a kid #starambles

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ladytauria · 6 months

Note

44 with timdami? if the muse strikes~

the muse struck and struck hard. this ended up about 2k words XD

my brain went "terminal illness? oh! hanahaki 😌" so i hope that's okay <3

there is also not really a... resolution to this. i debated between happy and sad, but, as the words kept coming... i ultimately ended up going open instead <3

thank you for the prompt!

Tim coughs up the first petals on a Sunday afternoon.

He’s sitting outside—Dr Thompkins says he needs more vitamin D, and despite what the others might think, Tim does try to stay on top of his health. Damian is sitting outside too; though not on the porch where Tim is. Instead, he’s sitting under a tree, sketchbook balanced on his knees and Titus lying by his side.

Dappled sunlight dances on his skin, and Tim’s fingers itch for his camera.

Then his throat itches too; diaphragm spasming as he coughs into his arm. Something flutters in his throat; on his tongue. He worries for a moment he’s coughing up phlegm—and then he tastes something… sweet. Floral.

He thinks. He might have preferred the phlegm.

After a quick glance to make sure no one sees, he spits the petals into a napkin. They were likely a bright, vibrant white before they sat in his mouth. A few speckles of blood dot them; vivid even with the darkening of their color.

Tim crumples the napkin, crushing them within.

Then he tucks it into his pocket, takes the rest of his tea, and heads inside.

The petals don’t stop coming.

Of course they don’t. Once they start— It’s hard to get rid of them. Tim knows that.

It’s inconvenient anyway.

Even more inconvenient is the way that suddenly, Damian is everywhere, just when Tim wants to avoid him most. Or doesn’t, he supposes, because… he never seems to excuse himself. Not until the coughing starts, anyway, and then he finds a way to leave without calling too much attention to himself.

It’s only a matter of time before one of the others notices something is wrong. They’re all too damn nosy and observant by far—something Tim appreciates when it comes to solving a case, not so much when it comes to butting in his personal life.

It’s also harder to lie to them. Not impossible. Tim’s done it enough that he knows just how to do it best; what each of them needs to hear to make them believe it. He’s practically an expert.

This, though.

It’s harder to conceal.

Especially as the tickle in his throat grows more frequent, his chest growing tighter. The petals get larger, too. It won’t be long before flowers form. As soon as that happens—

Tim will have to disappear.

Oh—sure. He could confess. The flowers in him will wither and die without that built-up longing to cling to. But—

He would have to leave anyway, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t think he could stand it, working day in and day out with him after a rejection. Doesn’t want that cloud hanging over any of them—or to put Damian in that position in the first place. Sure; rejection won’t kill him, that’s a myth, but. For Damian to know that Tim’s feelings ran deep enough that they had taken root and bloomed within him—?

Tim can think of many ways to describe Damian, not all of them flattering, but— Cruel isn’t one of them. Not anymore.

He might accept Tim’s confession in some misplaced kindness—out of pity, and that— Would be worse than any rejection could be, actually.

So no. Either way, Tim has to disappear. At least this way his dignity will be intact.

He always figured he’d have a short life. Granted, the method of death he pictured was different, but— well. Actually. With Ivy around, asphyxiation by flower isn’t really that different from something he could have faced as Red Robin.

There is also the surgical option, too—but Tim would rather die than become unfeeling. While some claimed that the surgery caused only dulled feelings, especially with modern technology, there isn’t enough information for him to be willing to take the risk.

Leaving is best, then. For everyone.

Tim does not have as many contingency plans as Bruce—but he comes a close second. Among them, there are many plans for disappearing and starting over somewhere new.

Picking one is the hardest part.

From there? Smooth sailing.

He quietly divides his cases between the others. Some, he offers outright. Others, those less pertinent, he quietly slips onto their systems, as if they had always been there. He does the same with his patrol route.

Tim works with Babs fairly often these days—especially with the blooms growing larger; the coughs more frequent. He blames it on the changing weather, and Oracle is happy enough to have an additional pair of hands. Tim exploits access to her system to make subtle tweaks to everyone’s patrols until his is virtually non-existent.

He also packs. Lightly, of course; just a few things to look at, to reminisce about the past in his dying days.

He has a will, and some pre-recorded messages. He shortens the period of inactivity which will automatically send them; tweaks the messages a bit; and moves on.

Tim allows himself a few indulgences, too—spending more time with the others, not skipping group meals, taking more time off of work. He knows it raises a few eyebrows, but— Tim is practiced at explaining his oddities away.

All in all, it’s quite easy.

And when the time comes—

He disappears, quietly; into the dawning light, when everyone else is tucked into bed. When the city—never truly sleeping—is beginning to bustle again.

Tim burst into their lives with a bang.

He steps out of them without even a whimper.

Damian is the first to realize that Drake is missing.

He wishes he could say it was because he noticed—but he cannot. He discovers it when he pays a visit to Drake’s theater penthouse, and finds it empty and cold. Devoid of life.

His home has always been somewhat austere… but this is different.

Damian knows that something is wrong. He is—afraid. He texts the others immediately, asking them when the last time they heard from Drake was. It does not take them long to realize that Drake’s disappearance is unrelated to their vigilante lives; that, for all intents and purposes, it seems to be willing. Which meant— there must have been signs. Damian turns through his memories with a growing sense of desperation.

Drake is—

Complicated.

Their initial relationship was fraught. Damian will take the larger share of blame for that. When he did, eventually, somewhat reluctantly, get to know Drake—it. Changed. He gravitated towards the older man, and his perspective; often unique from either his Father or Richard. He found him a good listener, too, and while he could be dismissive—Damian’s words usually held weight to him.

It—

Was nice.

Up until Drake’s presence started to make his insides squirm. Until he found himself with ears pricked for compliments from Drake. Until he found himself gravitating to Drake’s presence—choosing to take patrols with him even when Richard was in town.

Until he spoke to Jon and realized he had all the symptoms of a schoolboy crush.

He placed distance between them, then. It wasn’t hard, though it hurt when Drake did not appear to notice beyond a few things. But it was better than facing heartbreak.

And then—

Drake drew closer.

Damian kept his distance.

Now… Regret coats his tongue in ash. If he had not pulled away… might he have noticed sooner? Might he have been able to stop whatever caused Drake to disappear?

There is no sense in ruminating on it.

The important thing is to find Drake.

With Oracle in his ear, Damian makes his way to Tim’s Perch. Logging into his computer, even with Oracle’s aid, is generally a tedious affair.

This time it is not.

He can tell by the way Gordon quiets that she likes this no more than he does.

Drake’s face appears on the screen. He looks paler. The circles around his eyes are darker. He sits in the same chair Damian sits in now, wearing civilian clothes. Something comfortable—a t-shirt that should have been thrown out years ago, a pair of leggings that conform beautifully to the curves of his legs.

“If you’re watching this,” he says, “you’ve noticed I’m gone.”

Damian’s fingers itch to pause the recording.

He does not.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s…” Drake’s face scrunches. “...shitty of me to disappear without notice like this. I promise you it was for the best.” He pauses. He looks—almost hesitant.

Damian does not want to hear what he has to say next.

He keeps listening anyway.

“I’m dying.”

Damian’s heart falls to his feet. He thinks he hears it shatter there—a silly, poetic notion brought on by reading too many of Todd’s recommendations, he’s sure, but nonetheless. Blood roars in his ears. He hears little of what Drake says next. Something about pre-recorded messages, spaced out by time, and easily accessed by Gordon.

When Gordon directs him, Damian lets her instructions carry him through.

He sends the messages; all sent to personal devices, save for a few directly to the Batcomputer. And then he makes his way back to the manor. The trip is a blur. He realizes, only when he is seated on the couch, strange looks sent his way, that he has taken a blanket from Drake’s apartment. It is a fluffy purple abomination—a gift from Brown, he’s sure. Rather than explain himself, or tuck it away, Damian unfolds it over his lap; stroking it the same way he does Alfred, when he deigns Damian’s lap a better place to sit than a patch of sun or soft cushion.

Richard’s arm settles around his shoulders, tucking him into his side as if Damian is still small. Normally he would bristle; especially since he is half a head taller than Richard himself. Today he settles without argument, letting the solid presence of his older brother be a comfort.

Brown leans against the back of the couch. Her fingers comb through his hair. He does not fight this either.

Instead he listens.

Gordon has accessed his medical records; a liberty she normally does not take. He has been diagnosed with no terminal illnesses across most of his aliases.

“Most?” Richard asks.

Gordon’s mouth pinches. “There is one. I don’t think Tim knows I know about it—though I wouldn’t rule it out. He went to a clinic in Boston, and was diagnosed with Hanahaki. He picked up medicine, then bought a bus ticket. After that, I believe he shed that identity. I haven’t been able to pick his trail back up… yet.” Gordon says ‘yet’ with such certainty, Damian believes her.

“Hanahaki…” Jason repeats. He swipes a hand down his face. “Fucking figures. One of us would be too emotionally constipated to just get over it and confess, wouldn’t we?”

Damian frowns. He pulls away from Richard’s side, Brown’s fingers slipping from his hair. “Drake left— because he was a coward?”

The words are vile and bitter on his tongue. It is an unpleasant feeling that does not even come close to touching the fire in his chest. There are two cures for the disease of love—

The first, to confess. Face rejection, or reciprocation. Allow yourself, your feelings, to be known.

The second, to have the blooms removed, and risk dulling or losing the ability to feel forever.

To choose death—

“Damian, that’s not—”

“Quiet,” he snaps. He stands, thrusting the blanket at Richard, who takes it with startled eyes. “I am going to find him, and then I am going to wring his neck.” He spins on his heel and stalks out of the room.

How dare he. How dare he.

Damian does not think he has ever been angrier. Drake, who has more audacity and daring and stubbornness than anyone Damian has ever met—who’s passion and conviction and love has held this pseudo-family together even when they were separated by the eons of time—would rather disappear, leave them all to mourn instead of swallow his foolish pride and let someone—someone with whom he has fallen in love—to see the truth of him.

Damian will find him, and his object of affection, and he will tear the words from Drake’s throat if need be.

He does not get to die.

Not like this.

#asks and answers #felinemotif #damitim #timdami #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #thank u for the prompt!! this was fun :)

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dragonflylady77 · 3 months

Text

Mr Steve and the Monster Hunter

Hope you're ready for this chapter... @bigbangharringrove

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

On Ao3

Steve has questions and Billy has feelings

Chapter 3 - It's a code red

“Whose car is this, Daddy?” Livi asks, pulling him towards the front door.

“I have no idea, princess,” Billy replies. He wonders for a moment if it may be Steve but dismisses the idea. There is little chance he’ll hear from Steve, too much bad blood, even if it was a long time ago. Some things don’t change, no matter how much you might want them to.

They walk in and Livi drops her bag in the foyer before following the noise from the TV in the lounge. Billy follows at a slower pace, stopping in his tracks when he hears Livi’s voice.

“Mommy, where is Mama? And why is Mr Steve at our house?”

He’s here…

Robin’s reply is lost as Billy’s blood is suddenly rushing in his ears and the tips of his fingers tingle. He feels his power rise like a slow wave and he makes himself focus on taking deep breaths but it’s too late. He hears El’s voice in his head, checking in, because she felt it too.

Billy

Hey, El

Are you in danger

No, I'm okay, I’m with the girls

Then why… Oh

Billy feels her pause and he knows she knows.

Yeah… Steve’s here

Good luck

Yeah, thanks

Billy breaks the mental connection a few seconds before Livi comes running up to him. He picks her up, grateful for her little arms wrapping around his neck, providing him with a few extra minutes before he has to face Steve again. He can see Robin’s smirk from here but since he’s the one who decided to tell her and Heather about his long lasting unrequited crush, on a drunken night many moons ago, he needs to get over himself.

“Daddy! It was Mr Steve’s car. He’s on the couch with Mommy. Mama is having a nap. Mommy said I could go and tell her about our day.”

“Great idea, princess. You go cuddle up with Mama.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Olivia says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for taking me to the zoo today. I had the best day.”

Billy grins. “Did Mommy tell you to say that?”

Olivia rolls her eyes and, boy, does she look like Heather when she does. “No.”

“Okay. I had a lot of fun too. I love you.”

He lets her down after one more kiss and cuddle and watches her run towards her moms’ room, calling out to her and putting a finger across his mouth to remind her to be quiet when she puts her hand on the door.

He turns towards the living room to find Steve in the doorway staring at him. Suddenly he’s back at Tina’s house, the night of her Halloween party, after winning the dumb keg stand, Tommy Hagan dragging him into the house to show him off to King Steve, who clearly didn’t give a fuck about any of it.

He stares back at Steve because he can’t help himself, the big brown eyes fixed on him calling to him like a siren in the fog. There’s something in them that wasn’t there before and Billy fleetingly wonders if he will ever get a chance to find out.

He’s always been gone for Steve, since the first time he saw him in the parking lot of Hawkins High on his first day, and he’s tired of pretending he’s not. But at the same time, nothing good will come of this, Steve is not interested anyway. He’s just curious because Billy came back from the dead.

Billy dispels the memories gripping him with a shake of his head and walks over to Steve. He stops far enough that he won’t be tempted to touch Steve, but close enough to smell Steve’s aftershave.

“Hey there, pretty boy. Twice in two days. A guy might start to get ideas,” he says, with a trace of his old bravado. There’s always been something about Steve that keeps him on edge. To his relief, Steve smiles. It’s small and tentative, a lifting of the corner of his kissable lips, but it’s there and Billy takes comfort in that.

“Maybe he should,” comes Steve’s reply and Billy feels it like a punch in the gut.

He’s trying to figure out what to reply—his brain trying to process this new development and his dick yelling at him to drag Steve to his room and shove his tongue down the other man’s throat—when Robin comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“Hey, B. How did today go?”

Billy smiles and reaches into his pocket. “Great. You know how much she loves the zoo. Thanks for the use of your car, as always. Here’s your keys.”

She takes the keys off him with a knowing grin. “She really does. What did she con you into buying her this time?”

Billy chuckles, aware of Steve’s gaze on him still. “Another stuffed otter for her collection, since apparently someone suggested she name them following the letters of the alphabet and she’s up to J…”

“Yeah, that wasn’t me, my friend. What did she call this one? Jasper? Juniper? Jeremiah?”

“Jehoshaphat?” Steve throws in with a grin, and Robin and Billy turn to look at him.

“Nice one, dingus.”

“Nah,” Billy replies, “Jane, after her auntie Janie.” His eyes linger on Steve and his fingers start to tingle again. He forces himself to take deep breaths to push back. This is not the time.

“Awww. You should bring her next time.” Robin walks back into the kitchen and Billy follows her. The keys jingle when she dumps them in a bowl by the toaster and he gets himself a glass of water, before leaning against the counter. Steve lingers in the doorway again, leaning on it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Rob, you know very well that bringing her means bringing the other two, they’re pretty much joined at the hip.”

“Yeah, at the hip…” Robin snickers and Billy smirks.

“What, um, who are you talking about?” Steve asks, stepping into the kitchen and Billy shares a glance with Robin, who shrugs before putting the dish towel down by the sink.

“Up to you what you are willing to share, B. I trust him. On this note, I’ll leave you guys to it, I need to go put my kid to bed.” She pets Billy on the shoulder as she walks past him then gives Steve a quick hug before she leaves the room.

Then it’s just the two of them and Billy peels off the counter to sit at the table with his glass. He takes a sip of water and waits for Steve to say something. Mostly because he isn’t sure where to start, or how much Steve wants to hear.

“So…” Steve says, grabbing a chair and sitting across from Billy at the square Formica table.

“So,” Billy repeats, sure Steve will have questions because how could he not. He keeps his eyes on the glass in front of him, the power humming quietly in the back of his mind and in the tip of his fingers.

“I saw you die, Billy,” Steve whispers, and Billy looks up at him then. His brown eyes look haunted and Billy hurts from it. He feels the water in his glass starting to heat up and he forces himself to tamp the surge down. He doesn’t need El reaching out again.

“You saw me fall,” he says softly, like it explains anything. “Doc Owens said I would have died if they hadn’t reached me when they did. I spent six months in hospital, had to learn to walk again because I was in a coma for weeks.”

“The website says you were in the Marines?”

Billy lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s part of the cover story they came up with. I mean, I tried but… let’s just say that I have issues with authority figures that want me to call them Sir while I follow their orders blindly.”

“Oh. What about the rest of your bio?”

“I did some intensive training once I left the hospital, then Owens recruited me and we set up HellGrove. I’m sure Robin filled you in on the details.”

“A little, yes but I was wond—”

Billy

El’s voice in his head masks whatever Steve was saying and Billy focuses on her.

What’s up?

Code Red

“Fuck.” Bill stands up immediately, rubbing both hands over his face. Not now!

“Billy, what? Were you even listening to me?”

Billy looks down at Steve. He sighs. “I am very, very sorry about this, pretty boy, but I have to go.”

“Go? Go where? Robin said you’re staying in the guest room?”

El? Gimme five

Okay, Will and Lucas on standby

Thanks

“Billy? What the fuck is going on? You said you’d answer my questions and now you’re leaving?”

“I know, and I am sorry.” Billy leaves the kitchen and walks to the guest room, a pissed-off Steve hot on his heels.

“Hargrove!”

Billy grabs his duffle bag and puts it on the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! The universe is really taking the piss. The one time he finally gets to sit down with Steve to have that talk he’s been dreaming about…

“Rob!” he calls out as he pulls out his go bag. Steve is pacing between the door and the window and Billy doesn’t have time to deal with it. Not when El called a code red. FUCK!

“Yeah?” Robin appears in the doorway, and Livi comes up beside her in her unicorn pajamas.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” she asks and Billy smiles before walking over to them. He crouches down to Livi’s level and kisses his daughter on the cheek. The timing fucking sucks.

“I’m sorry, princess, Daddy has to go fight the monsters. Auntie Janie called and she needs help. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? I promise.”

“She called? How did she call? Hello?” Steve says from somewhere behind him but Billy ignores him. There is no time.

“It’s okay, Daddy. I understand. I love you. Be careful, okay?”

“I will. And I love you too.” Billy gets up and walks back to the bed where he unzips his go bag.

“How bad?” Robin asks as Billy sheds his jacket and the button-down shirt he was wearing to change into the mission-sanctioned black tee with the HellGrove logo on the chest. He hears a gasp in the corner and figures it’s Steve, probably reacting to the scars covering his body.

“Code red.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Olivia, come on, sweetie, time for bed. We’ll let Daddy get ready.” Robin picks up the little girl and turns to Billy. “B, no portals inside the house. I’m serious. You singed the carpet last time, and this is a rental!”

Billy turns around and rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, that was one time, Robin!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Steve, lock the front door behind you when you leave. Good night.” She waves at them before retreating down the hallway with Livi.

“Portals?” Steve asks, standing in front of Billy.

His hair is a mess and he looks more confused than pissed off now, so fucking kissable it hurts.

Billy sits on the bed to swap his Chuck Taylors for steel-capped boots that match his all black outfit, then he puts on his leather jacket and zips it up before looking at Steve. “I wish I had time to sit down and explain, pretty boy, but I have to go.”

“Yeah, no, I get that. You and Robin have made that pretty fucking clear. What I don’t get is how you found out about this code red bullshit and how exactly this Auntie Janie called you. I’m assuming you mean Eleven?”

“Come on, pretty boy, surely you’re able to add two and two together and get to four. Yes, of course I mean El. She and I have… a connection. It started that night at Starcourt, when she pulled me out of his control. I also ended up with some extra abilities, leftover perks, I guess.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry too much about it. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute and you can go back to your life.” Billy knows he’s out of time and out of luck. He wanted a sign from the universe and he got one. He doubts he’ll get this chance with Steve again. With a sigh, he picks up his backpack and hoists it on his back. “And apparently I have to go outside to preserve the fucking carpet.”

“Fuck this, I’m coming with you.” Steve moves in front of the door, and Billy is of half a mind to open the portal in the bedroom just to see the look on his face.

“Steve, I’m not taking you into the Upside Down. It’s way too dangerous. You're… you’re my kid’s teacher, for fuck’s sake!” He can’t risk it, can’t risk Steve, even if he never has a chance with him. He won’t be able to deal if something bad happens to Steve. Also he’ll never hear the end of it if Max finds out.

“I killed demogorgons with a baseball bat full of nails before you even knew what the fucking Upside Down was, Hargrove.” The steel in Steve’s voice hits something inside Billy’s chest. There’s that fire everyone was talking about that he’d missed. It makes his power hum in approval.

"Okay, fine.” He looks Steve up and down. “But you can’t go dressed like that, you’ll get us killed.”

Chapter 4

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove big bang #harringrove bigbang #harringrovebigbang #dragonflylady77 #mr steve and the monster hunter

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bettyfrommars · 11 months

Text

The Monsters on Maple Street A What We Do in the Shadows AU

18+Only for mature subject matter, vampire!eddie, vampire!steve, vampire!robin, familiar!dustin, satire, dark humor, use of the term Master, but really no other warnings that I can think of.

Word count: 994

In honor of the new WWDITS season coming out this month, I wanted to a little something silly. The title is a play on one of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes ❤️

--------

The windows in the house on Maple Street are dark during the day, until the sun goes down, and the coffins open.

Inside, we are greeted by Dustin, the house familiar, who puts a finger to his lips to let us know to keep it to a whisper. “My Master isn’t awake yet,” he turns on his heel. “But, any minute now.”

We follow him down the hall where he pauses at one of the many doors, his hand on the knob.

Directly behind us, there is a stern voice. “Who the hell are these people?”

We turn to find one of the other vampire roommates there standing by the staircase wearing jeans, white shirt unbuttoned to expose a wash of chest hair, hands on hips, fangs out.

Dustin comes between us and the vampire, who looks a tad on the grumpy side. “Everybody, this is Steve,” and then Dustin looks directly at us, whispering, “I told him you were coming, he’s just…oh forget it.”

Steve pushes by us gruffly, on his way down the hall, voice bellowing. “Where the hell is Robin? Did you wake her up, or do I have to do it?”

Steve has already disappeared down the end of the hall and into another room, not waiting for Dustin’s answer. “I’m sure she can wake herself up, King Steve,” Dustin responds with a strained smile, blinking a few times. “I changed all of the batteries in the alarm clocks last week.”

Something thuds overhead, on the floor above us, and we all look up.

“See,” Dustin nods, and then he starts mumbling to himself. “They need to get their own familiar because this is getting ridiculous.”

“Okay,” Dustin recovers, fingers wrapping around the doorknob again. “Where were we? So, after we wake up my Master I’ll take you over to show you the—”

“Dustin,” another male voice calls out to your guide, and you turn to see a different roommate appear at the top of the basement stairs. He is wearing gray sweats and a tie-dye t-shirt, his blonde hair in disarray. The smell of marijuana smoke fills the hall.

“Yes, Jonathan?” Dustin tries to keep his jovial disposition, but his smile does not reach his eyes.

Jonathan is holding a bag of unopened sunflower seeds. “Do you know how much salt is in these? I don’t think it says on here.”

“It’s called sodium,” Dustin chuckles just before letting out a hard sigh. “What does it matter anyway? You can’t eat them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan grins. “Doesn’t mean I can’t think about it.”

“Great, well, as you can see, I’m right in the middle of something,” Dustin turns his back on us to hiss through gritted teeth at Jonathan. “And you can’t get high anymore, so just give it a rest, will you?”

Jonathan goes back down the stairs and Dustin fixes a look of excitement on his face, freezing it there. “Okay,” he turns the knob. “I think the coast is clear now.”

We enter behind him into a room with a raised casket horizontal in the middle, surrounded by instruments, metal posters, and a banner along the wall that says Corroded Coffin in red letters.

“Masterrrrrr,” Dustin creeps in, making his way around to the side of the matte black casket with the opening latch. “It’s time to wake up, Master. Some nice people are here to meet you.”

From inside the casket, a deep voice says Dustin’s name, and Dustin throws us a smile before doing the work of prying the lid open a sliver so he can peep in.

“Yes, Master?”

There is whispering between them that we can’t hear, but then Dustin raises his voice, “I told you about this. Yes I did. Several times. I put it on your calendar.”

The lid shuts with a bang. Dustin looks over at us and cocks his head, winking, giving us a thumbs up. “He’s coming out, he just needs a minute.”

It isn’t long before the lid creaks all the way open, catching at the hinge, exposing the red velvet interior. The hand that pushed it open is adorned in chunky, metal rings.

The vampire in question ejects to his feet as if on a spring, standing tall before us now, long, dark wavy hair hanging down, clad in a Hellfire tee and black jeans, exposed arms sprinkled in tattoos.

He holds the tip of his tongue to one of his pointed fangs, greedy eyes sweeping over our bodies. “Is this my breakfast?”

“No, master,” Dustin says hurriedly, coming to stand in front of us. “We went over this a billion times. You will not drain the guests.”

Dustin introduces this vampire as Eddie.

Eddie jumps from his casket to land on his feet with ease and saunters over. He moves to grab something off of the coat hook in the corner, but only catches air.

“My battle jacket,” he frowns. “Where is it?”

“It’s at the cleaners,” Dustin answers.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “How dare you?”

“It stunk, Master,” Dustin stood his ground under the searing hot gaze of the vampire, unphased by his vitriol. “You’ll have it back tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait that long,” Eddie mumbles, pushing by us to head down the hall and to the foyer. We all watch as he opens the front door to reveal the night sky and yells, “bat!”

He turns into a bat right before our eyes and flaps away.

Our attention returns to Dustin who is pressing his lips together in a tight grin, fingers laced behind his back. “We all care a lot about each other. It’s like a family here.”

#stranger things #stranger things au #wwdits #vampire eddie #vampire Steve #Eddie munson #steve harrington #vampires

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eskawrites · 5 months

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#21 for the angsty prompt, if you feel like it <3

21. "This isn't what it looks like."

Nancy has picked up many skills in all her years fighting the supernatural forces beneath Hawkins. How to shoot a gun. How to set a bear trap. How to bandage a wound, sort of. Well enough, anyway.

How to pack a bag quickly. How to sneak out of the house without being seen. How to disappear.

Her clothes are easy enough to throw into a suitcase, though she lingers for far too long debating whether she wants to throw Robin's sweater in there, too (she does). She leaves all her things in the bathroom, figuring she can just buy more wherever she ends up.

She doesn't touch the photos, knowing she doesn't deserve them, but she ends up just standing and looking at them for a while, getting lost in her own raging thoughts as she wonders yet again what the hell she's doing. Why the hell she hasn't done it yet.

She lingers too long. She hears Robin's car pull up, the sound of her tires on the driveway familiar in a way Nancy hadn't even realized until now. The car door shuts, and Nancy stares helplessly at the mess she's made of their bedroom. She hears the jingle of Robin's keys, then the turn of the lock. Her vision is blurred by the time Robin's greeting carries through the house. Then,

"Oh, you're in here. I--Nance? What's wrong?"

Nancy turns around in time to see Robin notice the suitcase open on the bed, Nancy's entire wardrobe piled inside it.

"What's going on?"

"This isn't what it looks like," she tries, but she was never a good liar, really. Clever, determined, analytical, but a terrible liar. Especially in front of Robin.

"Then what is it?" Robin says, giving her the benefit of the doubt anyway. An understanding Nancy can't stand. A chance she doesn't deserve.

And all Nancy can do is stare at her.

"Nancy?" Robin asks, her voice pitching high and nervous. "What's going on?"

"I can't," Nancy breathes.

"Can't what?"

"I just--I don't--I'm sorry, Robin."

Robin is crying now, too, reading the silences between Nancy's choked words, seeing her so vividly and so thoroughly. Nancy hates it. She wishes, suddenly, for Robin to be like Jonathan. Like Steve. More friend than lover, more stranger than friend, in the end. Someone easy to let go of. Someone who will let her go.

But Robin isn't like that. She's always been more. She's always known exactly why Nancy says the things she says, does the things she does.

"I--" Robin falters. Takes a ragged breath. Tries again. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," Nancy rushes to say. "Nothing at all, you didn't--you know you didn't, Robs, you know it's always been me."

Robin shakes her head. "Then don't do this. Don't go."

"I don't know how to stay," she says, and she hears Robin sob.

"Try," Robin begs. "Please. For me. For us. Please, just try."

"You deserve so much more," whispers Nancy

"You don't have to always run."

"But what if I do?"

"You don't."

"Robin--" She can't do this. She turns sharply away from her, unable to look at her anymore, to face what she's doing to her. She grabs the suitcase instead and pulls it toward herself. Her hand goes to the zipper and tugs hard. It catches, and she grits her teeth and shoves the sleeve of whatever's in the way back inside.

Robin's sweater. It's soft to the touch, recognizable immediately. Nancy's fingers curl around it without permission. Behind her, she hears Robin's shaky breath.

"You don't have to do this," she says.

"I already have." Nancy turns to face her. Her hand won't let go of the sweater, so she pulls it with her, bundles it in her arms and holds it to her chest. "Robs. If I stay, you will spend the rest of our lives terrified that I'll try to leave again."

"Nance--"

"I can't do that to you. I can't--you--I'm sorry."

"So don't go."

"I'm so sorry."

"Nancy, please."

Nancy shakes her head. Screw the suitcase. She can buy clothes, too, when she's gone. She just needs to go.

She starts to walk out of the room, but Robin catches her by the arms as she passes her.

"Robin--"

"Just tell me why." Robin searches her face desperately. "Why? You have unresolved trauma? I know, I do too. The nightmares? The flashbacks? Your terrible sleep schedule and your unhealthy coping techniques? I have them all, too."

"You deserve--"

"Bullshit. Don't tell me I deserve better, I want you."

"I want you to have more."

"Not possible." Robin lets go of her for just long enough to step into her space, to reach up and cup her cheeks, brushing the tears gently, frantically, away. "I know your grief, Nancy. I know your pain, and your fear, and I know your need to run. Just please, please, don't run from me."

"I'll hurt you. I have hurt you."

"And you'll do it again, and I'll hurt you, because that's what people do. But we'll heal each other, too. Love each other, too. You just have to give us a chance."

Nancy closes her eyes and hugs the sweater closer. "Let me go, Robin."

"No." It comes out as a whimper.

"Please. Just let me go."

Robin's hands tremble against her, but she does as Nancy asks. She always does what Nancy asks, and Nancy loves her for it even as she absolutely loathes the slow, painful way Robin releases her now. She loves her, and that's the most terrifying thing she's ever faced. Nancy steps back, widening the distance between them.

She pulls the sweater on. It's long on hair, bulky enough to be instantly warm. The sleeves go past her fingers, and she bunches them in her hands and holds on for dear life.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, opening her eyes again even as she backs away further. Robin watches her, eyes wide, broken heart on her sleeve. Nancy forces herself to turn around and keep walking.

She can hear Robin following her, but she doesn't argue again. Not as Nancy pulls on her sneakers, or grabs her purse, or pulls her keys down from the hook by the door. She just trails silently after her, watching Nancy rip herself out of the life they've started to build together.

But as Nancy opens the door and forces herself down the front steps to her car, her own thoughts start screaming at her again, voicing all the protests she's certain Robin is biting back now.

Nancy stops. She stares at the car, then down at the keys in her hand. An escape. A retreat. A new beginning, as if starting over has ever made her any less broken.

She turns back around. Robin is standing just outside the door, socked feet on the cold concrete, tears on her cheeks as she watches Nancy go.

"I don't know how to stay," Nancy says, and maybe it's supposed to be an apology, but it feels more like a plea.

"I'll figure it out with you," says Robin, always hearing everything she never says. "You know I will. You just have to trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust."

"I trust you, Nance," Robin breathes. "I trust you with my life. I trust you with my heart."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"That's not your choice to make."

She swallows. "But this is."

Robin closes her eyes. "This is."

Nancy drops her purse. She runs back up the steps. Robin opens her eyes in time for Nancy to slam into her.

"I'm sorry," she cries even as she wraps her arms around her.

"I know. It's okay."

"I'm going to hurt you."

"And I'll forgive you, just as long as you love me, too."

"I do. I don't know how not to."

"Then that's all we need," Robin whispers. Her hand tangles in Nancy's hair, and Nancy clings to her like a lifeline. "I promise that's all we need."

#asks #annieofhearts #ronance #gonna be so real with you i do not know what this is or if it is good #it is simply what came to mind and devolved from there #morning angst prompt for you all #i actually wrote this incoherently at like 1am but decided it was best to leave for a morning reread #so this HAS been reread and edited #if it's still mediocre well then i guess we'll all just have to live with that

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musicalcastingideas · 2 months

Text

The Princess Bride Musical Dreamcast

The fact that with all the new broadway musicals are adaptations and NO ONE has done the Princess Bride yet is absolutely criminal, so if that were to hypothetically happen, here's my dream cast list.

Framing Device:

Grandchild: I can't really put anyone for grandchild, since I don't know many child actors, but I do think there should be a rotating cast, like they had with Mathilda on Broadway.

Grandfather: Mandy Patinkin, aka the original Inigo Montoya.

Mother: Robin Wright, aka the original Princess Buttercup.

I think it would be really sweet and fun to have two of the original movie's cast play parts in the framing device, almost like they're passing the baton of telling the story to the next cast.

Main Story:

Westly: Joshua Henry

I don't know if this is a controversial statement, but Westly is a baritone, and I think Joshua Henry would be absolutely perfect. He's charming as fuck, he's a phenomenal actor and vocalist, and he's absolutely gorgeous. Perfect leading man for a story that is about telling the best story ever.

Buttercup: Maria Bilbao

I think Buttercup would be a legit soprano, and as a big fan of Sweeney Todd and the recent revival, Maria Bilbao, who played Johanna, would be absolutely perfect for it. Just go listen to her Green Finch and Linnet Bird and you'll get it.

Inigo Montoya: Colman Domingo

Does Colman Domingo sing? I don't know. Could he act the absolute SHIT out of the confrontation between Inigo and the Six-Fingered Man? ABSOLUTELY. I have this vision of how to adapt the scene, which would also kinda translate Inigo's arc to a musical version. So in the original, the Six-Fingered Man trying anything to manipulate him, mocking him, that great "you have an overdeveloped sense of vengeance line, and Inigo is just not having it. He just keeps repeating the iconic line over and over again. In the musical, I would have the six-fingered man sing, like he's trying to get Inigo to sing with him, to give in to the performance, but Inigo won't sing, he just keeps repeating his line over and over. He refuses to conform to the typical "rising above" narrative and leave the Six-Fingered Man alive, he will be true to himself and his mission and won't let himself be distracted. Anyway, I don't know if this is a good idea, but Colman Domingo would be amazing either way.

Prince Humperdink: Aaron Tveit

I think Prince Humperdink should be the archetypal tenor boy and who is a better representation of current archetypal tenor boys on broadway than Aaron Tveit? Also he's really talented and I think he would act the shit out of this smarmy bastard role.

Count Rugen aka The Six Fingered Man: Josh Groban

I need Josh Groban on Broadway more, and I think he would do great at a quieter villain role, especially coming off a more angry and bloodthirsty role like Sweeney Todd. Also he looks a bit like the original Count Rugen, so that's a bonus.

Vizzini: Alex Brightman

I don't really have much behind this one, other than Vizzini is a weird little guy and Alex Brightman plays weird little guys really well.

Fezzik: Jason Segal

So ideally, I'd actually be able to cast an actor with gigantism to play the part, but I don't know of any, and couldn't find any while googling, so this is my backup essentially. During the lockdowns, a bunch of celebrities did The Princess Bride over zoom, and the scene with Rainn Wilson as Vizzini, Pedro Pascal as Inigo and Jason Segal as Fezzik is genuinely really great, but Jason Segal's Fezzik impression is spot-on and actually amazing. Also, we know from the Muppet Movie, How I Met Your Mother and Forgetting Sarah Marshall that he can sing so, I think he would do great.

Miracle Max and Valerie: Joey Richter and Lauren Lopez

I assume posting this to Tumblr, more people would know who Joey Richter and Lauren Lopez are than the average social media platform, but they are part of Team Starkid and Tin Can Bros and do some fantastic original musicals (please look up the Hatchetfield Trilogy and Spies Are Forever if you haven't seen them yet). They're both extremely talented performers, and also married in real life, so they would absolutely kill this.

Clergyman(Mawage guy): Brian d'Arcy James

I don't really have much of a reasoning behind this, I just think he'd do a good job.

Backups/Close Calls:

Denee Benton as Princess Buttercup

She's one of the best parts of Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812, and that's saying something because that musical is (in my opinion) one of the best of all time

Pedro Pascal as Inigo Montoya

I don't know if he sings, and he would be amazing for this, but I wanted to challenge myself to think outside the most obvious choice. However, sometimes the obvious choice is a good one.

Bernadette Peters as Valerie

If the Witch from Into the Woods found love and inner peace

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