#I bet he spends a lot of time on AO3

[otamega8]

Noguchi-san just posted this and I can’t I just can’t AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH

[airawisteria]

[ID: A digital drawing of Sora from Kingdome Hearts wearing a black hoodie with red and white accents, a black shirt with a white butterfly in the upper centre of the shirt, white and grey headphones and black jeans with silver chains hanging from them. He has his signature crown necklace and is lying down in a green, grass filled place with some of the grass ending up on his body. He has his eyes closed and his hands are behind his head as tears fall down his eyes. There is some generic warm shading done to the drawing. The drawing is set in Quadratum in some grassy area.]

[strawbeerossi]

Mine

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever the police chief gets a little too friendly with you, you find yourself having a very strict conversation with Spencer at the hotel.

Content/Warnings: Jealous!Spencer, unprotected sex, squirting

Word Count: 1.6K

Kinktober Day Twenty Eight: Squirting

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Spencer felt his eye twitching as he noticed the newest chief of police was all over you. There was a child abduction case in Nashville, Tennessee that the BAU had offered their resources to. It was standard, children going missing and parents getting weird texts the longer their children were kept captive. You were spending a lot of time at the precinct with him due to you being the designated member alongside JJ to interview the families and surviving child victims who were let go.

“So agent. I got a few questions on your profiling abilities.” The man stated as he was leaning against the desk he was closest to, your gaze lifting from the case file the team had been building up over the past few days. “Okay, lay them on me.” You were just being friendly, not being the best at sensing when men were hitting on you or outright flirting. It was both a blessing and a curse. “Is it true that kids in abusive homes are guaranteed to be murderers?”

The question was quick but you were faster to answer. “No! Not in all cases. Stressors and triggers from childhood can play a big part in the psychological damage of a serial killer but there are people who came from relatively good homes who have murdered others in cold blood. There’s no exact genetic makeup or reason yet, but one day I’m sure it’ll all be answered in depth.”

The rest of the day went like that. He’d ask a question and you’d happily answer, although he was essentially eyefucking you while you were too enthralled in an explanation to pay close enough attention. Hotch had eventually instructed the team to go to their hotel for the night, the team needed rest after being awake for nearly twenty four hours without so much as a break.

The SUV ride back was dead silent, mostly because of exhaustion setting in. However, you could sense tension in your boyfriend as you rested your head lightly against his shoulder.

He’d been abnormally quiet at the precinct, barely even looking in your direction when you came near him. You figured it was exhaustion. Not only were you up for long hours but cases involving children were some of the most draining things you’d ever have to go through. After arriving at the hotel and everyone disbanding to get to their rooms, you were unlocking the door and getting your shoes off while Spencer quietly walked deeper into the room.

“Did you want to take a shower first, babe?” You asked, offering a smile.

It faltered though whenever your boyfriend was facing you, fury in his eyes. “Are we not gonna talk about how chief Lorn is shamelessly flirting with you? It’s like you're eating it up! I mean come on, babe. Why would you ever assume he would care about profiling related things?” His tone was steady, yet anger bubbling over the surface. You looked confused, an eyebrow raised. “Flirting? Spencer, he’s asking questions. I think you’re just tired and taking your emotions out on me.”

Very good guess and probably true, however Spencer wouldn’t admit that. “No. I’m not taking out my emotions on you for no reason. You think I don’t see you batting your eyelashes or laughing at anything this guy says? You don’t know how angry it makes me to know how blind you are to these signals.” Blunt. The words had your mouth agape in shock. “I’m not flirting with the damn police chief! Jesus, Spencer.”

“I don’t believe you. You look like you are eating up all the attention. You know, I bet he wouldn’t even treat you the way I do. Do you think he’d spend every waking moment dedicating his life to you? Huh? Do you think he could love you like I do?” His footsteps were quick and his path decided to back you up against the wall. “Cause I know for sure that he can’t make you cum like I do.” His honey colored eyes were blown out with lust, his hands immediately moving to grip your hips tight. “Spencer!” You squeaked, your pussy clenching desperately around nothing as you could feel the heat of arousal coursing through your veins. Spencer hardly ever got jealous like this, however you liked this side of him. He was rough and could be a little mean, which really did get the job done. “Tell me I’m lying.” His eyes narrowed, hand under your chin making you stare up at him.

“I-I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I was just being friendly.” Your voice was barely above a whisper while Spencer sighed and dropped his hand from your chin. “Go get on the bed.” He murmured, already working on getting his tie off. You knew what you were in for. Spencer didn’t act like this much but you knew that special incidents would pull this rather uncharacteristic side out of him. You’d done what you were used to, already stripping yourself down as you were crawling onto the hotel bed while preparing yourself for whatever was coming.

You knew that he wasn’t going to give you the princess treatment like usual, instead Spencer was getting right to business as he was reaching in his bag to pull out a condom from the side pocket and using his teeth to tear it open. After rolling on the rubber, he was heading over to the edge of the bed to grasp your ankle, tugging your body down the mattress. His gaze was focused on your pussy, a low hum leaving his lips. “Look at how wet you are.” His fingers were teasingly running through your slick folds to collect your sweet arousal, holding a hand up to show off the glistening digits. “Now, I wonder who did that..” He playfully pondered while giving his cock a few lazy tugs.

As he was situated between your legs, Spencer was grasping his shaft and smacking it against your pussy before moving to run his tip through your folds to further tease you, your hand gently reaching for his hip. “Fuck, Spencer. Please.” You whined.

That was all he needed to hear, his large hands wrapping your legs around his waist as he readied himself, his right hand on his cock while the left squeezed your hip. As the thick tip was breaching your soaked cunt, the male was shushing your whines. “We haven’t even gotten started yet. Tonight, I’m gonna show you just how much you don’t need some idiotic police chief and learn how to appreciate what you do have.” Jealousy wasn’t something Spencer was proud of but the emotion was prominently on display and he wasn’t gonna hide it.

His hips were slamming against yours without warning, a loud gasp falling from your lips as your head was falling back against the mattress. “Fuck!” You cursed, feeling the burn of his cock stretching out your desperate and leaking pussy from being shoved deep into your warmth. “You think he’d have you acting like this? Look at how desperate you are and I’ve barely touched you.” His voice was low as both hands roughly gripped your hips. Spencer was normally more of the soft and sweet side, however in these sorts of moods, he was different than anyone who really knew him could imagine.

His thrusts were relentless, your pussy sinfully squelching from each rough snap of his hips, your arousal adding a shine to his cock. “Is this what you wanted? To be fucked like a cheap whore?” The vulgarity alone was making your stomach do flips. This was the man who was bashful with saying the word bitch, yet here he was, cursing and calling you a whore. You wouldn’t complain at all, mainly because you couldn’t.

With his onslaught of assaulting your cunt, you were letting out a series of moans, shaky whines, and pleas for him not to stop. Your skin was flushed, nails digging into your partner’s shoulders as you were in pure bliss. “Look at you. You like it when I abuse your cunt, don’t you? Want to be used like the whore you are? Fuck,” He huffed out, lips smashing against yours as he wasted no time practically shoving his tongue in your mouth while slamming his cock into your pussy, slamming into the spot where you needed him most.

The feeling of your walls constricting and spasming around his cock was like a dream. Spencer was sensitive, so he loved feeling your gummy walls and being able to have them gripping at his shaft, your desperate pussy making an attempt to suck in more of his dick even though it just wasn’t possible.

You were seeing stars, a familiar heat brewing in the pit of your stomach. However, you weren’t able to speak, only being reduced to blubbering about being close, even so the words were slurred together and still hard read. Thankfully, Spencer knew exactly what you were trying to convey, a hand coming down between your sweaty bodies as he was quick to press his finger against your clit, the pressure on the bundle of nerves causing you to whine desperately.

However what happened next was something that even snapped Spencer out of his jealous haze.

He was in the midst of roughly fucking into you whenever your legs were shaking violently, your nails dragging down his back as your body arched from the bed while hitting your orgasm. Instead of making a creamy mess of his cock, there was a gush of arousal that painted his thighs, pelvis, your thighs, and the hotel bedsheets below you. Spencer was slowly coming to a stop while staring at you with wide eyes.

“You’ve never done that before!” He squeaked, his eyes casting down at the glistening of your arousal painting his skin. You were fucked out, your eyes glossed over as you opened your mouth to speak, however a moan falling out soon after.

“No, no. We are doing that again!”

[formosusiniquis]

y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be. 

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

-

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

-

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though." 

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

-

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

-

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic. 

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

[notjustjavierpena]

Heat

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

A/N: Many many moons ago (this might be an exaggeration), I wrote a direct message to @undercoverpena about one of her text posts that sent me into a horny spiral. I loved it. You can read the text post here. At lot happened since then, and I bet you all that she must have forgotten or thought I would not finish it, but alas I return from the dead.

Summary: Javier looks so delicious doing hard work under the sun. The kids aren’t home. Heat is not just what the sun gives, it can also be a state of your body.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, clit stim, piv sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie, rough sex, javi p is sweaty and you are horny

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51636391

Heat

It’s a thousand degrees outside.

It’s the beginning of autumn and it’s boiling hot, so warm that one cannot fully enjoy the weather when it makes everything feel crispier. You’ll be damned if you are going to spend the sparse and sacred hours of being childfree inside your house with a pout though, because your father-in-law has the kids after a long period of him being unable to babysit.

One would think that now that your three children are in Abuelo Chucho’s hands, it would mean having a long-awaited, as well as well-deserved, date night with your husband, but Javier has decided to spend the day renovating the back porch in the heat. You haven’t rolled your eyes at him yet, but the urge has been there several times.

You sit on the porch swing, dangling your feet just above the wooden boards that are soon to be removed and replaced. There’s a glass of cold lemonade in your hand, a bee buzzing somewhere nearby. 

Javier is in the shed at the back of the garden. You can hear him move things around, occasionally letting out a swear word moments after something clatters to the floor with a loud bang. 

You sip your lemonade through its straw. The honey bee has found the bush of lavender, and you let your eyes close to listen to the sounds of late summer, the start of fall. The sun dances on your lids, sweat forms at the small of your back just above your shorts and right below your cropped t-shirt.

After a few minutes where you’ve leaned back into the backrest of the porch swing, and nearly fallen asleep, you hear Javier returning. Automatically, your eyes open at hearing him speak. 

“Hey, enjoying yourself?” He has come over to peck your lips. You allow it, holding up the glass of lemonade afterward to watch his lips close around the straw. He takes a long sip whilst his eyes are fixed on yours.

“Gotta stay hydrated if you want to work in this heat,” you note.

“Just gonna be all pretty sitting there and watching me?” He asks after swallowing, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his Adam's Apple bobs.

“Mh-hm,” you nod without saying much, knowing you’ll break if you try to get an actual sentence out.

“Alright,” he just replies, and you swear you catch some sort of undertone in his voice. He kisses you again, lingering a second too long for you to be indifferent towards it, and then stretches again. A less collected version of you wants to undo his belt right there, but you let him go instead. Not without regret though.

And then he starts working, dragging planks across the soon-naked porch deck, and you start sweating even more at the sight. Even moreso at the grunts he elicits during his labor.

Javier is beautiful underneath the burning sun, sweat-slicked chest hair peeking out from under his grayish shirt that he has unbuttoned at the top. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows because they cannot go up any further than that, tightening around the beginnings of his biceps and causing your head to swim when you think about those arms around you. 

You allow yourself to ogle him as he is lost in the task. The straw in your lemonade sits in your mouth, your tongue curling around it briefly before you sip to clench your thirst. There’s sweat collecting on Javier’s brow, threatening to drip down, and when it finally does slide down the side of his head, your eyes burn from refraining from blinking as you watch the beads roll down his neck and into the clavicle of it. You press your thighs together.

The gray shirt has darkened in color around his shoulders due to dampness. Whenever Javier turns his back to you, you can see the darker patch has reached his lower back too. Your tongue darts out to lick at nothing around your mouth, and you know that your husband would laugh at you if he saw it.

There’s something dirty about watching the way he brushes slick hair from his forehead. He has knelt down on the deck by now, occasionally on all fours when he reaches for something in front of himself, and when he gets really concentrated, straining his back muscles so much that the shirt starts fighting for its life, he pulls a face that nearly makes you fall off the porch swing. 

You bite your lip, choose your words but none seems to do the job so you settle for something more simple, “Javi.”

“Sí, mi amor?” Javier doesn’t look up. 

You remind yourself that he has talked about redoing the porch since his father agreed to take the kids. You won’t spoil it for him, and you know that a half-finished project with three kids is not an ideal situation for you, so you compose yourself.

“I think I need to get out of the sun for a bit, can I get you some water?” You ask instead of getting on your knees to beg - or more - and then you walk past him. 

“Sure,” he replies as you pass him, and it makes you unable to see the smirk on his face, “Water would be great. Thanks, honey.”

Inside the kitchen, you fill a glass with cold water from the refrigerator. You even get a few ice cubes from the tray in your freezer but instead of dumping them into your husband’s drink, you hold them against your chest with a sigh of relief. Something burns in the pit of your stomach, even more when you return to the porch and hand Javier the glass of water. He hasn’t gotten less enticing; shirt clinging to him, hair sticking to his forehead, a groan as he gets up from the floor.

“Should be done by tomorrow,” he says as he takes the glass from your hand, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot down your spine as your fingers brush. It’s ridiculous since both of you know that he is yours already. 

“Mm-hm,” you watch him gulp down nearly all of his drink. 

And then he does something that you might never recover from; he pours the remaining water over himself in an attempt to cool down. It wets his hair even more, and he runs his thick fingers through it to shake out the excess droplets. 

Time stands still. Your heart hammers in your chest, pulse traveling through your veins until you can feel the throbbing of each heartbeat between your legs. You press your thighs together and let out a whimper of breath. 

“Baby?” You say softly to earn a hm? It feels shameful to meet Javier’s eyes. However when you do, you notice his pupils have dilated in desire, gaze flickering down your body for the shortest time, and you choose to strike. 

You step into Javier’s personal space, hand reaching up to lie on his chest. The soft pads of your fingers rest on his skin where his buttons are undone, and you try to keep a doe-eyed look on your face as you rub his exposed skin gently.

“I was thinking,” you start, trail off.

“Yes?” He drags the word out. You can hear the smirk on his face but it feels too vulnerable to look him in the eye.

“Since we’re alone,” you continue, gaze fixated on the chest hair that is exposed in the heat, “And since there’s air conditioning inside, we could do something together.”

“Do what?” He says like someone who has figured you out. His strong hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, lifting your palm to his mouth. He kisses it. 

Your face burns with embarrassment at the fact that you can barely contain yourself in his presence. That and the fact that it is usually so easy, so why does it feel so difficult to ask for what you want? 

“You know what.”

“I need you to say it, need you to ask for it, mi vida,” he teases and places your hand on the side of his face. He releases a breath at your touch, eyes fluttering closed so you feel brave enough to look up at his face. He leans further into you and looks as ready as you to give in. 

“I need you to touch me,” your voice trembles. Javier just barely shudders at hearing your words, opening his eyes once more to reveal their darkened color. 

“Touch you where?” Javier continues his little game. He mirrors you, touches your face too, “Here?”

“No.”

His hand moves down to brush your neck, “Here then? It must be here.”

“No,” you shake your head, “Please, Javi.”

Javier’s hand slides down your front and settles on the exposed skin of your belly. It causes you to hold your breath. Then it goes down, slips past the elastic band of your shorts and into your damp underwear. You gasp as two of his fingers slide through the wetness between your legs, tips finding your pulsing clit immediately after. Thank God you have hedges around the back garden and thank God that they’re tall enough to keep prying eyes away from the scene that unfolds. 

“What about here? I hope it’s here because I don’t want to stop,” he rubs you off slowly until your legs start to shake underneath you. He works his fingers back and forth, from side to side, one on either side of your clit and something builds and builds and—

You come with a little cry and bury your face in Javier’s chest. Your hand on the side of his face falls down to his shoulder which you grip as you soak your underwear even more, thighs trapping his hand as they clamp together. As your head spins, Javier chuckles out a swear word above you. 

“Never gets old,” he adds and you start giggling. 

After a few seconds of letting you breathe, Javier cups your face and lifts your lips to his own in a kiss that tells you everything you need to know, where you’re heading, which direction. You kiss him back slowly and he licks the inside of your mouth, guides you toward the screen door that leads inside of the house. He has you, you want to say, body and soul. 

“Let me take my beautiful wife to bed,” he begs and you nod repeatedly, mumbling a soft plea. He peppers you with sweet kisses that turn more heated as you get closer to the bedroom door. He toes off his shoes on the way, leaving them forgotten in the hallway along with pieces of clothing that he sheds you and himself of. 

When you’re both naked, sticking together from the sweat that is already shining on your skin, he hoists you up and carries you to the bed effortlessly. You cling to him by wrapping your limbs around his body, and he kneels down on the bed and places you on your back - and then he doesn’t leave but instead melts into you.

“Te deseo mucho, mi amor,” he murmurs and crushes you so heavenly with his weight, connecting his lips to your throat and sucking a purple mark onto your skin. You’ll scold him for it later but right now, you simply whine. His voice vibrates against your neck, “You really thought all I was gonna do was redo the stupid porch? Not do you?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you bite back with no real hostility, first snorting at his choice of words and then letting out a sigh as he continues tasting your salty skin, “I was ready to go insane, so please fuck me.”

“Dramatic as ever,” he teases and then holds himself up with one arm so he can reach down between your bodies. You bend your legs and let your knees fall out to the sides, breath hitching until it becomes a whimper when the head of Javier’s cock slides through your folds. 

“Please,” you say, and have never been so willing. His cockhead catches on your clit, and your moan comes out a lot louder than intended. You are just about to cover your mouth with your hand when you realize you don’t have to; you can cry and whine and scream all you want to. It makes you yearn for him in a newfound sense and makes you want to scream already. 

“Paciencia, mi amor,” he tuts but still reads your mind. He enters you a moment later, pushing inside easily from the slick that’s already smearing your inner thighs. He groans as you take him, eyes intensely focused on yours whilst stretching your pussy open in a delicious sting. Your hands find his broad shoulders instead of their usual place clamped down on your mouth. You let yourself be noisy as you adjust.

“That’s it,” he slurs, “Be noisy all you want. Good girl.”

When he pulls out and eases back in, the two of you moan in unison. He does it again but follows it up with a breathless laugh when your noises already climb in pitch. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he says soothingly as if you’ve hurt yourself.

But then he shows no mercy and speeds up. His rhythm becomes something else entirely; hard and fast, sending the eyes in your head rolling backward into your skull with a f-fuck dripping from your lips.

Everything is so different. Usually, you breathe so deeply into each other’s bodies, connecting your lips whenever the other is about to give away what the two of you are doing to the rest of the house. Your noses will bump against each other as you are impossibly close to one another, an occasional h-ah escaping your mouth or a low grunt from Javier’s, and if not even a kiss can cover up the noises, Javier’s strong hand or your own will cover your mouth as you cry through the most intense orgasms a man has ever given you.

But now. Oh God. Javier is making you sing until the house is shaking, every noise bouncing off the walls to ricochet right back to your ears. You can hear yourself sound obscene as he makes you come a second time, wanton moans falling from your slack mouth. You tremble, thighs jiggling along his sides as he drives his cock into you to prolong your pleasure. 

“There you are, Christ, you are perfect,” he praises, continues to pound your oversensitive cunt, “Let it all out, baby.”

“More,” you beg, “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grunts. 

You reach down between your legs as best as you can, already thinking of a third orgasm now that your clit is untouched. If not only to shout yourself hoarse.

Javier traps you between his arms, propping himself up on his forearms and sliding his fingers into your hair. He tugs slightly as he rolls his hips, pain erupting from your sensitive follicles and adding to your third high that is building. 

You circle your clit fast, barely able to contain yourself as your cunt goes off into delicious spasm. You think you might actually start crying with how intense it feels, Javier’s cock twitching inside of you whilst he moans too. He buries his face in your shoulder.

“Don’t pull out,” you gasp up at the ceiling, nails creating little crescent marks on the muscles of his broad shoulder, “Javi, oh fuck, come in me. Don’t pull out. Pleasepleaseplease.”

The comment makes Javier pull back a little, raising himself on his elbow to look down at you. His fingers are still in your hair, an occasional moan tumbles out of his mouth as he continues reaching deep inside of you, and his eyes bore into yours. He furrows his brow from being so close, barely able to speak from how ragged his breathing is.

“What—?” He grunts. Any moment now.

“Not ovulating,” you moan back at him, tightening your legs around his waist to punctuate your want, your need. You try meeting his every thrust to encourage his own high, “Please, baby. Need you to come in me.”

“Mierda, estas una chica sucia,” his hips stutter, “You love getting filled to the brim, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically. 

“Just want me to keep knocking your sweet cunt up, huh?” He moans. 

“Yes. Whole fucking football team.”

“C’mere,” he catches your mouth in a heated kiss, nodding slightly, but it turns messy as soon as he gets to orgasm. He whimpers into your mouth when he is just on the brink, and then he gasps as the first rope of come starts to fill you. You let out a big sigh against his mouth for show, taking everything he has to give you whilst he shudders in your arms. 

It takes a moment to calm down. Your arms rest beside your head and your eyes close, trying to calm your heavy breathing. Above you, Javier hisses when he pulls out of you and you can immediately feel his come dripping out of you. 

Javier kisses your exposed chest. He slides his hands up your forearms to eventually hold each of your hands, flopping down onto you again. 

“Ice water,” you say after a while of laying together like this. 

“Hm?” He squeezes your hands.

“Go get some ice water, your wife is boiling.”

“Fine,” he groans. 

When he comes back, he has also brought a towel and you spend the rest of the afternoon trailing ice cubes across your warm skin after cleaning yourself up. It’ll be easier to work in the colder evening sun anyway.

.

.

.

FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

[aziraphales-library]

I remember a fair few fics where the premise is vaguely “Aziraphale does a blessing/miracle/other religious thing on Crowley and it’s strange/overwhelming/etc for all involved”. I just can’t… find any of them. I remember them being various ratings, pure fluff to pure smut

Your best bet is the divinity kink tag on AO3. Here are some to get you going...

The Agony And The Ecstasy by entanglednow (T)

A split second decision by Aziraphale to save them both from discovery leaves Crowley experiencing something he is unprepared for.

your love is sunlight by EveningStarcatcher (M)

“Why wait?” Crowley’s voice was faint, almost a whisper, but lined with the usual forced nonchalance. “What?” Aziraphale froze, brow slightly furrowed. “Just, I don’t have to wait.” Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “Could be all better right now. I mean. I-if you wanted.” “Are you asking me to heal you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with something… divine.

A Negative Integer by racketghost (E)

“I’m the holy object,” Aziraphale says, and is also looking frantically around the room, the bookshop, the skylight filtering in the first glimpses of afternoon sun and holding dust particles suspended in their beams, dreamy and soft. “I can’t touch you.” “Yes you can,” he blurts out, and swallows down the cacophony of what are sure to be any number of embarrassing and hopeful ways in which the angel can touch him, really, whenever.

Bleak Without and Bare Within by Princip1914 (E)

Perhaps Crowley was right, Aziraphale thought. They were both working very hard in sometimes very awful places and for what? It was obvious that they couldn’t give up on temptations and blessings entirely--someone would notice, they had to surely--but combining forces here and there? What had Crowley called it, lending a hand, when necessary? It didn’t sound too bad. It didn’t sound like a good idea either, but Aziraphale supposed that was the whole point. It was a morally neutral proposition, and everything would still get done in the end. “I agree.” Aziraphale said finally. “As long as you accept that we’re going to have to teach one another.” Or, an angel learns to Tempt, a demon learns to Bless and things get a bit out of hand at the beginning of an unusual Arrangement.

Divine Hands by WanderingAlice (T)

After the end of the world didn’t come, Crowley had planned to spend a lot more time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all. Unfortunately there’s one glaring problem. Crowley has a strong, uncontrollable panic reaction to being touched by something divine. And Aziraphale cannot turn off his own divinity. A Good Omens Holiday Exchange fic written for the prompt: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale start getting closer...but they find out together that Crowley has deep-seated trust issues triggered by something about Aziraphale that he can't help. They have to overcome it together.

sanctuary by moonyinpisces (T)

“You’re staring.” “Oh dear,” says Aziraphale, completely unapologetic. “How rude of me.” Crowley begins to smile something slow, bright, and lovely, but he schools it with a bite to his lower lip. Aziraphale thinks of the way he looked two millennia ago, pressed up against the wall with Aziraphale's blessing healing his wounds, the only demon to experience divine ecstasy and live to tell the tale. How Aziraphale's hands itch to do it again, and again, and again. Crowley opens his mouth as if to say something, but then stops and spins around instead to go back to stirring the curry. “Shut up,” he says to the stove, flustered.

- Mod D

[owliellder]

Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of a Fight, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: Ahh thank you for 1,000 followers!! I don't even know how that happened!! Anyways, I think it's a little anticlimactic? I just feel like since I am definitely not the kind to raise my voice, a shy reader wouldn't either. Besides, disappointment hurts more than anger, right?

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 4:

Leon really did like you, honest. You were such a sweet girl, so innocent and clueless. Maybe it’s because he never gave his one night stands the time of day, or maybe it was just the sheer amount of time he had to spend with you to get this close, but now he knew he was a pretty terrible person for taking that bet

In the beginning he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt due to the words the frat spewed at him. He knew all the right questions to ask, all the right things to say, the sweetness of it all had you under a spell.  It was also such a menial thing to get, a single pair of panties… You probably wouldn’t even know it was missing!

But as time went on, it got harder and harder for Leon to stomach just what he was doing. You’d opened up so much to him about your home life, how stressed you were, how much pressure you were under. Doing this would absolutely ruin you so he did his best to convince himself that he was being the nice one by waiting to complete the bet until you had finished all your finals. All that time spent together had him second guessing, triple guessing, even quadruple guessing his decision to go through with this. The good grades were important to you, he didn’t want to draw your focus away from that.

It was a shame his friends couldn’t keep the damn thing to themselves even if their life depended on it. He’d explicitly told them that it’s done and there was nothing more to it, yet of course they just had to snicker and make snide little comments to each other the next day when they saw you in passing.

Leon wouldn’t admit out loud that you’d really grown on him over the months, so he could only brush his friends off whenever they’d tease him about getting angry whenever the topic arose. Chris was the worst out of all of them, being his best friend, it seemed like his mission was to dance on Leon’s nerves any chance he got.

“Delete that.” A scowl graced Leon’s features as he glared at Chris, who’d stepped back from the agitated man. Almost the entire frat had posed with the panties Leon stole from you, all of them making some form of exaggerated pose and face. What was only meant to be goofy on their part was making the man responsible furious.

“Relax, it’s just a picture. I thought you’d find it funny.” Chris chuckled, bringing his phone back in to look at it again himself. “You’re acting real sour for nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re all acting like a bunch of fucking idiots and I’m sick of it. Now delete that damn picture before I smash your phone with a hammer.” The nonchalant attitude from Chris was driving Leon up the wall. He already knew he’d fucked up big time, and with the way everyone was acting would only get him into bigger trouble.

“Shut up, man.” Chris laughed, like this was all some big joke. Everything was a joke to him. “Acting like you’re gonna explode or something.” This man was an actual dumbass, never taking a moment to actually think about what consequences having photo evidence with the entirety of the frat’s members posing with something stolen would have.

Leon scoffed, holding his hands up before letting them fall dramatically to slap against the tops of his thighs. “No fucking way..” One hand came back up to cover his mouth, breathing out sharply through his nose. It was a sad attempt to keep himself from pouncing on the other man, seeing as not barely five seconds later he tackled Chris, hands scrambling to rip the phone from his hand.

Chris was a few inches taller than Leon, a bit stronger too, so the scuffle didn’t last long. Some punches thrown here, a few kicks there, and Leon had the wind knocked out of him at some point, thrown to the side and left to struggle to get up off the floor while Chris decided to make his way to a different part of the house, muttering under his breath all the while.

“God dammit-” Leon wheezed, on his hands and knees, one hand against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Sure he reacted purely on instinct, but Chris could stand to be knocked down a few pegs in his opinion. The guy is an ass.

After finally collecting himself, Leon slowly spun around to rest his back against the foot of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. He coughed a couple times and let his eyes fall closed, eyebrows furrowed as he silently seethed. Chris was most definitely going to send that picture around since he obviously thinks it’s the funniest thing to ever grace this planet. You were going to see the picture. That thought alone had his head falling forward in defeat, breathing out a weak sigh and a few more coughs. 

If he had just followed his own shitty advice, he would’ve taken a second to think about it. Why didn’t he just tell you in the first place? Why didn’t he just go to the store and buy a random pair of panties? Why did he follow through on such a meaningless bet?

Now that Leon thinks about it, he was the dumbass in this scenario. A royal one.

He probably sat there for an hour with his eyes closed, mind racing a million miles a minute. Trying not to make another stupid decision, he decided the best course of action would be to tell you before you saw that picture. You should hear it from him and not a total stranger. It was the right thing to do. Right?

He let out a few more strangled coughs and wheezes as he stood up off the floor and threw his coat on, beginning the walk of shame to your building. It wouldn’t have taken that long, but the snow and sludge on the ground made it a bit more dangerous, he needed to tread carefully. In more ways than one.

The extended walk left him alone with his thoughts, seeing as he didn’t grab his own phone to bring with him. With every step his mind grew heavier, an involuntary grimace scrunching his face up as he mulled over what exactly he’d done. He was mentally beating himself up over how easy it would’ve been to avoid this situation if he’d just thought outside of himself for one singular minute.

What had he done? 

Leon stomped the excess snow off his boots once inside of the dorm building, hands hidden in the pockets of his jackets as he meandered over to the stairs to get up to the second floor where your dorm was. He took his sweet time, practicing what he wanted to say under his breath as he stared down at his feet while walking up the steps.

Your dorm was down the hall around the corner, allowing him the few extra seconds it would take to get there to get his heart under control. You would be mad, rightfully so, but would you forgive him? Is it selfish to hope that you would?

He stood in front of your door for a minute longer, hand hovering just in front of it, trying to bring  himself to knock. Licking his dry lips, he quickly hit the knuckle on his index finger against the door three times, his eyes downturned. As much as he wanted to be the bigger person, it scared him to no end. He’s never cared this much before, so why was he so worried about it now?

Leon’s eyes shot up at the sound of the door opening, immediately showing his confusion when it was Sky on the other side. They didn’t say a word, but they looked mad, or at least very irritated. “Hey, I really need to talk to-,” they cut him off by simply holding up the palm of their hand to him, taking in a deep breath. “We saw it.”

Those three words made his heart drop to his stomach, his eyes quickly darting to look through the opening in the door to see if he could see you. “Please, if you would just let me explain I can-”

“Don’t embarrass yourself. Just go.” Sky was just about to close the door before they quickly looked over their shoulder, shutting the door almost all the way. Leon could hear them whispering to you, and though he desperately wanted to listen in, he decided to take a step back from the door and wait patiently. It was the least he could do.

He looked side to side to make sure no one was walking through the hallways, not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on such a sensitive situation. The door reopened, only this time it was you standing in the doorway. You looked so sad, so disappointed.

Leon hesitated before opening his mouth, yet you cut him off before he could even get a word in. “I trusted you,” you rasped quietly, a shaky sigh passing your lips, “I-.. I trusted you… and this is how you treat me..?” His shoulders slumped as he listened to you. He didn’t think he could feel any worse about this, but here you were, reminding him just how much of an ass he’s been.

“All that time we spent together.. all those kind, encouraging words you told me.. were all a lie?” You sniffled, arms slinking around yourself tightly. Sky was standing out of his view rubbing your back, knowing you wanted, no, needed to confront him yourself.

“No- I-..” Leon stuttered, trying to find the best way to explain everything. And no matter how many times he formulated it in his head, the explanation would never justify his actions. Instead he settled on something that would probably mean and do nothing for you. It was worth saying, though. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry,” his voice fell to a whisper as he repeated himself, eyes remaining on yours. What else could he say?

Silence fell between you as you only stared back at him with glassy eyes, your every breath shaky as you held back sobs. Crying in front of him would only give him more fuel, was your thought process. In your mind, he couldn’t even be trusted with your trash. 

By now, Sky had walked over and grabbed your suitcase, rolling it over next to you. You were leaving a day earlier than you said you would, Sky having offered to drive you back home since your hometown was only a couple hours away from where theirs was.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, instead taking the handle of your suitcase from your friend before silently walking out of the room, past Leon, and down around the corner. He only stood and watched you walk off with a deep frown, head turning back to look at Sky when he heard them lock the door behind themself. 

“You’re only sorry that you got caught.” They grumbled as they walked past him, giving him a quick yet harsh glare. They soon disappeared around the same corner you had, leaving him all alone in the now quiet hallway. 

You were the nicest, most considerate person he’s ever had the pleasure to know and he blew it. The worst part about it all was you didn’t even seem mad, just heartbroken. Disappointed in him.

You had put so much of your trust into him, even after he’d been so nasty towards you in the beginning, and what did he do with it? He basically spit on it, lit it on fire, and then flushed the remnants. He was only annoyed with you the first few times he had to help you study, the bickering the two of you shared easily becoming one of the things he liked about you.

Leon honestly liked you from the start, so determined to pass a class that you’d put up with what was basically harassment from him. When he told his frat buddies about you, they were quick to draw up that bet. Unfortunately, he’d known most of these guys since middle school, and you were just a girl he met on chance. His friends’ words blanketed his own morals, and because they saw you as a target, so did he, that subconscious need for peer approval leading him to make one of the worst decisions he’s ever made thus far.

If he was in your shoes, he’d raise hell, so your decision to leave was completely understandable. For some reason you’d let him off easy and he knew he didn’t deserve such light treatment. 

All he could do now was hope you’d come back next semester. He’d be fine just getting to see you in passing since you most likely wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him anymore, your friends would certainly keep him at a distance away from you. 

Would writing a message be okay? You need time before he approaches the topic with you. Should he leave you be? No, you deserve an apology, even if you don’t want it, nor accept it. 

Someone brushed by Leon, breaking his train of thought. He was still standing in the hallway in front of your dorm room. He needed to go and try to make this right, or at the very least rip everyone at the frat a new one. He wasn’t sure, maybe it was because he was angry at them and himself, but leaving the frat sounded like a pretty good way to start righting his wrongs. Not before he made sure that the picture was wiped from everyone’s phone and the panties he stole were kept far away from everyone there. 

Chris sent the picture to you, which means it was sent to a bunch of other people too. He’ll spend all winter break tracking down every last person it was sent to, tell professors what he’d done just so it didn’t spread any further. And if it meant he’d lose his scholarship, then so be it.

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita @deadghxsty @nekoheist @dumbassmortal @cassiecasluciluce @iovewilliams @maeplayscello @deddiemunsonsblog @paranoid-but-android @mariesmain @tteokhwaa @bonnibuckets @eilonwykennedy @1dk-anym0r3 @papatyacikcik @animesnowstorm @lexi-zsy09 @mylifedoesntexist @ifeellikedying @yourmommylol04 @ravioli19 @dakiniii @papichulo120627

(few of your blogs won't work, i tried though 😭)

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hi Fen! Hope you're doing well <3

I've been having such a hard time going to sleep lately and I was wondering if the moon boys ever have that problem - when they're not trying to stay up that is. So what do you think? Do any of them have trouble falling asleep? What do they do when that happens? And how do you think they'd help a Reader who couldn't fall asleep?

I’m so sorry you’re having trouble sleeping! (And that it’s taken me so long to reply) I hope you're doing better now <3

Rating: PG  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: brief mention to sex

Steven

Doesn’t have trouble sleeping, and can go to sleep quite easily when he’s not fighting it AND when Marc isn’t co-fronting (Marc’s sleeping issues bleed over into Steven).

When you can’t sleep though Steven is more than happy to stay up with you.

“Spend most of my adult life on 2 hours of sleep a day, didn't I? Yes. So this isn’t even water off a duck’s back, this is air off a duck’s back, this is not even noticeable love.” 

Will suggest lots of different things to do: reading (he will read to you if you want to try to sleep), watch something, listen to music, go on a weird London at 3:30am walk, “the night tube is running and we could go to 24 hour karaoke in Soho?”, “did you know these libraries are open at 4am?”, “I know a 24 gym that has a pool, we could go swimming!”, “Beckenham Place Park actually has open water swimming, I bet we’d be the only ones there! But I’m gonna wear a nose clip because I don’t want possible brain-eating amoeba up my nose, do I? No.” Proceeds to tell you a documentary's worth of information about Naegleria fowleri and how it was found in 1978 in Bath, so “yes it is in the UK Marc.”

Basically he’s full of ideas about where to go in the middle of the night that’s open because that’s what he used to do when he was trying not to sleep. (Also it’s nice to do things when there’s not so many people about.) 

Will suggest driving to a spot he knows outside of London where there’s less light pollution to look at the stars. Will wake up Jake to do the driving. Will bully the hell out of Khonshu if the sky isn’t clear. (And will make him get rid of the cloud.) 

100% would ask if you would like him to fuck you to sleep.

Marc

He’s not asleep either. 

Usually gets Steven or Jake to fall asleep for him.

However, if they’re already asleep, or not available, he goes with the ‘I am laying down with my eyes closed, because it’s still resting’ philosophy. 

He tries not to toss and turn a lot, but he does bless him. 

Has tried to drink himself to sleep on several occasions. 

Doesn’t like to see you having trouble sleeping at all and spends ages fussing over you. 

Fluffs the pillows, gets extra blankets, gets less blankets, turns the heating on, gets the fan out, will run you a bath and put all the lavender stuff in and make you 500 herbal teas, then change the bed covers. 

Will offer to sleep on the sofa or the floor so he doesn’t disturb you while you’re trying to sleep. (Then apologies when you obviously hate the idea of him being away from you.)

Is giving ALL the cuddles, however you want them. Will lay in the most uncomfortable position for himself for you to be comfy (will not tell you the position is uncomfortable for him.)

Tells you the most outrageously made up stories in quiet hushed tones to help lull you to sleep and then acts mock offended if you doubt that anything he says didn’t really happen.

Makes you cum on his mouth repeatedly until you’re so exhausted you have no choice but to fall asleep.

Jake

Can actually fall asleep anywhere at any time. 

I still firmly believe that before Steven and Marc know about him he would front just to go to sleep because they are so bad at getting some shut eye and constantly run the body into the ground.

Has melatonin tablets and a whole pharmacy's worth of sleeping aids to share. 

Will 100% take you for a drive to try to get you to fall asleep (or just to take you somewhere if you want, or if Steven has woken him up to drive.)

“Jake, I need you to drive to-”

“Steven… It's bedtime, time for sleep. No driving.”

“Oh, but S/O is having trouble sleeping and-”

Jake is already out of bed with his car keys in hand.

Will offer to be your weighted blanket and lay all over you. 

Says he will threaten Khonshu to keep the sun down so you can rest if it takes you a while to get to sleep. 

Tries to (lovingly) bore you to sleep by counting sheep out loud and in detail. “This one is a Merino sheep, the ones that are very fluffy. Her name is Harold. She likes grass, but not clover. Which is unusual for a sheep. So that’s one so far, one sheep. Now this next one is…”

Doesn’t offer sexy times because he doesn’t want to be pushy, however if you suggest it he’s happily all over you.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 9

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts. wc: 2920

Jason hated Danny, a little. The other had really (accidentally) downplayed the effect the ectoshot would have. Flu like symptoms his ass, Jason felt like his insides were trying to crawl their way to the outside. Danny had apologized profusely and frequently, and Jason had forgiven him. Still, he hated Danny a little for doing this to him. Danny earned a lot of points back, though, by acting as Jason’s personal ice pack through the worst of the fever. Jason spent a lot of hours with his head or chest pressed against Danny’s cold back as he lay, miserable, on the couch with Danny sat on the floor in front of it. It was even nicer when Danny would absently run cold fingers through Jason’s hair and scratch lightly at his scalp. Jason tried not to think about how good that felt. How easy it was to let Danny touch him. He was determined to just blame the fever and ignore how his very bones seemed to hum in pleasure at the contact. Or maybe it was Danny humming. Purring? Fuck this fever, seriously.

So Jason sat close to Danny and Danny spent most of the time doing homework on a laptop that looked one step from death. “Summer classes,” he explained when Jason asked. “I’m trying to get all my gen eds done so that I can double major. Maybe even triple? I don’t know if I want to have spend the time on the language classes a Math major needs.” Jason hummed in response, trying to tuck the information away in his sick ailed brain. He couldn’t decided if he hoped Danny and Tim never met (con, they were both too damn smart), or if he desperately wanted them to meet (pro, Tim would replace all of Danny’s failing tech in a pique of disgust). Maybe the scholarship already came with a new laptop? That sounded like it would be a Tim thing to do, but Jason wasn’t sure how involved Tim was in the scholarships. “Math sucks,” he settled on. | “Sure it does, book boy. I bet you were an English major.” Danny had found Jason’s pile of books early on the second day  and made fun of him. But Danny had also found both ‘Pride and Prejudice’ movies to download and had put them on for Jason to watch. They had spend all day trying to make it through the Colin Firth one as Danny kept pausing it whenever Jason dozed off due to the fever. “Nah. Never even finished high school. Too busy being dead,” Jason mumbled and tried to press closer to the cold. Danny must have done something because the chill increased. Jason let out a content sigh. He was almost asleep when Danny spoke. “You’re not just dead any more. You can still have a life.” “Don’t know if I deserve one.” “Of course you do,” Danny said. Danny didn’t know what Jason had done, the Pit groaned in response. Jason let himself slip asleep rather than deal with either of them.

-

The next time Jason drifted towards consciousness, there was a hand on his forehead. It wasn’t right though. It was familiar, but it wasn’t right. “Too warm.” “You sure are Jaybird. You’re burning up.” Jason jolted up and almost fell right back over as the world swam around him. When it solidified, it settled into a very different pair of worried blue eyes than he was expecting. “Big bird?” But if Dick was here, where was Danny? There was no sign of the other now; no laptop or textbooks or scribbled equations. Too many takeout boxes stacked too messily were the only clue, but Jason figured that could be excused by his sick state. Jason knew that Danny hadn’t been with him the whole time he’d been sick. The other clearly came and went at least a few times to pick up food, his school work, and other supplies. What Jason didn’t know if the timing was just lucky or if Danny had managed to disappear before Dick had made it past all the safeguards. He hoped Danny wasn’t stuck hiding in a closet or something. “What?” Jason asked. Dick had been saying something to him, but Jason hasn’t caught a word of it. He rubbed at his eyes to try and focus. “Did you get dosed?” “Does? No. Just the stupid flu or something,” Jason lied. “Why are you here?” “Because you didn’t show up for patrol for a few days in a row, little bird,” Dick said softly. He brushed Jason’s sweat soaked hair off his forehead. Jason swayed into the touch. Not even two days of finally being touched apparently was all it took to lose his self control. At least Dick wasn’t shying away from him right then. Not like he normally did. Right, his brother had said something. “That made you break into my place? You know that was fucking stupid. What if I’d been…” Jason trailed off and motioned to his eyes. What if he’d been in a Pit rage. “You don’t drop off from everything like this when you are. We were worried,” Dick said. He sounded worried, but Jason didn’t feel like he could figure out if it was real right then, not with his head so full of cotton. Maybe it was. This was Dick, he seemed to care. Of course, then Dick had to go and add, “You should have checked in.” Jason snorted at that. “Not for patrol reasons,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. “So that we didn’t worry, little bird. And so that I could have brought some soup from Alfred.” “Mmm… yeah, would have been worth it for the soup,” Jason decided after a moment. “Most things are worth Alfred’s soup,” Dick agreed with a chuckle. “But no, you had to be stubborn and not let us know you were sick so there’s no soup for you.” “Shut up,” Jason grumbled with no real heat. He tried to let himself fall back onto the couch but was stopped by Dick pulling him forward. “Nu-uh. We’re going to get you up and into the shower. You’ll feel better in clean clothes and I can change the blankets on the couch and get these through the wash.” “No.” “Yes,” Dick said in a sing-song voice that made Jason want to punch him. Instead he let Dick help him off the couch. Now that it had been mentioned, a shower really did sound good. He was left propped up against the door frame of the bathroom while Dick got the shower started. The sound of the water was almost soothing, and Jason eyes drifted closed. Normally the Pit would be snarling at him to stay alert— to stay focused and on guard— even (especially) in the presence of his family, but it seemed as drained by the ectoshot as he was and stayed quiet. “Jay?” “Hum?” “Do I need to get you to a hospital?” Jason pried his eyes open to glare at his brother. When had Dick gotten so close? He hovered just in front of Jason like if he wanted to reach out and pull Jason close. Shit, Dick really was worried, wasn’t he? “It’s just the stupid flu or something.” “I don’t know, you’re really out of it, Jay. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you with your guard like this.” “’S fine,” Jason said and let his eyes close again. “You’re here. I’m safe.” “Okay little bird,” Dick said softly and started to help Jason out of his sweat soaked shirt. “Let me take care of you.”

-

Dick helped peel off Jason’s shirt and tossed it on the floor. This wasn’t his first time undressing and shoving one of his family members into the shower. Being a vigilante left no room for modesty between the mortal wounds, medical procedures, and decontamination processes. It was easy to be clinical about it at this point. Besides, his mind was too busy reeling over Jason’s words. Jason felt safe with him. Jason, who even when he was sitting right next to them, still held them at arm’s length. Who Dick wasn’t sure would even show up at the few family meals he did attended if it weren’t for Alfred’s cooking. Who struggled to share any details about a case. Who didn’t ask for help when he was this sick… … felt safe with him. Dick had to bite his lip to keep the tears from welling up. He hadn’t thought Jason would ever trust him again, not really. He hadn’t been sure if he’d ever really have his brother back. He didn’t even need— want— Jason back in a creepy ‘just like he was before’ sort of way. Dick knew that was impossible. Jason dying had changed them all. Him coming back had changed them again. Jason had talked to Dick about it once, just a little. They had both been drunk— Jason more than Dick— and Jason had talked. He had talked like the words were spilling out of him, bleeding out of him; a soft steady flow of horror. There in the dim light of Dick’s apartment Jason had talked, just a little, about what it was like to live with the Pit rage in him. How it was like a rabid dog on a leash that was barking, barking barking. Dick didn’t know how someone even thought over that noise, but he was so damn proud of Jason for managing. He was so damn proud of Jason for clawing his way back to life— out of his grave and out of his madness and out of his rage. He didn’t want the old Jason back. He just wanted a chance to get to be a brother to this Jason. He was so damn proud of the man he’d become. His eyes ran over the horrible autopsy scars that crossed Jason’s chest. The stark reminder of exactly why Dick hadn’t been sure they’d ever really have Jason back. Jason, when he had to change around them, always did it as quickly as possible. But right then the scars were on full display. Because Jason was trusting Dick to see them. Dick tried hard not to think too much about it. Jason needed his help right then. He could deal with the mental fallout later. With some wrangling, Dick got Jason into the shower. After getting fresh clothing, he took a seat on the closed toilet, flicking through his phone from somewhere to order food from. He wanted to be close by in case Jason lost his balance in the shower. “Is Ben’s good for pizza?” “What?” At least Jason was sounding a little more clear headed. “Ben’s. I’m ordering food.” “Yeah. Get a supreme. The chicken bbq one is good too.” “Got it.” Dick selected the pizzas, added maybe too much garlic bread to the order, and submitted it. Then he pulled up the family chat. The one that Jason still refused to be part of. Dick: So Jason’s running a pretty bad fever. He thinks it’s the flu. Oracle: He’s actually staying home and not patrolling when he’s sick? Tim: Shit. It’s that bad? Dick: He’s pretty out of it. Shower seems to be helping and I’m ordering food. I’m going to stay the night here unless you need me on patrol. Bruce: We’ll rearrange patrols. Keep an eye on him. Dick: Will do. He wasn’t going to let Jason down again.

-

When Jason woke on day four, he felt good. He wasn’t perfect, he knew that. Danny had said it would take at least a few infusions— maybe several if his core took to it badly. He might never be without lingering effects. But even with just the one shot of ectoplasm Jason felt better than he had in years. Jason let himself linger in bed for a bit, slowly stretching out his sore muscles, before sounds from his kitchen made him stir. The press of otherness was back, so Jason assume that Danny was back. His arrival still made Jason shudder with a chill of cold. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it used to be, but there was never any doubt when Danny was around. Yesterday Dick had hardly left his He’d convinced Dick that he would be fine for the day and that he should go to work. Dick had still insisted on waking Jason up in the morning before he headed out, but Jason had rolled over and went back to sleep. And now Danny was back. The sound of something clattering, followed by cursing, had Jason finally rolling out of bed and heading to the kitchen. He half debated at least pulling on a shirt over his sleep pants, but the cursing had turned rather fevered. Besides, he didn’t think that Danny would be bothered by his scarring. He had to stop in the doorway to the kitchen and just stare. Smoke hung in the air. Danny was right in the middle of it— holding an ice covered frying pan out at arms length. Jason was pretty sure the tips of Danny’s bangs were singed. Jason was smirking. He knew he was. He really couldn’t help it. “I can see why you always bought food these last few days.” Danny whirled to face him, blue eyes wide. He made a cut off little noise and flushed bright red. Chuckling, Jason stepped into to the space— the kitchen was hardly big enough for two people— and reached around Danny to turn the burner off. Danny’s arm was cold as he brushed against it. When Jason pulled back and Danny was still just staring at him and had grown redder. “You good there, fish?” “Um, what? Oh!” Danny finally blinked. The blush went right to the tips of his ears. “Right, yeah? But, um, I don’t think that the eggs are okay.” “Don’t know if my frying pan is either,” Jason said, eying the frozen hunk of metal. “Sorry,” Danny said with a wince and dumped it in the sink. He waved his hand and let the ice melt. Scorched eggs washed down the sink. “How did you burn them so badly?" Jason asked. He was actually a little impressed. “I never learned to cook, okay? We didn’t really cook at my house so I’m having to pick up all of it now,” Danny said with a little shrug. “It’s, ah, not going so well.” “Neither of your parents chefs?” “Too much ambient ectoplasm,” Danny said as he tried to scrub at the charred pan. Jason didn’t think it would do any good. “When the casserole tries to eat you back one too many times you sort of give up on eating at home.” “What.” “Reanimated food. They’re always bastards. I have scars from the hot dogs still,” Danny said and also gave up on the pan and turned around to lean against the counter. “…I have so many questions and I don’t know if I want answers.” Danny shrugged again. He picked at the ends of the hoodie he was wearing, unraveling the ragged edge further. “You probably don’t. So, um, I was in the right to leave the other night, right?” “Yeah. It was my brother checking up on me. I don’t think I’m ready to explain all of this,” Jason said, giving a little wave of his hand to indicated everything as he leaned against the counter next to Danny. Danny glanced at him, his eyes flickering over the chest scars and back up. “They do know you died, right?” “Sorta hard to miss,” Jason said, crossing his arms. “But they think the Pits brought me back. We all did. Not that…” “It’s different, knowing you’re still dead,” Danny filled in where Jason trailed off. “Yeah. I’ll tell them later, maybe, but I want things to settle more. Shit, wait, am I going to get powers like you have? Then I’ll have to, I guess. It would hard to hide magical ice.” “Oh, you probably wont get ice. There are lots of difference cores. There’s all the elemental ones, fire and electricity and things, but also like, technology and shadow and a the Ancients can have really unique ones like time and hope. We won’t know what yours is until we get rid of the corrupted goop and you have enough ectoplasm.” “Huh,” Jason said with a frown. “So more ectoshots?” “More ectoshots. But we’ll give you a few weeks in between so you can recover. I’ve got to get myself moved to Gotham anyways, and I don’t really think you should take any of it if I’m not around, just in case your powers do develop.” “Yeah, alright,” Jason said, brain already working on how to hide all of this from the Bats. He was just starting to get things back to better with them. He didn’t want to throw ‘hey, turns out I’m still a little dead’ into the mix. He didn’t want to see the looks on their faces at that news. He didn’t want to break anyone’s heart again. He didn’t want to lose them again. Jason cleared his throat. “Well, guess I better give you my number then. Not that I don’t know when you’re around, but would be shit of you to have to come all this way just to check on me. How do you keep  getting back and forth, anyways?” “Oh, sometimes I use a portal but mostly I just fly.” “You what?”

-----

AN: So this chapter was originally a single scene, but it decided it really needed more time. Then Dick decided to show up. I’ve gone back and forth about showing a POV other than Jason or Danny, but Jason is such an unreliable narrator about himself and Danny doesn’t know how Jason used to be, and I wanted to be able to show that. So Dick will show up a few times! He’s mostly here to have feelings.

And yes, Danny was totally bluescrened by shirtless Jason there at the end! I debated the POV for that, but thought it was funner that Jason has no clue why Danny is blushing like a tomato.

This is rough in places, I know, but my focus has been shot by pain. Besides, cleaning it up is what rewrites are for! Speaking of, rewrite of chapter 3 will be up on ao3 Thursday! Thank you all always for your wonderful response to this and stay delightful, darlings!

Tag Cult, as it has lovinly(?) been called: @fisticuffsatapplebees | @thegatorsgoose | @wolfeyedwitch | @lazy-bouqet | @confusedandghostly | @glomsk | @kailithiel | @bahfev | @d4ydr34min9 | @claudiashq | @someonebored0100 | @pastalavistamf | @samgirl98 | @angelheartgamer | @lehana37 | @spiteismymiddlename | @rosecinnamonbun | @demon-cat-goes-woof | @violet-catsarelife | @trickerdi | @avelnfear | @undead-essence | @basilf1res | @amillionandonefandoms | @stealingyourbones | @sarcastic-yami | @bun-fish | @aconitewolfsbane | @dontfightmecauseillcry | @omgnectarina | @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff | @the-blind-one-speaks | @mimilikey | @wolfe-marvin | @learning-to-fly-on-my-own | @multplelifes | @yurijay | @trickerdi | @bae-graphomaniac | @jeffeniney | @fan4rt1st | @weirdestarrow | @wolfjackle | @allulily | @onyxlightdragon | @zotinha456 | @wwwwyamd | @river9noble | @starscreamlover | @michealawithana | @robinmedea | @spideypoolalways | @jesus-camp-the-sequel | @persephoneblackrose | @clorophorm-frog | @f4nd0m-fun | @mady-is-ace-trash | @ascetic-orange | @renwilson | @ace-aro-as-shit | @rangerhorsetug | @thatrandomsarahchick | @holygoldfish | @mlpizza | @chrysanthemum9484 | @justwannaseesomebrozawa | @newgraywolf | @crazylittlemunchkin | @fire-glass​ | @eonic | @autumnrosnor | @the-nerdy-fangirl | @faithblob-says-things | @aisec-phantom | @a-star-with-a-human-name | @winged-scaly-attic-dweller​ | @mistermetalmaker | @apersond | @mustachebatschaos | @goadinggods | @joaniejustwokeup | @that-dumbass-on-a-horse | @plainly-colorful​ | @blackcatsandhaunteddolls | @booklover223 | @alice-hazelwood | @answrs | @enbydemirainbowbigfoot | @felicityroth | @wanderingrutabaga | @seraphinedemort | @write-it-right-2 | @decisively-o-indecisive | @my-mom-calls-me-rat | @01101010-01100001-01111001 | @arc-777 | @crystalice067 | @phoenixdemonqueen | @icedbluesoul  | @itsparadoxlacuna | @wisp-wishes | @spikedlynx | @redhoneysugarorange | @blu-lilac | @russetfur1128 | @mutable-manifestation | @stargirl1331 | @salembloodsong | @chaoticchange | @living-on-borrowed-time | @orshie | @britcision | @littlefeather345 | @sunflowershine03 | @aro-acedumbass | @thefanficcup | @shibanoh | @blackcatsandhaunteddolls | @racoonmcg |@ashoutinthedarkness | @icefirecrystal | @thatonejumbledmess | @cy-ella | @dolfay | @kobol1​ | @skjiasett | @metal-sporks | @tired-yet-awaken | @currant-owo | @firegirl108 | @stupidlovepurplepeace | @drowningroane | @imagineshazamlokimight | @immakittybear | @justalittletotheleftofnormal | @akikoyuii | @chrysanthemum9484 | @kawaiikenna | @imaginationmademanifest | @wisebouquettree | @a-salty-sal  | @mentalcarebear | @mj-arts-n-stuff​ | @thescarletcryptid | @xysidhe​ | @cottonscrambles​ | @manapeer​ | @yjfk​ | @ryisc​ | @666deaddash999​ | @nutcase8691​ | @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit​ | @yumeyoruppr | @latheevening226 | @dr-syko-pharm-4​ | @i-have-opinion​ |

[xiaq]

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Pt. 3 I combined the prompts: Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an Idiot (affectionate), Everyone is Queer Because I Said So, and @c0olness's hyper-specific Wayne's Boyfriend Owns a Gay Bar in Indianapolis and Introduces Steve to a Drag Queen. :)

Angel Reyes has loved Wayne Munson about as long as he’s loved himself. The timing is not coincidental.

Which is why he’s willing to wait for him, even when Angel’s patience is worn thin like the shirt he stole from Wayne three years ago and wears like a prayer to bed.

Some nights, when Wayne calls at the end of his shift and Angel is wiping down his own bar at closing, he’s tempted to say: we might not have much time left—shouldn’t we spend what we do have together?

But he doesn’t.

Because he already knows the answer.

Because the same reason he fell in love with Wayne is the reason Wayne won’t move to Indy. The man is loyal to a fault and when he gives himself to people he gives all of himself and there’s no force in the world that would convince Wayne to leave Hawkins if he thought Eddie still needed him there. Because Wayne loves Angel. But Wayne loved Eddie first. And Angel can hardly begrudge him of that.

So he repeats a well-worn mantra, only slightly comforting: not today, but someday. And he hangs up the phone and he checks the calendar and he looks forward to the time he is allowed. If there’s one thing he learned over the years, it’s that he can’t get greedy when he already has a good thing.

Wayne is worth the quiet agony of patience.

So when he’s locking up for the night and the phone rings, he expects the conversation to take a familiar path. 

“Evening, handsome,” he says, canting his hip against the counter. “You tell him yet?”

It’s been his standard greeting for close to a year. Why the man won’t just tell his gay nephew that he is, conveniently, also gay, is beyond Angel. But then, listening has always been Wayne’s strong suit. Talking, not so much.

“Well,” Wayne says. And that’s new.

“Well?”

“I did, actually. After I walked in on him and Steve kissin’ last night—“

“Finally!” Angel crows. The saga of Eddie and Steve and their will-they-won’t-they relationship had quickly surpassed even his favorite telenovela’s dramatic storylines. The pretty jock with hidden depths and the nerdy metalhead falling in love? Hospital vigils? Protracted pining while sharing a bed? Impeccable. 

“They’re together now,” Wayne finishes.

“Darling,” Angel says, not for the first time, “I’d like to remind you that you are not paying per word for this call.”

Wayne huffs at him, also not for the first time.

“Steve didn’t know liking both boys and girls meant he was bisexual. He thought there was some sort of…threshold he needed to pass to be queer enough to date a man. I suppose Robin set him straight––or, not so straight as the case may be––” he chuckles a little at his own joke, “And he came over to declare his love as soon as his shift ended.”

Angel takes a moment to digest that. “...Maybe they use Eddie as the sperm donor if they want kids,”  he suggests.

“Ease up, it’s not like they teach this shit in school. Bet I’d been a lot more confused too if I had the luxury of liking both.”

“Alright, I won’t pick on your future son-in-law, promise.”

“ Speaking of school,” Wayne says, sidestepping his implication. “Eddie got his diploma in the mail yesterday.”

“You going to do something to celebrate?”

“Actually, we thought we’d take a trip to Indy this weekend.”

Angel twists the phone’s cord around his finger. “…you’re supposed to come next weekend.”

“So you’d have to see me two weeks in a row, if you can bear it.”

“A trial, to be sure. When you say…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to clarify without breaking his own heart. “When you come this weekend. Would you want us—would you want me. To meet them?”

He closes his eyes and bangs a fist against his forehead because that is not the safe way to ask that question. 

“It'd be pretty weird if they didn’t meet the person hosting them.”

“Oh, I see. You’re just using me for my five star accommodations,” he says, because he’s apparently determined to dig his own grave.

“No. Wayne says, “those are nice. But mostly I just want to introduce them to my boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“And saying shit like that makes me think you’re trying to compete with Steve in the stupid Olympics.”

Angel makes an outraged noise but Wayne talks over him which is unique enough an occurrence that Angel lets him get away with it.

“See,” Wayne says. “The boys have decided they don’t want to stay in Hawkins long-term. They figure they’ll stay another year. Save some money. Make sure the kids are settled. And then Eddie’s set on New York or California and I think Steve’s just set on Eddie, wherever he is. I thought we could at least make a case for Indy, though. ‘Cause if Eddie isn’t staying in Hawkins, I’ve got no reason to.”

“Ah,” Angel says again. “And you don’t have any interest in New York or California?”

“I sure don’t,” Wayne says levelly.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’ll mop the floors and clean the windows. Give them the best showing I can. Should we plan to take them to one of the…heavier… music venues? I can probably have Frank cover for me, I’d just need to ask him now.”

“Nah. I figure I’ll help you out Saturday night and let them explore on their own. Eddie’s already making a list of options. But Friday is drag night at your place, right?”

“It is.”

“We should start them with that, I think.”

Angel grins. “Their debut in queer society shall be heralded by Dolly Parton and glitter.”

“Mm.” 

Angel is familiar enough with Wayne’s thoughtful noises to know that he’s smiling.

“Enough about my boys,” Wayne says. “Tell me about your day.”

Angel does.

When Angel hangs up ten minutes later, for once, he’s grinning. He thinks, as usual, not today but someday. Only ‘someday’ suddenly feels tangible in a way it never has before.

***

Eddie Munson is exactly what Angel expected him to be when he comes tumbling out the driver’s side door of the van parked half on Angel’s driveway and half on his lawn. Angel has been hearing about him through the rosy lens of Wayne’s affection for close to five years and as a result, Angel loves him immediately upon first sight. 

Then again, he’d be difficult not to love. Eddie is a bright, frenetic, presence, all hair and chains and affected airs, who shares Wayne's smile, though he dispenses smiles much more freely than his uncle. He is unashamedly himself as he shakes Angel’s hand, tells his uncle he approves, and then asks for a tour of the house.

Steve Harrington is somehow simultaneously exactly and nothing like Angel expected.

Exactly, because he looks the part: a cropped Hawkins Varsity Basketball sweatshirt, tiny athletic shorts, and the well-built frame of someone who regularly works out. His hair is verging on ridiculous. His face is…well-suited to the body, he’ll say.

But the kid also has a hyper-awareness to him, a quick-eyed, assessing, vigilant posture, that Angel has only ever seen in war vets twice the kid’s age. He puts his back to a room’s farthest corner. He keeps doorways in sight. And he constantly, constantly, orbits Eddie like the world's most unsubtle protective detail. 

There are also the scars. Terrible, still-healing, scars. On one exposed thigh, the side of his neck, and his right forearm. On the slice of skin between his waistband and the frayed cut-off hem of his sweater. He wears them unapologetically, with the composure of someone who is neither proud nor embarrassed by them.  

Angel suspects, only a few minutes into their first meeting, that Eddie may have similar scars beneath his torn jeans and bleach-speckled band shirt. One of his arms has some sort of medical sleeve on it—the pale fabric covered in black bleed-fuzzy Sharpie drawings of bats. Angel considers the mangled half-moon-shaped lines decorating Steve’s thigh. Unless earthquakes have suddenly developed teeth, Wayne has clearly been editing his stories. 

But despite their significant aesthetic differences, the two boys are well-suited, if painfully young and unpracticed in the art of subtlety. They touch each other constantly; unthinkingly. Hands. Hips. Shoulders. Elbows. And the way they look at each other—well. They’ll need to work on that if they don’t want to accumulate more scars. Granted, they hardly have to hide their relationship in the sanctuary of his home, but he gets the feeling they don’t know how to be any other way with each other. 

It’s both sweet and more than a little heartbreaking.

“So,” he says, “ I need to get back to the bar before the opening act at 8. It’s drag night.”

“Robin is going to be furious she didn’t come,” Steve says.

“We’ll bring her next time,” Eddie says. 

They go.

***

Angel’s bar is called Innuendo. 

He can’t take credit for the name, but he can take credit for the atmosphere. It’d been a dark, sticky, hole-in-the-wall when he started working there at 21. When he’d bought it from the former owner a decade later, he’d cleaned it up, regulated the jukebox hours, and started live music, drag, and deejay nights. A few years after that, in 1984, when the mayor issued a proclamation declaring the new city policy to no longer discriminate against queers, he’d taken the boards down from all the windows. 

It’s still dark in the back where the stage and dance floor are tucked away, but the front windows with a clear view of the street are big and unashamed. He keeps the windows clean.

There’s a copy of the proclamation framed above them, along with pictures of Angel and noteworthy patrons of the establishment over the years: Wakefield Poole; Tom Higgins; Bayard Rustin; Freddie Mercury, and Jim Hutton. 

A lot has changed in the last two decades that he’s worked there, but some things, like the old oak-wood bar where all the pictures were taken, stay the same.

He brings Wayne and the boys in through the back to scattered shouts of hello from regulars. He and Wayne slide behind the bar to start helping Frank, and the boys sit on stools with wide eyes.

It’s nice, to see the place from their perspective. The magic of it is never lost on him, but sometimes he does forget exactly how magic it is: a bar that looks like most other bars but where men look and touch and kiss without concern, where there’s art and magazines and conversations that wouldn’t be permitted by common society a scant few feet outside the door.

After fifteen minutes, they get brave enough to explore—admiring the posters on the opposite wall: Bijou and Boys in the Sand; Passing Strangers, Forbidden Letters, and A Night at the Adonis.

They play a round of darts near the front windows, the boards covered in shitty black-and-white copies of Anita Bryant’s face.

They sit at a table near the stage when the show starts. They pull their chairs together. They hold hands on the tabletop. They laugh and shout and sing along and kiss when invited.

After, when they’re back at the bar, flushed with alcohol and the subtle worldview shift that Angel remembers well from his first visit to a gay bar, a few of the queens come over to introduce themselves. Leslie, currently in her Cher era, steps up to the bar, accepts her drink from Wayne with a wink, and gives Steve a clear once-over.

“Aren't you out a little late for a school night, baby?" she says in her customary baritone.

“Uh, no ma’am. I graduated last year. Sorry. Sir?”

"Sugar, do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?"

“Take it easy on him, Les,” Angel calls. “He’s new.”

“No kidding.” She purses her lips at him. “Ma’am is fine unless you meet me on the street. But here I’d prefer ‘honey. Or ‘darling.”

Steve swallows. “I promised I’d reserve pet names for my boyfriend. So. I’ll stick with Ma’am.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer. And where is this boyfriend?”

“Hi,” Eddie says.

She gives him an equally critical once-over.

“Do you know what that color bandana means in that pocket?”

Eddie glances down at his back left pocket; at the black bandana hanging against his thigh.

“Ah...that I’m into S&M but that I like to be the  submission one? Like the one getting tied up?”

“You what?” Steve says.

Angel notices that Wayne has made a hasty exit to the bathroom, which is probably for the best.

“Oh my sweet summer child,” Leslie says, “it means the opposite on that side, so maybe switch pockets.” She considers Steve’s pink face. “And also maybe talk to your boyfriend. The whole point of flagging is to find someone to meet your needs and you've got a pretty one right here who seems like he’s awfully willing.”

Steve pulls the bandana out of Eddie’s pocket and, using his teeth, tidily rips it into two. He tucks one half in Eddie’s right back pocket. He tucks the other in his left. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow like he's expecting Eddie to argue. Eddie does not argue. Eddie doesn't do much of anything except stare at him with wide, hungry eyes.

“Well,” Leslie says, sounding pleased, “My work here is done. Honestly, kids these days.”

She gives Steve a little pat on the shoulder as she pushes back into the crowd. “I’d dance while you have the chance, boys. Life is short and sometimes so is love. Capitalize on that shit!”

“Do you want to dance?” Steve asks.

Eddie is still watching Leslie with a bemused smile. “I don’t know how to dance to this music.”

“Well I won’t know how to dance to yours tomorrow, but I’m planning to let you show me.”

“Fair enough, King Steve." Eddie affects a curtsy, offering Steve his hand. “I suppose I can allow you to take me for a turn about the dance floor, good sir.”

Steve bows low over Eddie’s hand, pressing his lips to his knuckles, looking up at him with a grin. “An honor,” he says solemnly, and then drags Eddie, laughing, into the throng of moving bodies.

***

The next morning, Angel wakes up early for no reason he can determine. He’s not good at sitting idle, and he doesn’t want his fidgeting to wake Wayne, so he elects to take his book to the garden. Only, as he slips into the hall, careful with the door behind him, he can hear the quiet, indistinct lull of voices in the kitchen.

Angel moves down the hall on sock feet, avoiding the creaky bit of flooring where the original foundation meets the master addition he added four years back. 

The boys have opened the double doors to the patio and Steve is leaning against the jam on one side, coffee cup in hand, looking out at the garden. He’s shirtless, wearing only the shorts from the day before. Warm, tree-diluted, sunrise rays cast him in sepia, making the scars that traverse his flank to his thigh look less gruesome and more artistic. Poetic. He knows more than one photographer who would kill for a shot like this. Something about the coexistence of beauty and pain. Something about a commentary on perceptions of strength; the allure of imperfection resulting from battles survived.

Eddie joins Steve, sliding under his open arm like a habit, dragging a hand down Steve’s side to cup the puckered line of recently-stitched skin at Steve’s hip. 

Eddie is also shirtless—wearing jeans and a riot of bed head that Steve presses his face into, murmuring something low and clearly funny by the stifled laughter it produces. 

Angel wasn't wrong with his initial assumption: Eddie’s back is littered with shallow scars as well, but he also has a fair amount of tattoos, which makes the other marks less incongruous. There’s something about Steve’s otherwise flawless skin and sculpted muscles that make his injuries feel more visceral.

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Steve suddenly looks behind him, like he has a preternatural awareness that he’s being watched.

“Oh,” he says, “Good morning.”

Both boys turn to face him. 

And Angel realizes that Steve’s injuries pale in comparison to Eddie’s.

Because Eddie’s chest and belly is a brutal mess of scar tissue.

It looks like something tried to gut him.

It looks like whatever it was probably succeeded.

He knows he’s staring but he can’t seem to stop himself until Steve slides a proprietary hand over the worst of it, spread fingers against what has to still be an agony of healing skin.

He meets Angel's eyes and all but dares him to say anything.

“I think,” Angel says, turning abruptly to enter the kitchen, “the occasion calls for french toast. Thoughts?”

“The occasion?” Eddie asks.

His hand covers Steve’s and presses, not a dismissal but an invitation to linger. 

“Your diploma,” Angel says, “Steve’s first time making a fool of himself in front of a drag queen. Whatever excuse is sufficient for the making of said french toast.”

“See, we’re sort of trying out this new thing lately,” Eddie murmurs, looking at Steve, “where we don’t need excuses for things that make us happy.”

“No guilt in our pleasures,” Steve agrees, voice soft, expression reverent. He tucks an errant curl behind Eddie’s ear.

Angel resists the urge to sigh at them. Instead, he toasts them with a carton of eggs. “French toast for the pleasure of french toast, then. You two go sit on the bench in the garden. The sun should be hitting it right about now and that is surely a pleasurable experience. I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”

Steve meets his eyes again, this time less challenging, more thankful. 

His hand slides from Eddie’s belly to the small of his back, pushing him out onto the patio.

“That sounds nice,” he says.

And they go.

When Wayne shuffles out to join Angel at the stove ten minutes later, the bread is sizzling in the skillet. 

They take their time washing the egg bowl and whisk in the sink, elbow to elbow, two men sharing space for a one-man job.

They lean into each other, considering Eddie and Steve, similarly leaned into each other, on the bench under the oak tree outside.

“You think I should talk to them?” Wayne murmurs. “About the way they look at each other. And touch each other. And how they need to cut that shit out if they’re in public?”

“Probably,” Angel sighs. “But not today.”

“No,” Wayne agrees after a moment of silence. He presses a kiss to Angel’s temple. “Not today.”

Pt. 4 (Will's POV)

[fierymiasma]

۵ The Spare ۵ // Sebastian x f!MC x Ominis - Silver Trio

Summary: Ominis tries to be happy for Sebastian and their new friend. Really he's happy that his two favorite people have starting seeing each other.

...It's too bad that he wasn't included.

Sebastian and f!MC try repeatedly to court Ominis, too bad he's oblivious.

Tags: Love triangles, Slight Angst with eventual happy ending, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Fluff, OT3, Silver Trio, Making Out

Word Count: 5k 🍃

A/Ns: Got a lot of requests from readers to do a spin-off of my other Silver Trio Fic "Between". It's a bit longer but hope you enjoy it!

|| My Other Work || AO3 || Other Silver Trio Fic

"Your willingness to use powerful spells is admirable.  You're much more powerful than you ever let on."

"Sebastian, please, you can stop with all the flattery."  She laughed, trying to fight the rising blush on her cheeks.  She casted another spell at the practice dummy.  "I've already promised you that I'll take you on my next outing to fight the poachers instead of Natty.  You have already gotten what you want!"

The boy in question mocked offense.  "What?  I can't give the most powerful witch our age a simple compliment?"  She rolled her eyes playfully, pretending to be annoyed.  Sebastian was unrelenting.  "I bet you could even give Professor Hecat a run for her money."

Ominis's hand trembled on his wand, unable to cast the new spell they've been practicing.  His stomach couldn't help but churn in disgust as his friends continue to tease each other.  Even in the vast space of the Undercroft, it felt too stifling whenever Sebastian charmed their mutual friend.

His wand showed him the hazy rough outlines of the other two.  Sebastian's arm practically draped around her.  Ever since the start of their 6th year,  the trio had been spending more and more time together in the Undercroft.  Sebastian and the Hufflepuff frequently snuck out of the castle at all hours of the day, finding adventure elsewhere.

Ominis tried not to let it bother him, how close they were getting.  They had invited him along, of course, time and time again on all of their adventures.  Ominis had no idea why they thought that he would like to trail along after them.  Be a bystander to the newfound romance that the other two were so clearly keeping a secret from him?   Hard pass, thank you very much.

"Your spellwork is exception."  Sebastian continued, watching her land a particularly nasty hit on the dummy.  "You'll have to teach me some of the tricks you've picked up."

Ominis could feel the palpable embarrassment emitting from her.  She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears.  "Well, I did take a leaf out of your book, Sebastian.  I picked up this jinx from one of the books I 'borrowed' from the restricted section."

Sebastian laughed.  "Getting into places you're not supposed to be?  A woman after my own heart."

Ominis swallowed thickly.  It felt like it was only yesterday that Sebastian returned after his first night sneaking into the restricted section with the new student.

Sebastian groaned, flopping face first into his bed, exhausted from a night of crouching around the library away from the searching eyes of Madam Scribner. 

"Did you have fun, Sebastian?" Ominis drawled from his on bed, having been rudely woken back up by Sebastian's return.

To Ominis's shock, Sebastian sighed dreamingly.

"Merlin's beard, Ominis.  She's exceptional."

Something ugly festered inside Ominis.  He wanted to be done with this conversation, to go back to bed and wake up to a reality where he could still pretend he had a chance of being with Sebastian.  "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

Sebastian rolled onto his back, looking up at the top of his canopy bed, as if he was trying to picture her face.  "The new girl.  On her very first duel, she knocks me flat on my bum."  He scoffed.  "Said it was good practice.  What I won't give to duel her again.  Makes getting detention for her entirely worth it."

Unable to stomach any more of Sebastian's words, Ominis fluffed his pillow before turning away from the other boy.

 "Ominis, she's beautiful.  Her lips, her eyes, her hair.  Merlin's beard, Ominis, she could be part Veela for all I know.  The second she walks into any room, it's like everything else fades away."  Sebastian squeezed his pillow close to his chest as he faced the other boy.  "Ominis the things she can do with a wand.  The way she took down that troll…"  Sebastian sighed, lost in his own thoughts. 

Ominis was glad that his back was facing Sebastian.  He was afraid that his expressions would betray his inner anguish.  "Fighting a troll for you on her first day of Hogwarts?"  Ominis's nose wrinkled.  He was painfully reminded of all the other giggling girls who threw themselves at Sebastian's feet. "There is a such a thing as trying too hard."

Sebastian's smile dipped downward.  "No, Ominis, the fight was almost easy.  That's how brilliant she is."

Ominis had always known that the crush he harbored on the other Slytherin boy was doomed from the very start.  Sebastian's silver tongue had the entire female population of Hogwarts (and some of the wizards as well) completely under his spell.  Why, with enough effort, Sebastian could certainly find a witch he liked enough to settle down with.

It seemed like, Sebastian already had.

Tears burning his eyes, Ominis pulled the covers over his head, trying to drown out Sebastian's stream of consciousness as he continued to heap praises on the new student. 

"Ominis?"  She shook his arm gently.  "Ominis, are you with us?"

Ominis returned to the present.  Honeysuckle, rosewater, and ivy.  Her perfume was a familiar comforting presence.  His tight knuckles relaxed on his wand.  His eyes felt too hot, and he hoped he hadn't teared up in front of them.  He could feel the other two exchange concerned looks.  She reached over.  Her thumb rubbed soothing circles on Ominis's biceps.  Even under all his layers of fabric, he could feel goosebumps starting to form. 

He withdrew from her hot touch. 

His parents had always told Ominis that love at first sight (or lack of sight) was a fairy tale fantasy left for those of lesser blood or muggles.  So, Ominis was entirely unprepared for it when he confronted the Hufflepuff sneaking out of the Undercroft for the first time. 

He heard the telltale mechanical whirls of the clocktower that hid the Undercroft.  He heard distinct footsteps, light, with a high heel to them. 

It was just as he had feared.  It wasn't Sebastian.  The magical aura that surrounded this next person didn't feel quite like Sebastian's.  It was foreign, ancient and old.  It was the newest addition to the Hogwarts student body.  The insufferable show off who somehow seduced her way into winning  a duel against Sebastian.

Ominis couldn't tell what he was more angry at: her existence or Sebastian who had betrayed his trust by telling a practical stranger the secrets behind the undercroft.  It was Ominis's hiding place, his secret to give.  It was special, a place where Sebastian and Ominis could be together, alone.  Where Ominis could pretend that he had escaped from the cruel reality of their lives.

He turned that infamous Gaunt anger onto the new girl.  She was a Hufflepuff, like all of her brethren, Ominis was sure she would wilt under his venomous tongue.  It wasn't the first time Ominis sent a girl crying back to her dorm.

"Did you just come from the Undercroft?"  He snarled.  "How did you get in here?"

Calmly, the new student answered.  "Actually, Sebastian brought me there.  But he made it perfectly clear to keep quiet about it." She had a soft, soothing melodic voice. 

Ominis scoffed, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice.  Typical Hufflepuff, soft-spoken, meek, quick to squeal and rat out their friends the second their arm got twisted. 

"You breathe a word about this place to anyone and not even your precious Professor Fig will be able to help you."

He could tell that mentioning Professor Fig had struck a nerve.  The quiescent unnamable magic swirling around her grew sharp, its aura almost suffocating Ominis.  She took a firm step forward towards him, her heels echoing loudly against the marble tiles.  Her voice grew louder, firmer.  "You needn't threaten me, Gaunt.  But mention Professor Fig again, and even your family name won't be able to shield you from me." 

She took another step forward.  Ominis took a hesitant step back.  He didn't expect the badger to have claws.  "I was trying to defend Sebastian.  He was clear that this was a secret place, and I was to tell no one."  Ominis was startled by her closeness.  He could smell her perfume, flowery.  Honeysuckle, rosewater, and ivy.  She took another step forward.  "Sebastian's a good friend.  He cares very deeply for you." 

Ominis's lips curled.  As if she knew anything about Sebastian.  About what Sebastian's wants and needs were.  He held his ground.  "I don't need you to tell me about my oldest friend, thank you very much.  Sebastian gets himself in enough trouble.  He doesn't need your help." 

To Ominis's surprise, her shoulders relaxed a bit.  Her arms uncrossed in understanding.  "You care for Sebastian.  You worry over him."  Ominis's throat felt dry.  Was she trying to insinuate something?  "You needn't be concerned, Ominis.  I can see you're scared."  Ominis was about to deny her accusations but found that he couldn't breathe.  "I am not trying to come in between you or Sebastian.  Your…bond is sacred."  Was he that obvious?  "I'm not trying to steal anyone's…friend away from them."  

For once in Ominis's life, he was speechless.  It was rare for him to find someone who could match his venomous tongue and cruel words. 

"I'm not sure what you're implying."  Ominis lied.  "You forget yourself, new girl."

"Ominis!  Ominis!" Sebastian practically shouted in his ear.

Ominis jumped.  Too lost in thought, he hadn't realized that he had been daydreaming again.  They were still in the Undercroft, practice dummies now completely forgotten.  Her soft hands were still on his arm, trying to comfort him.  Sebastian, on his right, hovering a tad closer than a concerned friend normally should.

His throat felt dry.  He wasn't comfortable being the center of their undivided attention.  He needed air.

"You two keep practicing your hexes."  Ominis muttered, pulling his arm away from her and turning away from Sebastian.  "I need to lie down for a bit."

Ominis wasn't able to see the way Sebastian's eyes met the Hufflepuff's, a silent conversation held with just eyes alone.  "Is everything alright?"  Sebastian asked.  "Ominis, you can confide in us, if you need."

Ominis snorted as he threw his satchel over his shoulder.  Like he could ever reveal his true feelings to the happy couple. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

He avoided the Hufflepuff and her Slytherin for a better part of two weeks.  A difficult task given how persistent the other two were.

"Ominis!  There you are."  Sebastian purred, his voice dipping down an octave.  "You've been rather difficult to pin down lately." 

Ominis didn't even pause.  If anything, he walked faster down the hallway to his next class.  "I'm sorry, Sebastian.  Far too busy with this extra essay Professor Sharp assigned me.  I'll see you at dinner."

His partner in crime appeared around the corner, as if she apparated to Sebastian's side.  "A-Ah, hello, Ominis!"  She nervously greeted.  "Your hair looks rather nice today!  Looks kind of like the portrait of the bloke we're learning in History of Magic."

Ominis did finally pause in his stride.  "Uric…the…Oddball?  I look like a lunatic who wears a jellyfish on his head?"

Her shoulders fell.  Maybe she should have paid more attention in class.  She hadn't actually thought that one through too much. 

Without another word, Ominis swept away around the corner, onto his next class.

Now properly alone, Sebastian groaned.  "Merlin's beard, sweetheart, what was that?  Were you trying to woo him or get him to commit you to a loony bin?  We want to charm him not send him running away screaming!"

She glared at him in offense.  "I'm not good at flirting!"

Sebastian sighed, running his fingers through his hair in fake exasperation.  He couldn't help but smile, as he looked at her teasingly.  "It is truly one of Hogwarts biggest mysteries how you managed to bag someone as charming as me."

She tried to kick him in the shin for good measure.  He calmly took a small step back avoiding her rather short legs.

"Don't worry, sweetheart.  Sebastian's here for you.  Time to show you how to properly sweep a man off his feet."

She rolled her eyes, "Like you can do better."

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

[Cont reading here]

[oh-stars]

Icicles

Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 616 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

“I’m freezing,” Eddie whines as they walk through the fairgrounds. 

Steve rolls his eyes. He knows this game. It happens every time they go out and do an outside activity for once, no matter if they’re in the thick of summer or dead winter. He spends ages trying to get Eddie to wear proper layers, keeps a blanket and a spare jacket in his car just in case, and yet still finds himself listening to Eddie whine and cry about the chill. “You said you’d be fine,” Steve reminds him, letting out a deep breath. 

Eddie huffs and grabs Steve’s arm. “I didn’t think it’d be this cold.” 

They’re in the back half of the Fall Festival, where most of the attendants have drifted over to the food and heaters or the rides rather than the mostly closed stalls of the harvest exhibits from earlier in the day. They had just gone to the car for a quick smoke (read: making out in Eddie’s van while the kids made themselves sick on the Gravitron) since Steve’s head can’t take some of the rides and Eddie’s the biggest scaredy cat (but only with fair rides, he argues every time, because apparently there’s a difference). (There is.)   

Steve glances around to check the empty fairground and tugs Eddie in close, rubbing his arm. “We could go sit by the heaters?” 

“And listen to Ted Wheeler’s take on the midterms?” Eddie scoffs. “I’d rather rot.” 

“There are other seats than near Ted Wheeler,” Steve points out. 

Eddie’s teeth chatter as he rolls his eyes. “You can never be too far away from Ted Wheeler.” 

“Why are we saying his name like he’s the boogeyman?” Steve laughs, leaning in close to kiss Eddie’s cheek. “Would hot apple cider warm you up?” 

“Only if I can add a little spice to it,” Eddie says, patting his jacket pocket. 

Steve grins, his own cheeks straining with the cold. “You’re on.” 

They’re not quick to make their way toward the food stalls, even with the chill in the air. Steve will be the first to admit it’s colder than he anticipated, despite checking the temperature forecast at least three times before they left. Even he’s cold, bundled up in his sweatshirt and jacket as he is. He keeps his hands in his pockets, letting Eddie hang from his arm even though they could probably get away with holding hands right now. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, fully shivering. “How much longer are we here for, anyway?” 

“Till the kids run out of money or Mike loses the bet he made with Max about puking,” Steve says. “Whichever comes first.” 

They’re near the bustle of fairgoers when Eddie stops and pulls Steve behind an empty stall. “I can’t take it anymore,” he grumbles as he tugs at the hem of Steve’s sweatshirt and shoves his hands onto Steve’s bare stomach. 

Steve hisses, a shiver running through him as Eddie melts against him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Shut up, you love me,” Eddie mumbles from where he’s hidden away against Steve’s shoulder and behind the curtain of hair. 

“Really reconsidering that right now,” he huffs. “You do realize I’m cold too, right? And your icicle fingers aren’t helping.” 

“But you’re my personal furnace,” Eddie says, shifting to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth. He’s got the biggest puppy eyes and pout on, a dagger to Steve’s chest. 

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him deeper into the shadows, curling into him just as much. “You’re an asshole,” he mumbles, but it sounds a hell of a lot like I love you. 

Eddie just laughs, cold nose pressing against Steve’s skin. I love you, too. 

--

Thank you for beta reading @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

[shieldofiron]

When I See You Smile

Also on Ao3

He can't pretend it doesn't hurt a little.

Dustin and Mike Wheeler chatter about it on Max's little radio, how Eddie and Steve are spending so much time together, and how Steve had come out to them very seriously as bi, and Eddie was gay so they were hoping...

And Billy's hopes, the tiny thread of hope that he'd been nourishing without realizing it, withered and died right there.

Because Munson is a dealer, and kinda loud and annoying. But Billy is a murderer. He still has nightmares about it, waking Max and Susan some nights. What kind of monster kills their own father, inter-dimensional parasite or not? And it wasn't like Billy had been some kind of catch before that.

Steve smiles when Billy comes by the store anyway. Like he's not a murderer, a puppet for an inter-dimensional being, but a person. They had the same taste in movies, and sometimes they would sit there just talking for hours. Steve had been nice after starcourt, and it had made the crush that Billy had secretly harbored in high school bloom into a full on infatuation.

One sided infatuation, apparently.

So it was real cute, actually. Munson and Ste-Harrington. He decided that it would be cute, and it wouldn't hurt any more. Hell, if Munson and Harrington started dating, maybe then...

He didn't know what maybe was, but he was trying to be positive about the whole thing.

And when he sees the van parked by the video store, he just turns right around.

"Racking up those late fees, huh," Steve says with a grin when he finally does bring them back.

"Got a lot on my mind," Billy mumbles in response, hurrying because he thought he saw the van pull into the lot. And he's fine with Steve dating whoever he wants, of course Steve can date whoever he wants.

Billy just doesn't have to be there while it happens.

"Wait, uh..." Steve ducks his head down, and his hair falls over his eyes in that adorable way that makes Billy want to brush it back behind his ear. "How'd you like Ladyhawke?"

Billy glances back over his shoulder, his heart racing when he sees Munson waltzing up, "Good. Gotta go, Steve."

"Wait-"

"You are never going to believe the news I have for you, big boy," Munson smacks the door open and Billy winces.

"See ya," Billy waves his tapes in the air and ducks out the door that's still swinging closed from Munson's dramatic entrance.

He can't see Steve's expression, and he doesn't want to see how Steve smiles for Munson. Billy bets it's real special, all dreamy and doe eyed. So he just ducks into the camero and speeds away over Max's protests.

"You forgot milk duds, dick," She hisses.

"I had to get out of the way," He hisses right back.

"Of what?"

"Budding romance," He says, half sarcastically, throwing his hand in the air dramatically.

Max doesn't say anything back, but she must know. After all how many times has she dragged him practically kicking and screaming when he and Steve got to talking about movies and then tv and then sports...

Billy's certainly not about to come out to a bunch of snot nosed brats. But Max knows. She's heard what his dad called him enough to know what he is.

And it's fine. If there was only three gay guys in town someone was bound to be the odd one out.

That night she totally sides with him for movie night and they watch This is Spinal Tap instead of Against All Odds. She and Susan do watch along obligingly, Susan even chuckling at the 1960s jokes.

That night he can't sleep, tossing and turning in his bed when he thinks about Harrington's smile and that lock of hair.

---

Munson must be able to tell something is up because after that he starts acting really squirrely when Billy's trying to meet up. Which sucks because he could really use the weed right now.

Heartbreak being a bitch and all.

He's waiting in his car for Max to check out the videos she wants when Steve comes barrelling out of the Family Video, headed straight for Billy.

Billy blows a plume of smoke out the window.

"Alright, Harrington?"

"No," Steve isn't smiling. He looks downright pissed. "I'm not alright. You got some kind of problem with me and Eddie, Billy?"

Billy sucks in a drag and squints at the back of the van parked right up front of the store.

"Problem with what?"

"You know what."

Billy shrugs, "Enlighten me."

Steve huffs, and then deflates, "Look, I know you're working on being better. I heard about you working on basketball with Lucas, and I think that's really... great. But... I..."

Billy waits. And waits.

"You what?"

"You really don't know?" Steve blinks at him, and a shot with those big brown eyes sinks another of cupid's arrows deep into Billy's heart. He pushes his aviators up his nose to hide his face.

"Know what?"

"I thought," Harrington's blushing, and it looks so cute with the green of his vest. "That you heard that I like... that I'm... bisexual. And that Eddie's... um... And you had a problem with it."

Billy snorts, though he doesn't mean to. And Harrington cocks his head to the side.

He doesn't have a problem with it. He has an ache, a pain deep in his chest that he knows there's no cure for. It hurts so bad it makes him a little angry, a little reckless.

"That would be pretty hypocritical of me," Billy says with a sharp little laugh, "Not that I'm you know... dating material. For any gender. In any sense of the word."

Harrington just looks down, "I don't know about that."

Billy huffs, "You don't need to flatter me. I'm no threat to your boyfriend. Though you can tell him I'm gonna actually need to score soon or I'm going to go mental. My stepmother's into wreath making. You know what a wreath can do to a guy's reputation?"

He wants Steve to laugh. He wants Steve to smile. Even if it's just for a corny joke. Even if it's just as friends. He'd officiate their wedding if Steve would just throw Billy a smile once in a while.

"Boyfriend?"

"Oh. I mean," Billy waves his hand in the air, "Pre-boyfriends. Fucking. Whatever it is you all are doing."

Steve's cheeks are really pink now, "We're not... I mean... I like someone else."

"Oh," Billy pushes his aviator's up, trying to school his expression into something calmer, less manically happy. "I'm sorry, I just assumed-"

"No, I... we just gotta stick together, right. L and G and B and T... all... together," Steve makes a weird sort of half sigh sound.

"Yeah," Billy doesn't know where Steve is going with this, "That's you and me. Two B's. Sticking together."

He's never said it out loud before. He always imagined it would be terrifying, but Steve's smile smooths over some of the panic in the pit of his stomach.

"So you're not... sticking together with anyone, exclusively?" Steve rocks on his heels.

Billy snorts, "No. Plenty of girls to be not so exclusive with, but... no."

"Do you... want to do that with me?"

Billy's heart stops still in his chest. He doesn't know what expression he's making but he knows that Steve is smiling. At him. His eyes are crinkled up at the corners, and he...

"I like you, Billy," Steve's hair flops down and it's so easy to brush it back behind his ear. "Thought you were finally gonna break my teeth in about it, so I thought I'd do it first."

And Billy can, so he does. And for the first time in what feels like weeks, Billy smiles back.

"I would never," Billy sucks in some courage with his next drag, so he can say in a dry whisper, "Your smile is the best part of my day."

[kennediffed]

No Spoken Word, No Small Command

pairing: ID! Leon S Kennedy x reader

description: One little set of words was enough to change the mind of your older coworker

content: afab reader, older male/younger woman, suggestive content, pet names (princess, babygirl, doll), teasing, Leon calls himself an old fart like one time, not proofread at all with the exception of correcting spelling mistakes

word count: 698

partially inspired by this leon c.ai bot (also this song, but mostly due to the title)

hiii! im back, i kinda took an extended break due to burnout but i should be back to writing now!

AO3 Version!

Masterlist

~

"I'm sorry, run that by me again?" the older male sitting across from you nearly choked on his drink as you made your request known to him.

You had just made the ballsiest move in your life by asking your older coworker Leon out on a date. You couldnt help but shift your weight from one foot to the other as you nervously stood there. You cleared your throat before repeating yourself. "I…. I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me sometime?"

He leaned back in his chair before looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. "Babygirl, I think Im a little too old for you" Leon chuckled before taking another sip.

You sighed, you knew that he would answer like that. Considering there was a noticeable age gap between the two of you, you were foolish to think that he would answer any other way other than bringing up the differences in your ages. Not to mention relationships with considerable age gaps are often looked down upon, and theres no doubt your peers at the DSO would have the same opinion if they found out.

"Besides... even though I want you to myself... it wouldnt be fair to anyone else, doll. I bet you got a lot of boys lining up around the block that'll fight for the chance to be with you"

You drummed your fingers against the wooden desk in front of you as you tried to think of a response.

"Well, with all due respect sir, those boys dont know how to treat a lady..." you began, exhaling. "Besides, Mr. Kennedy... we're both adults here, I fail to see what the issue is."

Leon chuckled again, leaning back in his desk chair.

"While you may be right about that, you still got your whole life ahead of you too, princess..." his voice was playful in tone as he took another sip. "you shouldn't waste it on an old fart like myself"

You stepped closer to his desk, leaning over it slightly. "But what if i want to spend it on you?" you asked, feigning innocence. You walked around the desk until you were on the same side that he was on before sitting on the desk and crossing your legs. "Besides, you're not *that* old"

He looked up at you, a smirk threatening to break out on his face. "Dangerous game you're playing here (y/n)." It truly was a dangerous game, and he was losing it.

You tilted his head up. "Come on Leon..." you cooed, "one chance?"

Something inside him snapped right then and there cause he chuckled and looked down at his lap right there and then. "You're tempting me sweet thing" he mumbled, his hands gripping gently onto your waist.

You couldnt help but giggle at his eagerness.

"I thought you were concerned about your job?" you softly spoke once more "why the sudden change of heart, Leon?"

"I can't say no to a pretty thing like yourself." He mumbled, his nose pressed up against your neck. "You dont have any plans for later today, do you?"

You shook your head no. "Unless you count napping at home as plans for later, no... why do you ask?" you hummed.

He chuckled before looking back up at you. "Was wondering if you wanted to go out after you get off your shift... get to know each other a little better..." his tone was laced with slight hunger and desire. He then leaned up into your ear and whispered. "I'll be making sure you can't walk straight when you clock in tomorrow too"

You giggled in response. "how scandalous, i look forward to it" you teased, before looking down into his eyes.

"I get off at 5... see you then?" you softly spoke. 

"You got it sweetheart" he let go of your waist and you started making your way to the door. "Just... dont think about me too much... dont wanna spoil the surprises I have in store."

You gave him a smirk before speaking again. "No promises" you smugly said before leaving the room and going back to work. You couldnt wait until 5 pm.

[dragonflylady77]

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago.  Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living.  When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much. 

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!” 

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag. 

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door. 

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him. 

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck? 

“Billy. Long time no see.” 

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.” 

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process. 

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out. 

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit. 

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What. 

The. 

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head. 

Motherfucker. 

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is. 

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad. 

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake. 

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today. 

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing. 

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants. 

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

[nagito-kissmaeda]

nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart

Summary:

Komaeda is facing away from you, his broad shoulders are hunched uncomfortably and his head is bowed low down. You can see the full length of his spine, bumps protruding out from under his fragile skin. He’s shaking. “Hey…” You start. Komaeda turns his head and peers at you from over his shoulder, “Hello.” AKA: You help Komaeda wash his hair, and then you have sex in the shower

Contains: AFAB Reader, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 4,097 Read on AO3

It’s early evening on Jabberwock island, and you are lounging on the couch, slowly flipping through the page of a book. The story isn't gripping you, but you are too stubborn to return it to the library before you finish it. It is still nice to have something to occupy yourself, because these days you don’t spend much time outside of your cottage. 

The cottage that you share with Komaeda Nagito, specifically. Roomsharing was something negotiated very early after the first set of people exited the Neo-World Program. You were among them, and voted in favour. Everyone was in a dire spot, emotions were high and danger was even higher. Staying in at least groups of two made sure that everyone was safe, or at least safer. So every new person to leave the program was quickly assigned a partner who would live with them in their cottage and follow them around outside. Komaeda Nagito is your current charge, and he doesn’t go outside very often. So even a boring book helps to keep you occupied. Especially when Komaeda is absent. 

He’s in the shower, he’s been in there for a while. You know that he is in even more emotional distress than usual, the hand that had been until recently attached to his left forearm was removed just a few days ago, and while Souda is working on a prosthetic, it’s not going to be ready for at least a month. It’s been hard for him. 

Suddenly, you are pulled from your thoughts by a loud thud, followed by a gasp of shock. The sound of the water muffles almost everything, but you are sure that you can hear sobbing. Returning your book to the coffee table, you slowly make your way to the bathroom door and press your ear against it. Komaeda is crying. It's that horrible sort of crying too, where you are trying so hard to hold it back that your throat begins to ache. 

Trying not to draw attention to it, you gently knock on the door, “Komaeda-san, are you okay? I thought I heard something fall.” He sniffles, “I-I’m fine, you don’t need to worry.” You slump against the door, you should have known that Komaeda wouldn't admit that he needs help so easily. Swallowing, you reply, “I’m here to help, Komaeda-san. Please, let me.” “No I-” He’s cut off by a sob, and for a few moments all you can hear is crying and running water. “What do you need? Please. ” He sounds almost resigned when he replies, “I-I can’t get the shampoo open.” He laughs then, but it’s weak and ungenuine, “I’m as pathetic as ever, aren’t I?” “No! No, you’re not I-” You lose your words, unsure how you can help from the other side of this door. Biting your lower lip, you hedge your bets, “Can I come in?” The running water sounds louder than ever, making the absence of speech absolutely deafening. After what feels like an age, you hear a quiet, “Okay…”

The room is filled with steam when you open the door and gingerly step inside. Komaeda is facing away from you, his broad shoulders are hunched uncomfortably and his head is bowed low down. You can see the full length of his spine, bumps protruding out from under his fragile skin. He’s shaking. 

“Hey…” You start.

Komaeda turns his head and peers at you from over his shoulder, “Hello.” 

He looks a lot different like this, with his usual mass of curly hair clinging flat to his skull. It’s a lot longer when wet too, reaching an inch or so down past his shoulders. He turns his face away from you again and bends down to pick something up, you quickly realise he is now holding the bottle of shampoo out behind himself for you to come grab. 

Shucking your sweater and leaving it on the towel rack to prevent it from getting wet, you step towards the shower stall, but before you are able to grab the handle and pull the door open, Komaeda laughs weakly. “I apologise, for…subjecting you, to myself.” He breathes, he’s shaking again, “I hope you aren’t too disgusted.” You pull the door open, and grab the bottle of shampoo from his quivering hand, “I’m not.” you reply, quickly unscrewing the cap and passing it back into his awaiting hand, “I’m not disgusted at all.” Komaeda doesn’t offer a reply, but you do watch as he pours some of the shampoo onto the top of his head, and does his best to rub it in with only one available hand. There are a few moments where the remainder of his left arm lifts upward like he is still expecting there to be a hand there. 

He starts sobbing again. 

“Hey, it’s okay…” you say quickly, scrambling to think of what you can do to help, “Would it help if I did it for you? At least for tonight?” He slowly turns his head again, droplets of water are caught in his pale eyelashes, “I couldn’t…I couldn’t ask you to do that for someone like me.” “But would you let me?” He laughs again, it’s a sad little sound, but when he smiles it seems almost real, “I would.” That’s enough for you. 

Komaeda doesn't turn away this time, instead watching almost transfixed as you start tugging off your clothes. It’s going to be awkward, but there is little sense in getting them wet. Komaeda does quickly turn his head when you are left standing there in only your bra and panties, and he steps a little closer to the wall to leave you enough room to slip in behind him. 

The water is very warm. It almost burns. You wonder how he can stand it. 

There isn’t much space in the shower, you are almost pressed up against him, but you ignore this and reach upward to tangle your fingers in his hair. It’s very thin but feels nice between your fingers as you gently encourage the shampoo into a lather. It’s chamomile scented, subtle and clean. A pleased noise escapes him when you put pressure on his temples, and another one when you press your thumbs in at the base of his skull. You watch as his shoulders finally start to relax, angling downward in a soft line as you massage his hair. 

“Tilt your head back for me.” You whisper, so quietly that the falling water almost drowns out your voice. 

Komaeda does as asked, his hair falling backwards over his shoulders in a river of white. “Are your eyes closed?” He hums in reply and allows you to slowly comb through his hair with your fingers, removing any of the remaining suds. 

Your relationship with Komaeda has been strange ever since he woke up from the simulation. He doesn’t talk to you often and tries not to be around you much, despite you sharing a cottage. You can’t help wondering if it’s because he is trying to spare you the discomfort of his presence as he so often says, or if he might just…not like you very much. For all his posturing, you can tell that even Komaeda has his preferences, he and Tsumiki rarely get along, and while he is far more likely to get passive-aggressive than regular aggressive, it’s also pretty obvious that he has very little tolerance for Hanamura. 

Even in those cases though, Komaeda always smiles. You have gotten quite good at reading the subtleties of that smile. Whether it has a sharper mocking edge, or if he is using it to hide lingering sadness underneath. Sometimes it’s genuine, but not very often. You wish you could see his real smile more, but he doesn’t smile around you much at all. Not even disingenuously. 

You aren’t sure why.

Luckily his conditioner is on an easily reachable shelf, so you are able to grab it yourself. Pouring a little bit in your hand, you slowly rub it into his hair, it’s thin enough that he doesn’t need much of it. His hair usually looks so much thicker, but you suppose it’s just very curly and has very little actual weight to it. 

There are only a few tangles when you comb through it again and Komaeda doesn’t make any acknowledgement of pain, but you are familiar enough with him to know that even if he did feel any, Komaeda wouldn’t dare let you know it.

“All done.” You breathe, letting his hair drop free from your hands. 

For the first time, Komaeda turns entirely to face you. His hair is all combed backwards away from his face, leaving his eyes much more intense than usual. They’re a lot greener than you thought they were, and his lips are a lot pinker. 

Water pools at his collarbones, where they arch out almost painfully from beneath his paper-thin skin. The slope of his neck is long and intimidating, even when he is hunched over like this Komaeda is much taller than you. 

He stares down at you appraisingly, head tilted to the side as if he finds you endlessly curious, “Why?” 

The energy between the two of you has shifted. You can feel it, there is a rising tension, a panicked desperation that you are both trying to keep at bay. It’s unexpected, but you are surprised to find that it is hardly unwelcome. It feels like your words are all caught at the back of your throat, so you have to swallow thickly before you are able to answer his question.

“Why, what?” you reply, near breathlessly. 

Komaeda’s brow draws taught, he seems confused, “Ah, you see, I know very well that you drew the short straw when you were assigned to look after me out of everyone here.” he says quickly, factually, “I can only imagine how disappointed you must have been! So why even bother actually helping me?” You frown, upset at how readily he assumes this about you, “You talk like this happened by chance.”

He barks a laugh, “Well, it must have! How else could someone be convinced to-” “I asked! ” He freezes, you can see his bare chest heaving with laboured breath, his tongue darts out to wet his lip and the water falling all around is the only sound you hear until, “You…asked?” “I knew how difficult this would be for you. All of it, I mean.” you shrug one shoulder, trying to make this confession seem less momentous than it actually is, “I wanted to help you. So I asked to be assigned to you when you woke up.”

Komaeda’s expression twists into something that you are at first worried might be pain, and then he drops his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t do this to me. You can’t care about me. You can’t .” He pleads, his breath warm on your skin.

You wrap one of your arms around him, heart racing as you do so, “What if I do?” you whisper, “What if I care about you more every single day, what then?” He makes a strangled sound, and his hand grips tightly to your bare waist. It feels so large pressed against you, “I’ll do something I shouldn’t, I know it! Something selfish ” Another sob breaks loose from his throat, and he tugs you up against him. You become suddenly very aware of just how naked the two of you are, but it’s hardly at the forefront of your mind. 

“Be selfish then.” You breathe, gently combing through his hair with your fingers, “You’re allowed that, just like everyone else.” You feel him shake his head, aching sobs preventing him from speaking clearly, “I’m not , I’m not like everyone else, given the chance I would just take and take and take .” His shoulders shake with wheezing peals of laughter, “I have nothing to offer the others, nothing to offer the world, nothing to offer you .”

The fact that he separates you from not just the others, but the whole world, makes fireworks alight in your chest. His hand moves from your waist to the small of your back, hugging you as tightly as he can with only one arm, still shivering with something trapped between laughter and sobs, “W-why- hahaha! Why should someone like me be allowed to take when I have nothing to give? It just- it doesn’t make sense! I don’t- I just-” You push him backward by the shoulders, just enough that you can look him in the eyes. They are rimmed with red, and his cheeks are pink and blotchy. Your brows pull together, and you reach out to cup his cheek in your palm. His eyes dart to your hand, and then back to your face, you offer him a smile, “You don’t have to be useful to exist, you know? It’s alright to just be.” you gently rub your thumb over his prominent cheekbone, “and I, for one, am glad that you are here.”

His breathing grows heavier, and even amongst the falling water, you can still catch the tears running down his cheeks. Komaeda’s fingers press firm enough against your skin that it almost hurts, like he is trying to anchor himself to you. He sucks in a desperate mouthful of air, lips half open as if he needs to say something, anything . 

Then, he finally breaks. 

Komaeda surges forward, pressing his body full against yours and kissing you with indescribable desperation. His large hand digs into the wet hair at the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in tight. You gasp into his mouth, the hand you have on his cheek moving around to cradle the back of his head. He whimpers aloud at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, angling his head to the side for easier access to your mouth. It’s difficult to keep your moans in check when his lips open beneath yours, and it becomes impossible when he takes your lower lip in between his and gently sucks on it. 

The two of you are a desperate mess, and with the hot water still raining down all around there is no reprieve from the unrelenting heat. Komaeda moves his hand to your hip, grasping tightly to your soft skin and doesn't so much push as he does guide you up against the glass wall of the shower. You gasp aloud, and he pulls away.

“We can stop.” He says quickly,  so quickly that it comes out sounding like a single word.

“No.” You reply just as fast, wanting to ensure that he doesn't get a chance to doubt how much you need him, “The glass is cold and it surprised me, that’s all.”

He giggles a little, and the smile he gives you is so close to being truly genuine that it makes your heart ache, “Ah, my apologies, then.”

He doesn't immediately return to kissing you, instead rubbing gentle circles on your hip bone with his thumb. He watches the way his own fingers move across your skin, mesmerised by it, as if he can barely even comprehend how he is able to touch you, that his fingers don’t pass straight through. You don’t interrupt him, inside absorbing the way his brows pinch when he focuses, the depth of his eyes. The gentle movement of his thumb sends shivers through you, though it’s clear that he is now more curious than desperate. 

“This is a terrible idea.” He whispers, “You know that, don’t you?” Despite his words, he makes no move to release you. His hand still grips tightly to your bare hip, his actions fully betraying his words. Komaeda thinks he should stop, but he really doesn't want to. You place your hand over where his rests, pressing it firmly against you, “I don’t think it’s a terrible idea.” you breathe, “Besides, what else could we possibly lose?” He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, like he wants to argue but can’t bring himself to. In the shaky moment between words, you slowly bring his hand up your side and over the dip of your waist, all the way up. Komaeda swallows thickly, breath quickening as you gently move his hand to your breast. 

“Touch me.” He moans then, a sound so needy that it almost sounds like a plea. His hand squeezes your breast and he buries his face in the side of your neck again, “S-Soft…” he whimpers against you, hand squeezing firmer this time, “So soft…” You toss your head back in a moan of your own when you feel his lips latch onto the side of your throat. He’s moaning and huffing against you, sucking deep purple marks up the length of it. He repositions his hand a little so that he is able to circle your nipple with his thumb and that sends your hips immediately canting forward into his. Komaeda makes a desperate choked noise, and you can feel his arousal press firm against your lower belly. 

Komaeda pulls back just a little, enough that he can see the constellation of bruises he has left on the side of your throat. He laughs a little, “Aha! You’re real , and I am here, doing this to you.”

His assertion at the reality of this moment only makes the warmth in your belly grow fiercer. You hook your leg up over his hip, and Komaeda instinctively tries to steady you with his left arm. He giggles to himself, peering down at where he has the remainder of his forearm tucked under your raised knee, “How lucky, that still worked.” With the extra leverage, Komaeda rests his hand on the glass wall behind you and lifts your leg just enough for your sex to press against his. The sound he makes is nearly evangelical, a broken and passionate moan at the mere feeling of you against him. 

You loop your arms around his shoulders for balance, glad that he doesn’t feel the need to hide his face in your shoulder again, because it means you get to watch him. His eyes squeeze shut, and he clenches his teeth together as he tenderly rocks his hips against yours. You mewl at the feeling, resting your head back on the cool glass behind you. 

His eyes open, and he just stares at you. They’re greener towards the centre, rimmed with a shade so pale you could almost call it grey. His eyelashes are long and white, so close you could count them. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he is angelic . With hair clinging to him like a white veil, reaching all the way down to his collarbones, and the way his lips hang open with heavy breath. 

“Please…” Is all you are able to say, one word filled with such desperation that Komaeda nearly shatters at the gravity of it. 

He moves his hand down between the two of you, and lines himself up with your entrance. You release a stuttered little gasp when he brushes against you, and Komaeda shudders, “Ah…are you…are you sure? ” You get the sense this is the last time he will ask. 

“I’m sure.” You reply, and Komaeda leans down to rest his forehead against yours as he pushes himself forward. Your moans intermingle with the first inch, his more of a whine and yours more of a gasp. You move your hands to the back of his head, clutching tightly at his wet hair, breath coming hard and heavy as he inches in deep and deeper. When he bottoms out, Komaeda cries out, nearly sobbing . 

“I-I…aha! I’m-” he can barely even bring himself to say it. You save him the trouble, tilting your head up and slanting your lips against his. Komaeda makes a shocked sound into your mouth, his hand quickly jumping up to cup your cheek in his palm. His lips are soft and wet and warm, you dart your tongue out to run across the seam of his mouth and he welcomes you gratefully. Despite his near panicked desperation, his tongue is gentle with yours, licking into your mouth like he is addicted to your taste. 

You are still kissing him when he starts to move, and he swallows the desperate little gasps your release with each of his shaky thrusts. The water is starting to turn cold, the two of you have been in here for so long that the hot water is running out, it doesn’t matter. Komaeda’s hand moves down from your cheek to your chest, and he gently massages your breast while his tongue continues tangling with yours. Being this close to him, with him inside you, it’s suddenly impossible to imagine how you ever went without. You cling to him desperately, your blunt nails scratching at the nape of his neck and realise that you need him just as much as he needs you, if not even more. 

He thrusts harder, deeper, and your mouth leaves his so you can release a throaty moan at the feeling of him hitting that perfect spot inside, “R-Right there…” You manage to stammer, head resting back against the glass behind you, “Please… please… ” 

Komaeda whines, angling his hips in an attempt to hit the same spot again. He watches you, to make sure he’s doing it right, and he breaks out in a wide smile when your lips fall open in another shaky moan. There’s a perfect twisting of pleasure building inside you, growing more and more powerful with each of Komaeda’s movements. 

You can’t help but focus on all the places he is touching you. On where his large hand grips your breast, on the feeling of his forearm tucked under your knee, and then when he ducks his head down once again, the sensation of his lips on the side of your throat. He is everywhere, and that thought just brings you closer and closer. The water is still slowly cooling, and Komaeda huffs desperately against your neck, “I-I’m close…” Even hearing that sends a bolt of pleasure straight between your thighs, “M-Me too.” You swallow thickly, “Don’t stop” Komaeda breaks out in a bout of laughter, “Aha! I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.” he gently nips your neck, “You feel so good, do you know that?” he picks up the pace, moaning loudly against your skin, “Don’t you know what you are doing to me?” You can’t even answer, head lolling back in ecstasy as you feel your arousal reaching a fever pitch. In a near stupor, you wrap both of your arms around his shoulders and tug him forward until his chest is pressed fully against your, desperate for him to be completely and impossibly close to you. Komaeda is trembling against you, his thrusts turning rhythmless and desperate, you can hear his quickening breath in your ear and with a warbling cry, you shatter . 

You feel yourself go limp, only the wall behind you and Komaeda’s arm under your knee are keeping you upright. Your whole body feels loose and warm, but you still watch in adoration as Komaeda continues moving inside of you. His brow creasing, his teeth biting down on his lower lip and then with a howling broken cry, he tumbles over the edge. 

He lets your leg drop, his face falling to rest on your shoulder as his breathing slows. A surprised gasp escapes you when he pulls out, almost aching from the loss of him. He doesn’t have anything to say, and neither do you, simply letting your fingers run through his hair as he comes back down. 

You only have a moment to rest before the hot water disappears completely and both of you jump at the sudden cold. Komaeda quickly shuts the water off and turns back to you with a sleepy smile, “It appears we have used all the hot water.” You laugh, “Yes, it does.” He stands before you, his face soft and his smile finally finally genuine. You reach up and tuck some of his wet hair behind his ear, heart warming with something that might someday be love. You hope that you will be with him long enough to see that day. “We should, ah, probably get out now.” He says almost sheepishly. 

You smile, “Probably. Next time we should make sure not to waste so much water.” Komaeda’s face is awash in surprise, but it quickly settles back into that perfectly tender smile, “Yes, next time.”