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thebearer · 1 year ago

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nothing in the world belongs to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: still new in your relationship, you show up to the bear for dinner unexpectedly, surprising carmen and the others.

based off this prompt from the other day :)

contains: fluff lol. really, it's just fluff. established-ish relationship (the others don't know). carmen being a little nervous and possessive but mainly cute <3 language.

“Alright, listen up,” Richie stood next to Sydney, flicking through the piles of tickets that were ringing through by the second. It was normal now, an expected task in their routine. “We need to walk the focaccia to table seven, please.”

“Yes, Chef!” A chorus of nearly robotic voices rose from the sizzling hiss of the lamb searing in Carmen’s pan, lifting the spatula to tip the meat over, before giving it back to the chef on the line.

“And for table nine, we’ve got a shellfish allergy, alright? So let’s triple check the cross contamination on that. T, can you handle that one?” Richie moved from his leather bound book of notes back to the ticket.

“Yes, Chef!” Tina chimed, pulling a freshly washed pan, filling it with the veal stock.

“Table nine, is that- that’s the senator?” Carmen turned to Richie, tasting the roux bubbling on Victoria’s station, giving her a curt nod of approval.

“No, that’s table eleven.” Richie hummed, looking back at his notebook. “Nine, is… a birthday. Booked online.” Carmen had already begun to drone him out, mind racing with a million other things as Richie listed the guests name. Until he got to one.

The name Carmen was sure he was hallucinating. The name no one knew- How would they know? How could they possibly know your name?

You and Carmen had been seeing each other for a little while. A few weeks that were slowly turning into months. A casual thing that was slowly turning more serious. Dates and meetups are becoming more frequent. You’d even invited him over to your place a few times, he’d spent the night last week.

Still, Carmen hadn’t managed to tell anyone. Selfishly, he liked that you were all his for now. Privacy was not guaranteed in the Berzatto house, in Carmen’s life still. He knew they meant well, they always did- he knew it wasn’t purposeful, the intrusion that almost always led to a demise. Carmen wasn’t ready for it, not yet, he still wanted you all to himself.

“Carmen?” Sydney’s voice pulled him out of his panicked trance. “Chef, are you- are you good?” Her voice lilted with that familiar suspicious quip, the one always accompanied with her lifted brows.

“What?” Carmen blinked, hands buzzing, heart thumping. He could see the window, Richie’s frame blocking most of it. “Sorry, yeah- yeah, I’m good, Chef.”

Sydney watched him carefully, a slow nod before she continued calling out orders. Carmen could feel Richie’s eyes on him, narrowed with curiosity. Carmen tried to be nonchalant, crossing the kitchen back towards Tina, his eyes cutting carefully, looking out the window.

There you were.

Sitting pretty at the middle table, surrounded by friends, some Carmen recognized from your Instagram. He’d actually logged in to the app, looked you up after the first date, consumed every photo of yours in the dark of his room. Cheeks burning with excited heat, stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt since junior high.

“Alright, walk five salads to nine.” Sydney called out. “Where’s our runners? God, Richie, can you run-”

“-I got it.” Carmen called, the urgency in his tone making Tina jump behind him. Carmen took the tray before Gary could, his hands shaking as he lifted it.

“Cousin, I can get it.” Richie frowned.

“No, I-I got it.” Carmen nodded, swallowing down his fluttering nerves. His eyes cut to your table through the window, heart skipping when he saw you. “I got it. I’ll be- I’ll just be a second.”

“I don’t- I can’t even handle that one right now.” Sydney sighed in exasperation. “Alright, Chefs. Let’s get back on track.” She announced, shaking her head. Richie frowned, pulling out his phone.

Sugar’s cell buzzed against the hostess stand, excusing herself to check it.

From: Richie

‘Look at table nine.’

Sugar huffed.

To: Richie

‘Why? Is there something wrong?’

She stepped back, casually turning to scan the room, eyes landing on the table. A small group of girls, younger, and amongst them- Carmen?

To: Richie

‘Is something wrong with the food? Do I need to comp it?’

From: Richie

‘No. Cousin wanted to go out there.’

Sugar frowned, angling her body behind the large plant near the front as casually as she could. She watched through the leaves as Carmen passed out the salads, each girl grinning widely, but their eyes always cut to one on the end.

Carmen saved your salad for last, hoping the lowlights of the restaurant would hide his boyish blush, setting the bowl in front of you carefully. “Hey,”

“Hi,” You smiled sheepishly, looking to meet his gaze. “Everything looks so good.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” Carmen nodded. “I-I didn’t know you were comin’ tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” You cringed softly, embarrassed heat flooding through your veins. You knew better, knew you shouldn’t have done this- showed up at his restaurant unannounced.

“I, uh, it’s my friend’s birthday.” You nodded towards Alicia at the end of the table. “And I was telling them about that pasta you made me, and they really wanted to come try it.” Your nerves bubbled, rambling in nervous peals that seemed to pour out before you could stop them.

“Yeah, no, that’s really nice. Thank you.” Carmen nodded, giving a half smile to your friends, hoping they didn’t see the way he wiped his clammy hands on his apron. “Why didn’t- Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me you were comin’ in.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You muttered softly. “I honestly didn’t think you’d even see us here, I swear. I didn’t mean to bother you or anything-”

“-You’re not bothering me.” Carmen’s voice dropped to a coo, accompanied with a soft smile that had your head spinning. “Never a bother, but, uh, next time? Bother me, ok? Wanna make sure you get the best seat in the house.”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your friends excited giggles only intensifying the rushing heat blanketing over your body. Carmen’s own cheeks heated, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek to hide his grin.

“Alright?” Carmen added, and in a complete act of shocking boldness, his hand squeezed your shoulder affectionately. A small gesture on the outside, but for Carmen, it was huge.

“Alright.” You grinned, leaning into his touch, your hands sliding over his.

“How’s everything so far?” Carmen turned to the table, nodding at the excited gushes of compliments, not missing the way your friends cut their eyes to you with animated glee.

“Just let me know if you need anything, ok?” Carmen turned to you.

“I will.” You nodded, starry eyed with love sick affection.

“Good. I’ll see you before you leave, alright?” Carmen muttered, ducking down towards you. His lips brushed over your cheek, your perfume clouding his senses. “You’re not botherin’ me. ‘M glad you’re here.”

Your cheek pressed to his, a gentle, affectionate rub before Carmen parted. Both of your features painted with shy delight.

Carmen could feel everyone’s eyes, through flickering gazes and lifted brows. Sydney’s gaze lingering over him skeptically, still counting tickets. Fak’s wide grin from the corner, loading trays to take out.

“Hey, uh, Marcus.” Carmen ignored Richie’s raised brows, a teasing, questioning remark on the tip of his tongue.

“Yes, Chef?” Marcus muttered, looking up from the cannolis he was garnishing.

“Table nine has a birthday. I was thinkin’ maybe the chocolate ganache, punch it with the little circle to make it look like a cake. Add a candle?” Carmen muttered, hand rubbing across his face.

“Yeah, Chef, I can do that.” Marcus nodded.

“Thank you.” Carmen nodded. “And Chef? Let me know when it’s ready before you walk it.”

Marcus frowned. “No, it’s not- I just wanna walk it, ok?” Carmen shook his head.

“Alright.” Marcus nodded slowly. “Heard, Chef.”

Richie smirked, leaning against the stainless steel table. “So,” Richie hummed. “There a complaint or somethin’? Need me to go talk to ‘em-”

“-No,” Carmen snapped, the possessiveness in his tone startling the both of them. “Sorry, it’s- No, I-I don’t need you to do that, Chef. Everything’s good.”

Richie nodded slowly, passing the dishes to Gary with a nod. “You gonna tell me what that was about?”

“No, Chef.” Carmen clipped, an edge to his tone that was teetering on annoyed. “But, uh, there’s not gonna be a check on table nine.”

“What?” Richie frowned. “Did you mess somethin’ up? Seriously, Cousin, if something's wrong it’s my job to know-”

“-No, it’s not-.” Carmen huffed, eyes pinching closed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Look, that’s… The girl on the end? I-I’ve been kinda seein’ her, ya know?” He muttered.

Richie gawked, blinking in disbelief. “No shit.” He grinned. “No shit? You-You’re serious?” He turned to look out the window.

“Don’t fuckin’ look.” Carmen hissed. “Look, it-it’s not a big deal, alright? Just don’t-don’t say anything o-or do anything.”

Richie swallowed back a teasing remark, a reactive reaction from years of being with Mikey. How the two of them used to tease Carmen endlessly, until they were fighting on the front lawn, Mikey howling with laughter while Carmen was red faced with mortified anger.

This time, Richie held back. He wasn’t sure why, call it divine intervention, a gut feeling maybe, but it felt different this time.

“Alright.” Richie nodded slowly. “No ticket for nine. Heard.”

Carmen’s foot tapped anxiously. “I mean, right? Th-That’s what I should do right?” Carmen looked over his shoulder out the window. “That would be shitty to give her a check? Be a complete jagoff move to charge her?”

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed lightly. “Jagoff of the fuckin’ year. Makin’ your girl pay to come to your place.”

Carmen’s heart swelled at the term- your girl. His girl. You were his girl.

“Walk four Pappardelle to nine. Walk one Pappardelle vegetarian style to nine.” Sydney called.

Carmen dipped the spoon in the glaze, garnishing the plate before sliding it towards Sydney. “So, you gonna take these out?” He muttered.

“No,” Carmen huffed. “Gonna wait until the cake.”

“Yeah, good idea, Cousin.” Richie nodded with a proud smile. “That when you’re gonna tell them no check tonight?”

“No,” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t- It would feel weird comin’ from me.” He looked up at Richie. “I was gonna let you do it.”

“Yeah, I can handle that.” Richie smirked. “And I won’t say anything, Cousin.” He stopped Carmen before he could say it. “I got you, Cousin. I won’t fuck it up, alright?”

Carmen nodded slowly, a strangled thank you on the tip of his tongue. The door swung open behind Richie, and for a second, Carmen caught a glimpse of you. Smiling and laughing, leaned in over the table, no doubt giggling with your friends about him. Carmen’s heart squeezed, but this time, without fear. No, there was no dooming fear that you were mocking him, making fun of him. This time, he felt the content rush of adrenaline filled love. A change in his routine, yes. Unexpected, sure, but he was glad for it. Glad that you were there- here, with him.

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theartofwoompwoomps · 2 months ago

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Im too old for this nonsense

Tfp Ratchet x Human! Reader

Summary: hates love, hates distractions. But he doesn’t hate you. Though he thinks you’ll be grossed out if you knew how he felt

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We all know that he’s a grumpy old mech. Too tired, and too exhausted to let himself be distracted by others.

Heck, he hates the idea of getting close to anyone else. Having lost too many, he can’t bare to relive the pain again.

That’s why he works and works, till his servos can’t move and his optics can’t see. Overworking himself until he can give no more.

The only thing grounding him when he reaches his limit is your own small hands moving around him. Checking him to see if he’s alright. He appreciates your company.

You always stuck around.

Even with his grumpy attitude that didn’t stop you from cleaning anything you could, keeping his things organized, and getting supplies he needed.

And here you were once again. Though this time it you couldn’t keep up him. Your body sprawled on his lap, slowly sub coming to sleep as he continued working on his datapad.

Why did you always do this?

Humans are much more delicate than him. You know this. Yet you always worked hard to help him.

He knew you might think it’s not a lot, but a lot of small things build up to something bigger. And that’s what it was with you. Every detail or help you gave, no matter how small, ended up warming his spark. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know it.

So no matter how annoyed he was with you and everything else. He genuinely cares for your wellbeing. Picking you up gently, he moved you onto the couch. Placing a blanket on you before he heads back to continue his work.

He should have known better. The fact you were overtaken by your fatigue should have been a sign for him to take a break.

But he couldn’t afford it.

This could help everyone. Including you. He kept working despite feeling his body getting twitchy and heavy, but he had to get this done. He couldn’t fail.

But alas, his optics were closing and he could no longer resist the plea his body oh so desperately need for some sleep.

When he gained consciousness of his surroundings again he felt the work space he recharged on.

Feeling his back sore, he opens his options groggily trying to see what’s going on. Looking over a clock it showed it was past noon.

Past noon?! He had to finish last night. Frustrated, he got up, quickly logging into his notes only to see the writing was different.

In fact, everything he was working on was reorganized and label. And he saw an energon cube nearby with a small note.

“Morning Doc, went out to get some coffee. We ran out of the good stuff. As you can see I left you some alien breakfast. Also hope the rearrangements help you find your notes faster lol. See you in a bit my lovely hardworking doctor :D <3”

Rolling his eyes at that last part. Ofc you always had to include your strange nonsense, but at this point he’s not surprised why he fell for you.

He chuckled, just thinking about you endeared him. But he knew he couldn’t allow himself more than that. You are human. He is an autobot. You deserve to be happy, not to be burned with his problems.

Hates that you have this control over him without you even realizing it, but that’s probably for the better. He shoves those thoughts aways as he starts to work where he left off.

Only that your note kept coming to mind.

How that heart you drew at the end twists his spark. Imagining you with an unreasonable amount of coffee on your way this instant brought a small smile on his face.

“Of course, it’s always the coffee over me isn’t it.” He chuckles at his own thoughts.

“Oh cmon doc, give me more credit than that.” Playful as always, you indeed came back with too many bags of instant coffee.

Rolling his eyes at your comment he scoffs playfully at you. Once again, biting his tongue from ever letting the conversation go on longer. Worried that the consequences of getting close to someone will hurt him.

Especially when the someone he likes romantically is a human.

A human would most definitely want to be with another human.

Not with him.

He’s just a bucket of metal who’s too tired for all of that. He could never treat you the same way a human would, it’s better if you just stay with your own kind.

But it seemed you had different plans. Always finding ways to stay with him and wriggle your way into his spark. He kept this to himself.

He finished his work for the day and was about to recharge but your soft whisper interrupted. “Hey doc.”

“Yes (y/n).” He groans a bit as he responds with his eyes closed. “As an expert in the biology for cybertronians i got a question.” He hums in interest, wondering were you’re going with this.

“Is it possible, in theory, for a cybertronian to have a romantic relationship with a human.”

Now he was fully awake.

“(Y/n), why in the world do you need to know that? I don’t see how it’s beneficial to explore the topic.”

He hope he hid it well. How flustered he actually was from your question. “yes, I know, I know. But is it possible?”

Turning to face you on his night stand. You were in your own human berth staring at him.

He wanted to say yes. The urge to say that’s what he wanted with you was strong. His own spark pressuring him to shared his true thoughts.

But, He didn’t know what consequences his response would lead to, and that scared him.

you were genuinely asking for an answer, and he just couldn’t just ignore you. No matter how much of a waste of time it was.

“Well, in theory, yes. It is possible.”

He’s not sure cause he barely caught it, but he’s pretty sure you got flustered at that comment before you hid your face.

“Oh alright.” You were giddy and a bit flushed yourself. Wasn’t sure what your reaction specifically meant, but he hoped it was a hint that you indeed feel the same he did about you.

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Masterlist

#x reader #re upload #transformers #transformers x reader #tf x reader #tfp x reader #tfp ratchet #ratchet #ratchet x reader #ratchet x human

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flowerfreya · 11 months ago

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Lunch

Part 12 of The Office AU. Simon and reader heavy lol.

Chapter Index

For a couple of days , you sulk. The boys can tell.

You haven’t brought lunch for Simon in a couple of days and he’s definitely noticed. You brought cold lunches and didn’t get up, until it was time to go.

John has been trying to get back in your good graces, buying you breakfast, cracking a joke here and there ( and they have been horrible ). Soap has been coming up to your desk everyday , all the time , trying to rope you into pranks.

No, thanks, and give a small smile. You're just so pissed. Why do you have to be in this predicament? You’ve had a shit day, week, month, fuck , a year. Why couldn't you just enjoy this. Men actually enjoy you, happy to be in your corner, and talking to you, and actually just want to be around you.

You look up as John calls your name, “Did you get that email, just wanted to check on it before it get lost in everything this week”

“Yes, I am making a notifica-”, you get interrupted by wacky girlfriend waltzing , like she actually owns the place. Slides right up to John, in front of you and places her hands on your, his chest and gives him a kiss, that is not appropriate for the workplace.

She turns and looks, gives you a mousy smile, “Not making any trouble, are we?”

You put on your best customer service voice , with the biggest smile you can muster, “Of course not”.

Something you snap, you’ve put your peace on the back burner for too long for some girl that you don’t even know to stress you out like this. She grabs everyone except for Simon, don’t forget about Simon, you hear Soap says. Simon waves her off when she mentions joining them.

You walk up to Simon's desk,”Hey, you hungry”. Simon looks up at you wide eyed. You haven’t talked to him if it wasn't about work and you for sure haven’t talked to him about lunch.

“I could really go for some poke” , you smile at him. You missed him, missed hanging out with him, missed eating with him.

“Poke?”, he questions it , but he’s already getting his keys and logging off his computer.

You start walking towards the entrance, you look over to John’s office and see that the blinds are open and you meet the eyes of a wacky girlfriend and smirk. Bitch.

Simon wouldn’t let you drive there or pay.

“Oh, are we not taking it to go”, you ask pointing at the door.

Simon looks up from the table he just sat at, “Nah, John won’t mind”. You walk back to the table and start eating.

“You eating with a fork?”,Simon points at you with the chopsticks.

You giggle, “I don’t know how”, and shrug your shoulders. You hear the chair scraping and now Simon is right beside you, holding your hand, trying to teach you to use chopsticks. You swear you're trying to pay attention.

But he’s so close and he smells so good.

“You think you can try it now.”

Not really , “Sure”.

You fail miserably. You start to pick up the fork again and then Simon taps you , has you looking up and he’s feeding you.

This is the most romantic thing someone has done for you.

“Good?”, he ask.

“Mmmm, yeah of course so good”, you reply.

Holy shit .

#task force 141 #poly!141 #simon riley x reader #captain john price #soap x reader #gaz x reader

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writing-mlm · 5 months ago

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Hello!!!!!! I was wondering if you could do a Damian Wayne x sick male reader and how he would take care of them? It could be hcs or a while fic, I don’t care lol I’m sick right now and honestly really like Damian haha (BTW I LOVE YOUR WORKS!!)

Do as I say, not as I do

Summary: An alien sickness is running through Damian’s house and he’s confident he can beat it. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male!reader Wc: 1.6k tags/warnings: sick fic, alien sickness, fainting, general illness stuff A/n: hopefully you’re not still sick ik this took 4everrr

It’s not that Damian doesn’t like when you wear his clothes— you’re his spouse, of course, he absolutely loves when you wear his clothes. His pants, his shirts, sweaters, hell, he’d let you wear his socks if you’ve asked. It’s just… not while you’re sick, man.

He watches as you cough into the sleeve of his Nightwing hoodie, resigning himself to hand washing it before putting it in the washing machine once you’re done. He hides his negative feelings; not quite distaste, not quite annoyance. It’s a third emotion he hasn’t found just yet. You inhale and he can hear the mucus getting sucked back into your nose before you hack a flurry of coughs. A nearby tissue gets attacked with the boogers that went from your nose to your throat.

Despite the… disliking for germs and all things that could get him sick, Damian is not far from you. He hasn’t been more than ten feet away from you at any given moment. You smile when you see him walking back from the bedroom with a mountain of blankets for you to choose from. You’d said you were cold and when prompted, you simply said blanket. Never mind there were nearly twenty tucked away in one of the various dressers.

“Habibi, which one would you like?” He asks, showing each, still folded, blanket in his arms.

“The—“ Which comes out as a wheezy da. “— tiger one.” Amazing choice, he would’ve picked that one if he had to. Carefully, he shakes it open and goes to drape it over you when he sees you looking up at him expectantly. He sets the blanket down and leans over, wiping the sweat from your forehead before he kisses the spot. You hum, eyes closing at the warmth that spreads to your face when he holds you so tenderly. The blanket slides over you and he checks on the fireplace, adding another log for good measure.

He silently curses Jon for giving you some alien sickness, deciding that he’ll give him yet another earful when you fall asleep. Thankfully it wasn’t deadly, confirmed by J’onn, but it was a nasty sickness all the same. Expected to last nearly half the month but could last longer depending on your conditions. And Damian prides himself on his abilities; abilities that include making his home stress-free and sterile. Not clean. Sterile. He won’t allow even a single molecule of dust to enter the house without wiping it away. He, even though it pains him, had temporarily set up Alfred and Titus back at the manor until you were well.

You told him that part wasn’t necessary, but he insisted and you especially understand just how stubborn he can be.

Of course, at the news of this alien sickness, Bruce (and let’s be honest, anyone with a working, unbiased, mind) had requested you be set in the WatchTowers quarantine zone where you could be closely monitored. Damian refused, declaring himself the perfect doctor and he doesn’t need anyone subpar attending to his husband.

Just don’t let him know that every time he leaves the room you see one of the members at the window taking random tests to check up on you. A couple of times one of the speeders has done a drive-by blood sample or something else that requires being in close contact. It’s something you intend to keep a secret from him for a while.

Sinking into the soft pillow, you watch as he turns the channel to something more pleasant. He doesn’t want you watching crime or medical shows while you’re recovering; he thinks it’ll prolong your sickness with the stress. He also doesn’t want to bore you with documentaries. Or stress you with horror or thriller. He doesn’t want to watch RomComs because they’re either too good or too bad. So, cartoons it is.

“I don’t wanna watch Bluey,” You whine. “I’m a grown man.” He raises an eyebrow at you and you huff. To your horror, a booger flies out from your nose, landing on the floor several feet away from you and you try not to laugh and/or hide in embarrassment.

“I’ll put on Miraculous Ladybug, then,” He grabs a tissue and wipes up the mucus from the floor.

“Oh, yes.” The show plays and Damian starts on dinner. He’s a little unsure of what to make; he wants something healthy but nothing too healthy so you’ll eat it without fuss. He tried feeding you nothing but vegetables blended together the first night and you threw it up as soon as the bowl was empty. He knows you’re also tired of soup; he would be too if it was all he ate for nearly every meal for the past week.

He thinks for a moment, looking at the fridge doors and pictures of what foods are in there. There’s a lot, considering he’d allowed Dick (read: Dick begged him until Damian agreed) to help him with grocery shopping only for Dick to show up with a shopping cart filled with food. Not that he was upset; he even said thank you before slamming the door shut. He’d seen how Dick had an open wound on his face and he wasn’t going to risk any type of contamination.

His fingers drum on the countertop as he thinks before he stops and opens the door to double-check something.

“Beloved, how would you like a poke bowl for dinner?”

“Yes, please,” You cry at the idea of not eating yet another soup. He nods and begins to work, listening to your breathing and stopping every so often when it changes to something too harsh for his liking. You eventually sit up, cracking your back and watching as he chops up the avocado slices, splaying them nearly on top of the rice and other assortments. He drizzles on the kewpie mayo and sriracha like they do in recipe videos, cleaning the sides of the bowl with a napkin until it looks pretty. It’s like watching The Bear. Or BingingWithBabish.

Changing the channel to something you both enjoy, you open the blanket up for him. He sits close to you, your thighs touching despite the warnings that the illness is communicable.

You eat, happy that it’s staying down because it tastes so fucking good and you’d hate to throw up again. At some point you, though, between chewing on the last bite and setting the bowl on the coffee table, you knock out.

It startles Damian as he grabs you once he notices you were going down, suddenly limp. Putting a hand to your forehead, he chews at the inside of his cheek when he sees your feverish skin against the back of his hand. It’s not dangerously hot, just a little above your normal temperature. Checking your pulse, he finds that it’s normal and listens to your breathing; also normal. So, nothing that’s immediately alarming.

Perhaps you were simply fatigued, but he wasn’t going to take his chances. From a small box on the coffee table, he grabs a small flashlight and checks your eyes. They dilate as they should. He then goes into the closet to grab his inflatable cuff, which he would later tell you was exactly why he’d insisted on having one in the first place and tested your blood pressure. Normal. That’s good. In the same box, the cuff was in, he takes the glucose meter and pricks your finger.

Low.

Not dangerously so, but lower than he’d like it to be.

He doesn’t want to leave you on the couch but he needs to as he fixes a cup of a sugary drink and a small plate of your favorite cookies before he returns to the couch. You’re stirring at that point, grumbling as your eyes adjust to the lights.

“You worried me,” He admits, sitting at your side, gently brushing his fingers against your face. “Here, your blood sugar is low. Eat as much as you can manage,” Nodding, you take a long sip of the drink, relishing the feeling because Damian insisted on those crazy superfood drinks with nothing but kale and spinach.

“I apologize,” He blinks down at the floor. “I neglected to realize how important eating… fun foods are as well as healthy foods.”

“It’s okay,” You shrug, eating the cookie and then offering him one. He shakes his head, insisting you eat them. “How long was I out for?”

“No more than ten minutes,” He assures, putting the items back into the box but doesn’t put the box away. He inhales and checks your forehead again. It’s the same, of course.

—

That routine continues for another week. A week of tissues and sore throats. Not that you minded all that much, it wasn’t so bad spending all that time being doted on by Damian. At least until you woke up to the sound of him coughing his lungs out, reading blindly for his shirt.

“I’ll get the soup ready,” You hum, tossing the overs off and stuffing your feet into your house slippers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll go to the quarantine ward in the WatchTower.” He shakes his head. “You’re just getting over being sick, stay here.”

“Damian, no,” Pushing him back to the bed, he glares and grabs your hand.

“I do not want to get you sick, your body shouldn’t be under stress after you’ve just gotten over being—“ He’s forced to stop as he can no longer hold back his own coughs.

“I think I remember the recipe you like,” You mutter, checking his temperature. “I’ll tell Bruce you’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“I’m going to the Watchtower,” He insists, following you out of the room. “I’ve already contacted Father and he agrees. He’s on his way now,”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

#x male reader #x reader #damian wayne x male reader #damian wayne x you #robin x male reader #robin x reader #damian al ghul x male reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne al ghul #sick fic #damian wayne sick fic

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chdarling · 6 months ago

Note

As we’re getting closer to a truly awful day for America, I just wanted to check in on you. Things are bleak and about to get so so much worse, I want you to know I’m here and many others are here too when you’re ready

This is very kind of you, thank you. Honestly, I have not been doing great. Watching my neighbors elect a racist, fascist, Nazi-loving rapist triggered a pretty bad depressive episode on top of what was already the worst period of professional and creative burnout of my life, so….I’m struggling. Still trying to claw my way out of the dark. I’m deeply appreciative of the kindness of this community and am sorry that I haven’t (and probably won’t for a little longer) been able to engage the way I once did. I will again one day, and I am so thankful to know all you wonderful people online. <3

On a note that is completely unrelated to this gentle ask, I’ve been getting a ton of messages lately asking for a date when TLE3 is coming out and I don’t feel up to answering them (sorry) so I’m just going to tack this on here since I buried my last post on the subject under a mountain of despair reblogs: TLE3 is going to take a while.

I’m still planning to continue with my writing projects (be they TLE or other things), but right now I’m focusing on securing my own oxygen mask, etc. When I finished posting TLE2, I said that I would be taking a break and also that I would not be posting TLE3 until I had written all of it (like I had for TLE1). Even if I had been writing diligently every single day since I posted the last chapter, I still wouldn’t be done, so please understand that it’s going to take a while. It certainly will not be coming in the next 6 months, very possibly not in 2025. I know some people won’t be happy to hear that, but just a fun statistic: OOTP has 257,045 words and took three years to write/publish after GOF. TLE2 has (and this makes me cringe a little) 407,079 words and took roughly 3 years to write as an unpaid side hobby on top of full time work, education, etc. I don’t say this to toot my own horn (frankly, it just makes me desperately want to retroactively edit the crap out of TLE2 lol), but rather to reiterate that writing a book-length work takes a lot of time, energy, and love. I don’t want it to take 3 years (and I don’t think it will, TLE3 will be a more reasonable length), but it’s certainly not going to be finished in a few months. That would be insanity and I am not that talented lmao.

I do know that the requests for updates come from a place of love and enthusiasm and excitement and I really, truly appreciate that. I also appreciate all of the kind words of the asks I haven’t been answering. Please know that I’ve read them, I love you, and I will be back eventually. I just have to focus on my health right now, and unfortunately these days being online is pretty bad for that, so I'm going to try to be logged off for a while.

And finally, on another completely unrelated but perhaps mildly tangential note: if anyone has any books recommendations or resources on processing climate grief, I, uh, could use them. 🫠

#ch answers #tle3

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ducksido · 2 months ago

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'Ello m8, seeing your HP!Yuu made me want a Remus Lupin!Yuu

Y'know, profesor Lupin from Defense Against the Dark Arts (or DADA for short), Wolf McWolfen the werewolf?

This guy, fucken hate him (afectionate, i'm literally him)

(Optional hc of mine that u could use for this: even tho this guy cannot eat chocolate 'cause after becomin a werehound he became alergic to most things that canines [doggos] can't eat [ie: chocolate, grapes, garlic, etc], he still eats it cause fuck rules and every single time he gets an allergic reaction he laughs at his disgrace while everyone freaks out 'cause he got puffy like a blowfish out of the blue.)

Remus Lupin!Yuu in Twisted Wonderland

Teaches an informal Defense Against Overblots class in Ramshackle. It’s just them, a blackboard Grim naps on, a tea kettle, and a very detailed monster manual they’re writing from scratch. Somehow their lessons are still better than most of Trein’s.

Looks perpetually sleep-deprived, with a patchy scarf collection, worn-out sweaters, and enough charm to make their “chronically exhausted gifted kid” vibe attractive to everyone from Ruggie to Idia.

Is a literal werehound. Got bitten during an accident in a dark forest at night (what else is new). Now transforms during full moons and has extremely sensitive dog-like senses all month. Bright lights? Too loud. Strong smells? Please stop. Grim’s tuna breath?

Their dorm smells like mint tea, dusty books, and wet dog. They pretend to be mad when people say it, but secretly… they like the attention.

Can’t eat chocolate anymore because it triggers their canine allergy, but do they care? Absolutely not. They’ll eat a whole bar of dark chocolate during study break, go full allergic reaction mode (swollen lips, itchy ears, watery eyes, etc.) and just laugh like: “Well, at least I died doing what I loved.”

Everyone freaks out the first few times. Deuce cried once. Riddle almost had a heart attack. Azul offered to make a “safe” faux-chocolate. Yuu bit into it, grimaced, and said “This tastes like betrayal.” Never again.

Always the one patching people up after fights or emotional meltdowns. They hum lullabies while cleaning scrapes. Very “I can’t let anyone else hurt like I do” coded.

Still super powerful, but lowkey about it. Once stared an overblot in the face and said, “I’ve seen worse monsters in the mirror, darling,” then bodied them with a single spell.

—

Some Reactions to The Allergy

Leona: “You’re an idiot.” Hands them water anyway while Yuu’s face puffs up like a balloon. Grumbles, but checks their vitals with scary precision.

Floyd: Thinks it’s hilarious. “Ooooh, Shrimpy’s got pufferfish mode~ Do it again~”

Vil: Contemplates murdering them. “Chocolate? Again? I gave you those vegan carob bites for a reason!” Threatens to handcuff them to a detox smoothie next time.

Lilia: Laughs along. “Ah, youth! You really shouldn’t, but I admire your chaos.” Offers garlic bread next. (He forgets. Yuu cries.)

Idia: Has a detailed medical alert system on his tablet just for them. Logs every reaction like it’s a glitchy video game boss: “Yuu V3.6.8 just face-tanked a forbidden cocoa drop… again. HP at 32%. LOL.”

Malleus: Has no idea what chocolate is. Brings them a whole cacao tree and asks if that will help. Is very worried and insists on staying by their side for every recovery nap.

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst yuu #twst headcanons #harry potter! yuu #remus lupin

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doodlingwren · 6 months ago

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It's 2024 can we please stop saying it's normal to trace or copying an entire drawing and pretending it's 100% your work? Just bc you changed the character or added clothes on a base you found on pinterest it doesn't mean you created original art

Edit: I need to specifying some things, or somebody might misinterpret this post in the future.

Tracing and copying are more than okay to use if you need to exercise or study stuff! Copying might be a bit better because you're actually training your eye and hand on how to make shapes and volumes. My best advice is, if you trace something, keep it for yourself and don't post it online (if you do, ask the original artist if they're okay with it)

Always use references, especially for anatomy stuff! It's not a cheat! Poses are complicated, and there are a lot of photographers posting pose packs FOR FREE TO USE! Or even artists drawing them :)

Remember to read the TERMS OF SERVICE when using a photo/ base you've found online: some people want credits, others are fine without them! But you have to check to know, and please be respectful

YCH (your character here) are NOT free to use bases; please know that. They are artwork from other artist showcasing a type of commission they are doing. And neither are WIPs

do NOT trust stuff you find on Pinterest. A great part of the artworks over there have been uploaded 1) without the artist consent and often 2) with a misleading use. Already happened to find other artist artworks or sketches being given out as "bases".

This post came from the fact some of the images used and traced were actually anatomy studies made by a very famous artist who requested for them not to be traced over (or if used like that, to give credits were it's due).

For the actual bases, they can be found on Twitter, and credits are required as well.

For that one traced artwork. It's actually a work in progress made by an artist, and I suppose it was uploaded on Pinterest, so some people might think of it as a base? Although it has on it "WIP" and the original artist name (if you've been drawing. You know exactly what those 2 things mean). The other things that bothered me it's while for the other there has been an attempt, this one it's traced 1 to 1. Didn't bother to change the character face at all. That's what makes me mad. Taking all the credits for something that you didn't do. That's just being lazy and not giving a fuck about art. Also they traced other artist's illustrations as well with their OCs so. I guess it's not just fandom art 😂

On a side note, this is something that I've seen happen quite a lot. And especially if you're doing commissions for a living, a trace accusation can destoy your carreer. Therefore, I won't tell this person a name or make a callout post. I did block them and moved on, and this was a vent post I had to do for myself.

#wren text tag #tw: vent #like tracing and copying are morally grey. If you want to trace to learn stuff or practice or study it's ok ig #maybe don't post it online or if you have to... don't trace from picture/other people artworks/bases you found online w/o giving credits #unless it's a base an artist made specifically for tracing purposes #I think this depends on where you draw the line bc I'm much more strict abt copying/tracing from art rather than photographs 🤔#with photos you've to do some mental exercise for your muscle memory + simplification studies #tracing feels a bit lazy to me. Are you a copyprinter perhaps? Or maybe that's because I'm not a couch potato idk #This vent needs some lore otherwise this looks so umpromted it's almost confusing 🙄#kinda found out sb who was copying or tracing both from fucking pose references from Pinterest and other people artworks 😅#like poses ref are ok but you should check the Terms of Condition of the original artist first. For the artworks plagiarized. DUDE #surprised no one has found out yet but if I see another copied drawing my netiquette is leaving my body and I'm turning into a HATER #or another comment like “omg your poses looks so dynamic”. I'm flying #btw I blocked them so my dash is free. Sadly we are also in the same disc server so I'm kinda cooked #thinking of leaving it so I don't have to start drama and discussions. I'm not a fan of call-out and stuff and if I can avoid it I will #btw I say copied/traced bc some are traced over while others are hopefully just eyeballed. What bothers me is the amount of plagiarized art #like almost half of those fanarts are copied poses. The other half are character standing on a white bg. I hope those aren't copied as well #it's already bad... but if only was just for the bases. That one traced artwork can almost be damaging to the fanbase reputation 🤦‍♀️ smh #there are only a few artist in that part of the fandom I don't need an art thief drama. I guess I will shut up and look away 😑#anyway that's the lore which didn't help with my Art Block. Actually it made worse. That's why it took me so long to be back lol 🤣😂😭#pov: you log on tumblr 🥰 and you have an art crisis 😍#Are u telling me I could have done that? Copying and tracing and taking all the credits instead of wasting time learning anatomy?! 🤯#Ok the last tag was sarcastic but wouldn't be funny. I wish I had the balls to be like that #And now that this post is published I can finally rest. I had this thing in drafts since September #To whom is asking about who this person is. I won't tell. I just want to forget what I saw. Ty and bye 💖✨️

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autisticfaun420 · 6 months ago

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My life with level 2 (part 1)

I'm making this post to share some things about my life and give an idea about what my support needs are

1. Every morning I wake up sealed in my cubby bed, an enclosed bed that keep me trapped inside so I dont wander and hurt myself or roll out and have a meltdown (common things that happen with me and regular beds). It's also soft so I don't potentially bang my head against something hard. you're probably wondering well how do I go to the bathroom at night. That brings me to my next point.

2. Every morning after opening up my cubby bed either my mom, dad, caregiver, or occasional close friend takes me to my changing station in my room and begins to change my diaper. Thats right I was NEVER able to potty train and due to EXTREME sensory issues I am unable to change myself. This means I need constant super vision as I always need someone to change me, also calm me down if meltdown, etc. I simply have no way to tell I need to go, 1 or 2, till its much too late. So yeah diapers are an all day thing not just at night.

3. I'm older then 20 and my parents are l now my legal guardians for life, and if they can't do it I have friends that will step up. I'm not sure exactly what this means legally but I take it to mean Im basically still a kid to them on like, every level. They respect my intelligence but they still set the rules. One that always kind of gets people mad but then they understand is the fact that I have child safety internet settings on my tablet and phone, I can't access most social media websites and I'm not alliowed YouTube only YouTube Kids. This is because my parents and close friends agree that these teenage boys from a nearby town were trying to make me an "lol cow", basicallly a target for online harassment and bullying and trolling me because I was special needs and active on social media. Tumblr with my parents having the username and password and log ins and they check it every day is all I get. My friends and parents show me things from TikTok and Youtube that they think i'll like so I don't miss out. Oh yeah and I would binge watch horror and terror content on youtube, something that a lot of autistic people do apparently, however I mentally can't handle it. I wake up and freak out and hit myself all night and lose sleep for a week and end up in a mental hospital cause I'm hurting myself and not sleeping. Not fun... at all. I had unrestricted internet access as a teenager and I'm glad that part of my life is over. My parents do however let me eat cannabis edibles every day so its not like they're over protective, just protective in the way I need.

4. My parents are my emotional coregulators and I rely on them heavily, a lot of the time just to know how I'm feeling. I break down emotionally frequently and if my parents or a select few of my friends aren't there to cuddle me and rub my back the right way, I FREAK out and start hitting myself cause my brain is a bit nutty I guess. I'm needy with those I love to a rediculous degree. I'm a lot better, still not great, at self soothing. Self soothing is an oxymoron for me. I kinda need to be with somebody to be told to calm down, encouraged to come out my shell, praised when I do something good, and just having a hand to hold. My mom is rubbing my back encouraging me to write this out like I said I wanted to do.

5. I need to stim, constantly. I'm always rocking, fidget toy and plushie in hand chewing on my chewing laynyard, you get the idea. I also need audio and visual stims which I get in the form of watching bright colorful little kid shows on my tablet like Blues Clues and Daniel Tiger. I think this is why people don't think I'm smart but its just who I am and what my needs are.

I think this is a good starting point, I'll make a part 2 later.

#autism #actually autistic #level 2 autism #level 3 autism #high support needs #medium support needs

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scoonsalicious · 1 year ago

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7.1 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, discussion of feelings, nudity, mentions of some sexy stuff.

Word Count: 3.2k

Previously On...: Idk; it's been so long. Who can even remember? Just kidding-- Bucky blew off his plans for a 'friend-date' with Lily to talk to you about what happened that morning.

A/N: And we're back!

Hi, besties! I confess to not getting as much writing done as I had hoped on my break-- cursed writer's block! Then, last night, I ended up scrapping most of the writing I did do and started over, lol. However, I've got a bit of a back log again, and a four day weekend starting tonight, and now that I feel reinvigorated with the story, we'll be able to resume our regularly scheduled program!

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You pulled up to the destination Bucky had sent you as dusk was falling. Langston Park. A weird spot for dinner, you thought, but you’d double-checked the location with Bucky, and he’d assured you that you were in the right place.

Glancing at your map, you noticed that the pin he’d sent you was a little ways up a trail. You parked your truck and double checked your bag to make sure you had your pepper spray at the ready– not that you were afraid that Bucky was going to harm you– just that, a woman alone in the woods at dusk? You could never be too careful. It actually went against your better judgment to go in there at all, but you trusted that Bucky wouldn’t lead you into danger.

If I do come across something unexpected, you thought to yourself, please let it be the bear.

You cautiously made your way up the trail, using the nearly useless flashlight feature on your phone to keep yourself from tripping over anything. It was difficult adjusting your eyesight from the bright light of the map you were following on your phone screen to the darkness gathering around you. After you’d been walking for about fifteen or so minutes, you had to turn left to go off-trail, cutting off your access to the dwindling daylight even more. You gently pushed branches of leaves aside as you made your way through the woods, until you noticed a soft, orange glow coming from up ahead of you.

When you broke through the tree line, your breath caught in your throat. The pin Bucky had sent you had led you to a small clearing nestled along a stream, with a melodious waterfall cascading down into a pool that held a handful of floating lanterns. The entire clearing was lit with hanging lanterns that gently swayed from the branches of the surrounding trees, washing the entire space with low, warm light. Spread out on the ground was a large blanket with some throw pillows, extra blankets, and a picnic hamper. And in the center of the clearing, crouched Bucky. He’d appeared to have just finished setting up his phone to stream some soft music. The entire tableau was the most romantic thing you’d ever seen.

“Hey,” you called softly as you turned your flashlight off, dropped your phone into your bag, and made your way into the clearing.

Bucky stood and turned to face you, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Major, hi,” he breathed. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Did you do all this for me?” you asked in awe as you looked around, taking in your surroundings. You could feel a lump form in the back of your throat, and you had to actively tell yourself not to cry. No one had ever done anything so absolutely romantic for you in your entire life. Not once had Connor ever made a fraction of the effort Bucky had made tonight.

Bucky’s face took on a look of panic. “Is it too much?” he asked, nervously glancing around as though he were trying to judge it anew through your eyes to see what you might find wrong with it.

You smiled, reaching for his hand to offer a squeeze of reassurance. “It’s lovely,” you said. “No one has ever done something so amazing for me, Bucky. Thank you.”

Bucky visibly relaxed at your words. “Figured I owed you something special, to make up for this morning.” He motioned to the blanket, guiding you to sit down with him. “I brought dinner,” he said, opening up the basket. Inside were several subs, a couple of bottles of lemonade, and a few bags of chips. “Sweet onion teriyaki chicken with cucumbers, extra pickles, and red wine vinegar,” Bucky said, handing you a sandwich. You held the sandwich to you for a moment, your chest filling with warmth at the fact that he’d remembered your offhand comment about your favorite sandwich.

You put the wrapped sub down on the blanket in front of you. “Could we talk before we eat?” you asked him. “I’ve got some things I want to clear up first.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, putting down the sandwich he had gotten for himself and looked up at you through his lashes. “Go ahead, sugar,” he said.

You took a breath. “I get why you didn’t tell Lily about me,” you said slowly. “It’s new, and we’re not even really anything. So, what’s there to tell her, really? Plus, she and I didn’t really have the best first impressions of one another, so that part, I understand. What I don’t get is why you felt you needed to lie about being out on a date at all.” Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but you weren’t finished.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how many calls I got toward the end of my marriage that went just like the one you had with Lily last night. All the times Connor assured me he was just “out with the boys,” when, in reality, he was with his mistress. So, I guess, hearing you tell Lily you were with Sam for a ‘guys’ night’ was kind of triggering.” You sighed, heaving your shoulders. “I need to know, and I need you to be honest with me: Is there something going on between the two of you? Is that why you felt the need to lie to her about being out with me?”

Bucky shook his head vehemently and made a face of mild disgust. “Major, no– there’s never been anything between us,” he said. “I won’t lie, Lily is very important to me– as a friend– she was the first new one I made in almost eighty years, and she stuck by me when I was going through a really difficult time in my life, when I really hadn’t given her much of a reason to, but in terms of anything romantic, or sexual? Never.”

You tilted your head, considering his words. He seemed sincere, though if you had been a good judge of when a man you had feelings for was lying to your face, your marriage to Connor would probably only have been a fraction as long as it was.

“Alright,” you said, choosing in the moment to believe him, “so, if you’re as close as you say, and there’s nothing romantic between the two of you, it makes it even stranger that you lied to her about being out on a date last night.”

Bucky looked down, toying with a loose thread on the blanket you both sat on. “At the time,” he said, not looking up at you, “not telling her the truth seemed like a good idea. It didn’t really cross my mind that I was lying… more like ‘just not telling her the truth yet.’ I was really looking forward to seeing you again, doll,” he told you, his eyes now rising to meet yours, “ and telling Lil… well, it felt like I was needlessly complicating things."

You let out an exasperated sigh. “None of that explains to me the why behind it, Bucky,” you said. “Why would telling your best friend complicate things?

“I just didn’t want her getting involved in our business before the two of us even knew what our business was,” he said, as if that made everything clear.

“But, shouldn’t your best friend knowing your business be, I dunno, a good thing?” you asked him in frustration, wanting to reach out and shake him. You felt like you were going around in circles. “Shouldn’t she be happy for you?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “Of course she’ll be happy for me. It’s just…” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Lily’s always had… opinions about every girl I’ve ever dated, and she’s never made it a point of keeping them to herself. I mean, most of the time, she ends up being spot on, and the relationship flops, but this…” he moved to place his hand over yours where it rested on the blanket, “with you? I wanted to enjoy it before she makes those opinions known.”

You turned your hand over and squeezed his. The full truth of the situation had clicked into place for you at his words, and the realization brought both intense clarity and an all too familiar heartache. “All my life, I’ve been… impulsive,” you told him. “I jump head first into things, without thinking about the consequences. It’s how I got into the Army, ended up with Connor, hell, even how I started my business. Sometimes it works out, but…” you heaved a sigh, “usually it tends to blow up spectacularly in my face. I don’t want this to blow up in my face, Bucky.”

The confusion in Bucky’s face as he took in your words was evident. “What are you saying, doll?” he asked.

You took a moment, considering your next words carefully. “I… I really like you,” you began as a wide grin broke out across his face. “Probably more than I should for a person I just met a few days ago, but the truth of it is, I’ve seen this story play out before, and I’m not sure I could handle opening my heart to you, only to have you leave me for the best friend you swore I’d never have to worry about.”

Bucky took both your hands in his own, a look of desperation crossing his face. “Sugar,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Major. I don’t know how many other ways I can tell you that I just don’t see Lily that way,” he said. “Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any dame the way I see you. You’ve got me feeling all kinds of ways I’ve never felt before.”

His words were sweet, and you felt your heart soften, but you had to remind yourself: you’d heard words just like it before. “Look,” you said, pulling your hands away from his, “maybe you don’t , but it seems pretty obvious, even as an outsider, that her feelings for you are stronger than just friendship. I don’t want to lose my heart to you if you’re going to realize that you belong with someone you’ve known for years, instead of a one-night stand that went on for too long.”

Bucky reeled back as if you’d slapped him and closed his eyes in a grimace. “That is never,” he began, a pained expression clouding his handsome face, “ever all that you could be to me, Major.” When he opened them again, his eyes were boring into yours, the blue gone cobalt in the growing night. “I’m not going to wake up one day and decide I want to be with Lily. I’ve had four years in close proximity with her for those feelings to develop, and they never have. I honestly can’t see why that would change, especially now that I’ve met you.”

God, you wanted to believe him, but you’d already played this role and it had nearly destroyed you, despite how nonchalantly you acted about it. “Does she know that, Bucky? Because, to be completely honest with you, on the night we met, both Nat and Wanda advised me not to get involved with you, because of her.”

His face blanched at the admission. “What?! Why would they say that?”

“They warned me,” you clarified, hoping that you weren’t betraying any trust with your new friends and only feeling mildly bad that you were divulging Lily’s secret, “that Lily wasn’t a ‘girl’s girl;’ she was a ‘Bucky’s girl,’ only, you didn’t know it.”

“But she–” he spluttered, “she– we– she never– she’s never said anything. She’s never acted…” He was at a loss for words, and you could tell that the information had genuinely taken him by surprise. Despite what Lily may feel for him, it didn’t seem like he ever suspected it.

“Maybe I should leave you to think that over,” you said, making motions to start standing up. “Thanks for the sandwich.” Before you could even get your legs under you, though, Bucky reached out a hand and grabbed your wrist.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, gently tugging you back down to the blanket. “Why are you leaving?”

You shrugged, confused. “I figured you’d want some time,” you told him. “Decide what you want to do about her feelings.”

Bucky looked at you like you were crazy. “Doll, in what world do any feelings Lily may have about me concern how I feel about you?”

“I just assumed…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“Assumed what? That just because she’s got a crush on me, I’m gonna ignore this thing between you and I? That I’m gonna develop feelings for her, outta nowhere, I might add, and just forget all about you?”

You shrugged your shoulders sheepishly. “Yeah, actually,” you said.

“You idiot,” Bucky said, shaking his head with a gentle smile and a soft laugh. He put a hand behind your head and pulled you forward until your foreheads were leaning together. “I sincerely mean this when I tell you I don’t give a fuck about Lily’s feelings,” he said.

You both widened your eyes at the perceived callousness of the statement.

“Fuck,” Bucky backpedaled, backing his head away from yours a little “that came out soundin’ awful, and definitely not how I meant it.” He ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Of course I care about her feelings– she’s my friend– I just mean… shit. Just, obviously, I feel bad if me not reciprocatin’ hurts her, but there’s nothin’ I can really do for it, y’know? Because it doesn’t change my feelings, and it’s not gonna change my feelings.

And shit, you believed him.

“You know what?” Bucky said, as if an idea had suddenly come to him. “Here.” He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out his military dog tags. Lifting them over his head, he slowly draped them around your neck.

“Bucky,” you said, fingering the embossed metal, “what…?”

“Think of it this way,” he said, “you, of all people, know what these tags mean to a soldier. Since I came outta cryo, came back to myself, not a single person has worn them, ‘cept for me. I’ve had girlfriends ask– hell, Lily’s asked– but it never felt right.” He brushed a strand of hair back from where it had fallen into your face when you’d looked down at the tags. “But with you, it feels right. So, if you’re afraid that I’m gonna up and decide that I’d rather be with Lily, or fuck, anyone else but you, I want you to look at those tags and remember that you’re the one I’m picking, Major.”

You swallowed. You did know what those tags meant. Commitment. Trust. An unbreakable bond. Wordlessly, you reached around to the back of your neck, unclasping the chain that rested against your skin.

Bucky watched your motions carefully. “Yeah,” he said, licking his lips nervously, “that was probably me moving too fast, huh? I get it– you don’t have to wear them if—”

“Shut up,” you said gently, as you removed your own dog tags from around your neck and fastened them around his. “I don’t need to wear two sets, and your neck looked so lonely without one.”

Bucky held up one of the tags so that he could examine it, and you caught the moment he registered your name and information catching the candlelight.

“Sugar,” he said, his voice cracking on the nickname.

“You’re not the only one making a choice, Bucky,” you assured him.

He leaned in closer, taking your lips with his own, the kiss filled with the fire you’d come to associate with him, and only him.

When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, and you could make out the glassy sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

You admired the way they hung from his neck for a moment, and were overcome with the sudden urge to touch them. You placed a hand over the dog tags, your name, now resting over his pounding heart. Bucky cupped his own hand over yours, pressing it against his chest.

“These look awfully handsome on you, Sergeant,” you told him with a soft smile. Bucky let out a low groan and you looked up at him, eyes questioning. “What is it?” you asked him.

Bucky’s face turned bashful and he shook his head. “Nuh uh,” he said. “Forget it.”

Oh, you weren’t going to have any of that. “Come on, Bucky,” you said, playfully poking him in his rock hard stomach. “You can tell me anything. I’m wearing your tags now,” you added in a singsong voice. “We’re practically going steady.”

Bucky’s gaze on you darkened, and he tugged at his lip with his teeth. “Okay then, if you’re sure you really wanna know.” You mirrored him, biting your lip and nodded eagerly. Of course you wanted to know what was going through his head to cause him to make such sexy sounds. “Just imagining what you’d look like wearing nothing but the tags, sugar,” he responded, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Bet it’d be the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Well, if you weren’t going to take that as an invitation. Raising an eyebrow in his direction, you got up so that you were standing before him. Bucky moved forward, as if he were going to follow you up, a question ready on his lips, but you leaned down and gently pushed him back to the blanket, so he was propping himself up on his elbows.

Not once breaking eye contact, you slid your hands to the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up, over your head before tossing it to the side. Next, you toed off your shoes while you worked the buttons of your jean shorts, letting them slide down your thighs until you were standing in just your balconette and panties. You didn’t even care that you were in the middle of a public park and you were undressing for a man. All that mattered was that you were undressing for this man, and in the moment, you were willing to do almost anything he asked of you.

Bucky’s eyes roamed your body from head to toe and back again, but you weren’t finished. He’d said ‘nothing but the tags,’ after all. Reaching behind your back, you skillfully unhooked your bra, but didn’t pull it off, instead letting it sit on your chest while you slowly shimmined your panties down your thighs and kicking them off to join the rest of your discarded clothes. Bucky’s breath hitched as he took in your near nakedness, and you almost giggled at the visible tenting taking place in his jeans.

Clutching the bra to your chest, as if you were shy, you slowly got down on your knees and crawled up Bucky’s thighs. Finally, you let the bra fall away, and Bucky’s wide eyes never left your breasts as he licked his lips. You palmed him through the fabric of his pants.

“I believe I once said something about wanting this down my throat,” you told him with a wicked smile.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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jeneveuxrein · 2 years ago

Text

needy (BLACKPINK Rosé)

word count: 3.3K

(i'm a bit rusty, lol)

You hear an exaggerated sigh behind you. You ignore it, choosing instead to smirk at your screen as your team continues with its quest.

Your online friends would call you a complete idiot for not doing what you should be doing versus what you’re actually doing.

It wasn’t intentional.

At least on your end, it wasn’t.

Well, to an extent.

You shouldn’t be focused on finding this stupid shield Jungkook read about from a gaming article with this new update.

You should, however, give all of your attention to the woman laying on your bed.

But it’s not that simple.

See, the thing is, when you meet someone as famous as Park Chaeyoung, or Rosé, or your favorite Rosie or Chaeng, there are rules you’ve established to make this relationship work.

Rule number one: no one can know unless it’s disclosed to her company. Privacy and all that, not only for her, but for you as well.

Rule number two: you specifically aren’t allowed to date anyone else. The rule applies to her because you are officially together, like boyfriend-girlfriend kind of together, but she likes having so-called power over you.

Rule number three: if you’re in each other’s presence, undivided attention is a must. Time is precious for the both of you after all. She has a hectic schedule that takes her all over the world while your line of work has you constantly troubleshooting to make sure everything runs smoothly.

So it was a surprise when Rosie showed up at your apartment a little before midnight without a heads up. She knew what you were doing this evening, but you hadn’t heard from her since morning. You, being you, figured she had an event or a rehearsal or something that kept her occupied. Not that you weren’t involved in her life, but her schedule constantly changed. It was hard for you to keep up.

Rosie lets out another exaggerated sigh that it actually distracts you, causing your character to die in this part of the quest.

“Dude seriously?” Jungkook’s voice is in your headphones, chuckling. “You of all people dying to that?”

“Shut up,” Is all you say, swiveling your chair around to your girlfriend dressed in more comfortable clothes than what she arrived in—your clothes specifically. She has a habit of rummaging through your drawers. Not that you minded, she looks hot in whatever she wears. There was just something about her wearing your clothes that had you feeling some type of way. You mute your mic, double checking it is in fact muted before asking, “Everything alright?”

“I’m over and my boyfriend won’t spend time with me,” Rosie huffs out, crossing her arms.

“If I knew you were coming over, I wouldn’t have logged on,” You roll your eyes, glancing at the screen to thirty seconds left before you respawned.

“I called,” Rosie glares. Someone else might’ve folded under her gaze, but it doesn’t intimidate you.

“And my phone was in the living room,” You say, slightly apologetic, but the respawn sound plays that has you turning back to the screen.

“Yeah yeah, play your stupid game,” Rosie mutters, which you hear loud and clear while the rest of the guys talk about their day.

See, meeting Rosie was pure chance, a deal of the hand you weren’t expecting. Your gaming company drove the development of her group’s mobile game and when it was time to launch, the members of BLACKPINK were there.

At the time, you were just one of the developers since you had more of a managerial role and took it last minute. You were overseeing the game’s development more than anything, giving your two cents as needed, but were hands off for the most part.

According to Rosie, as she told you during your first date, you were indifferent to meeting them as opposed to everyone else on the team who brought merch for them to sign. She noticed you before the other three girls did, and made sure she personally introduced herself to you.

Rosie’s beautiful. You’re not blind. You get the appeal. You guessed it was that you treated them like normal people instead of idols that had most of your coworkers swooning in their presence.

She’s also clingy, not that you minded. She’s slowly told you about her past relationships–lies, cheating, using her. It left wounds of insecurity that have made her feel unsure of who she could trust her heart with.

One drunken night after spending it at Jennie’s, tangled in your sheets, Rosie told you she felt safe with you.

Though, as of this moment, you sense the irritation rolling off of her.

“What the fuck?” The controller falls into your lap when you see Rosie suddenly beside you.

“You good over there?” Tae asks.

“Yeah, I just gotta mute myself for a sec, my girlfriend’s calling me,” You mute the mic again, grabbing the controller before turning to Rosie. “What?”

“I’m bored,” Rosie states simply.

“And you want to watch me play?”

“Can I?” You raise an eyebrow, knowing her too well that she’s up to something.

“Did you want me to grab you a-” Rosie doesn’t let you finish, opting to sit in your lap. “Okay fine, no funny business.”

Rosie shrugs, settling comfortably against you as you unmute yourself, “Sorry.”

“Are you in trouble?” Jungkook jokes. Your friends know of your girlfriend, but you have yet to give any information on her. Again, privacy and all that.

“No, she’s just being needy,” That earns you a slap on the arm and a glare.

Your friends laugh, which Rosie hears, slapping your thigh this time. You squeeze her body with your arms before resting your chin on her shoulder as you continue playing.

Time goes by, Rosie starts squirming in your hold. She was never one to sit still. You let go and she tilts her head back onto your shoulder before she relaxes against your chest. It’s nice being with her like this. She comes over often, but not often enough.

You haven’t seen her in almost two weeks. The group just finished their last leg of their tour before their encore performances begin. They have a show in France in a couple weeks, which you’ll be joining them. She asked if you wanted to go with them to the states so you could visit your mother in San Francisco. You had to check with your boss, but it was likely you’d be going as well.

Rosie mutes your mic, “Are you almost done?”

“Not really,” She sighs against your body. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rosie pouts, but she does something you were expecting. She slightly rolls her hips. It’s subtle, but it’s enough.

“Chaeng,” You deadpan, eyes still focused on the screen.

“What?” There it is. The tilt in her voice, that if it was anybody else, they’d fall for her feigned innocence.

But it wasn’t anybody else. It was you.

“Don’t,” Rosie rolls her hips against you again, this time, perfectly against your cock. “Chaeng.”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable, you’re not exactly ergonomic,” Rosie shrugs, rocking her hips against you once again.

Your cock stirs at the movement. You take a deep breath, refocusing yourself as your team continues the quest.

Tae asks you a question, forcing you to reach around Rosie to unmute yourself. “Yeah I’ll check that.”

When you mute once again, Rosie asks, “How quiet can you be?”

“What?” The question catches you off guard because Rosie’s standing up and unmutes you. She turns to smirk and drops to her knees in between your legs. Your eyes widen, shocked at her boldness. You’re about to say something when she holds a finger to her lips.

“Fuck,” You groan into the mic when Rosie slips her hand underneath your sweats, wrapping her hand around your half-hard cock.

“What happened?” You barely hear someone ask.

“Nothing,” You grit out, eyes watching Rosie push your sweats down just enough to free your cock. You let out a hiss as the cool air of your apartment hits your skin. “I’m good.”

She starts off slow, moving a loose fist up and down your length as the blood in your body rushes south. By the time you’re fully erect, she lets go, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Rosie’s face lights up, and you know that look. It spells trouble with a capital T, and when she stands up in between your legs, pulling her (your) boxers down, you have a clear picture of what’s going to come next.

It was meant to be a joke when you mentioned it on FaceTime while they were touring in Australia. You had this fantasy of her keeping your cock warm while you gamed. She asked if you actually wanted that, knowing how much you took gaming with your friends seriously. You shrugged, off-handedly commenting that you thought it would be hot.

You didn’t go into much detail of how you envisioned it. It was just a fantasy, but when Rosie turns around, her shapely bottom waving in your face, this was so much better than what you imagined.

Rosie mutes you again, her face slightly turned to you, “Still want to play your game?”

It’s a challenge. A very dangerous one that you don’t know the outcome of, but you’d bet everything to find out. Even if that meant you have to fuck Rosie against your desk for being this needy.

“Yeah,” Your voice comes out hoarse, hardly recognizable in your ears.

“Fine.” One hand rests on your desk as the other reaches for your cock, angling it as she takes all of you in one smooth move.

“Jesus Chaeng,” You nearly drop your controller as one hand shoots to her hip, gripping tightly as her walls squeeze around your cock. It knocks the wind out of you, feeling just how wet and warm she is.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Rosie slightly pants, leaning on your desk as you feel her walls stretch to accommodate your size.

“I don’t know,” You pathetically moan out as she sits up straight against your chest.

“Keep playing,” Rosie unmutes you before slowly rocking her hips.

You don’t know how the fuck you were supposed to focus when she feels so fucking good wrapped around you, but you push through.

You tune in to what your friends are talking about, ignoring the small mewls Rosie lets out as her hips move in a circle on top of you. You try to be engaged, commenting here and there, but it’s hard to care what they’re saying.

You close your eyes, dropping your head against the chair when Rosie lifts her hips along your length before dropping her weight against you.

“Fuck,” You mutter, but it’s loud enough for your friends to hear. They ask if everything’s alright and you immediately snap back to the screen as Rosie repeats the movement again and again and again. “Yeah, I’m fine,” You grit out after she lands on a particularly hard thrust, walls tightening as she takes a breath.

You’d give yourself a pat on a back for how far you’ve made it. The amount of self-control you have when it comes to your girlfriend is usually very low. You don’t need much convincing when it comes to having sex, but you want to hold out as much as possible to see where it takes you.

It’s not everyday Rosie uses your cock to fuck herself. She has, but that’s usually on a bed or in your car, where she has your full, undivided attention.

Rosie brings your hands against her lower stomach, resting the controller against her as she undulates her hips. Any vibration from the game has her body reacting, which by default, you reap the benefits.

Rosie reaches forward, the mic turning off once again, “I’m going to cum,” She moans out.

You didn’t think she’d get there that fast, but it is hot to get fucked while your friends are oblivious to what’s going on. She loves performing for thousands of people at a time, but you know her favorite performances are for you and you alone.

“Go ahead baby,” You murmur, eyes watching where you’re connected, her hips hypnotizing you as they move. “Make yourself cum since you couldn’t wait for me.”

The words set her off as her body quivers, shaking on your lap as her orgasm hits. Her head snaps back and she holds onto the arm rests as she tries to shut her thighs at the pressure inside her body. The only obstacle is your hands and controller dropping, keeping her spread open as you feel a sudden wetness cover your sweats.

“Did you just squirt baby?” Your lips ghost over her skin, sweetly kissing her behind the ear.

“No,” Rosie mumbles weakly, resting her head on your shoulder as she catches her breath.

“No? Then why are my clothes soaked?” You thrust up from your chair, knocking the wind out of her as she lets out a filthy moan.

“You came,” She moans as you rock up again, enjoying the sensation.

You click your tongue, shaking your head as you decide you can’t hold back any longer. Keeping her on top of you, her walls snug and hot, you unmute for the last time, “Ayo, I gotta go.”

Rosie tries to stand, but your arms around her keep her still, filled.

“Dude what? We’re nowhere near done,” Jungkook whines and you roll your eyes.

“I realized I didn’t finish something. I can pass on the shield. I’ll log on again sometime this weekend,” You say curtly without giving them a chance to respond, quickly exiting the program before tossing your controller on the desk.

You stand, easily taking your girlfriend with you as you push her forward, folding her against your desk as she rests on her elbows, back perfectly arched, keeping your bodies connected.

“Baby,” Rosie whines, your cock still nestled deep inside her.

“Jesus fuck Chaeng,” You pull your hips back, looking at your cock covered in her slick. “You’re a fucking menace.”

You snap your hips forward, groaning as your cock fills her.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?” Rosie moans, pushing her ass towards you to take you even deeper. “You chose a game over me.”

Your hands grip her waist, stopping any movement from her as you just breathe since both of you know what’s coming next. You lean forward, kissing her head, “Don’t act like that. You know you still have all of my attention.”

You draw your hips backwards, but before you thrust, Rosie speaks, “Then fuck me like I do.”

Never one to not obey Rosie, you do just that.

You thrust into her experimentally, getting your bearings before you completely lose it since it has been two weeks too long and the amount of dirty texts and pictures you’ve exchanged is never enough.

“Baby please,” Rosie begs, head slightly turning before nodding.

The control snaps and you’re thrusting wildly, her hips slamming against the desk, before she could react.

One of the best parts, aside from you care deeply for and can genuinely share your thoughts and feelings with, is that Rosie always welcomes being fucked hard. Sure you’ve had sex at a much tamer, slower pace, which is just as great, but it’s the best when it’s been a while and the only thing either of you could focus on is tearing each other apart together.

“Missed you so much,” Rosie whines, doing what she can to meet your thrusts. It isn’t much since you’re practically nailing her against the furniture.

“Missed you too baby,” You groan as her walls start to clamp down to keep you inside.

One hand lets go of her waist, raising it slightly before your palm makes contact with her ass cheek. She lets out a moan, pressing her face into her arms, slightly embarrassed by how her body reacts to the pain. You watch her skin slowly turn red, spurring you on even more.

You feel your peaks coming soon just based on how much easier it is. Her pussy’s slickness lets you slide in and out with ease, but there’s another thing that Rosie loves and it’s how vocal you can get.

Praise is all around her, but the praise she adores the most is when you tell her yourself.

Your hand grips her waist again before you let your thoughts fall freely from your mouth.

Fuck you feel so good baby.

Couldn’t wait for me huh? Needed my cock so badly.

You look so pretty, letting me fuck this pussy.

You were so hot taking me while I played.

Bounce on my cock next time, let my friends hear what a good little slut you are.

Rosie screams as her orgasm rips through her body taking you with her. Your hips stutter into her and your vision goes white as you hit your climax. You couldn’t pull out since she was doing everything to keep you in.

“Holy shit,” She moans out, back tensing as you feel her release over your cock, making a filthy mess as you paint her insides with your cum.

You immediately wrap your arms around her stomach, pulling her into your chest as you groan out the remainder of your orgasm.

It takes you a minute, but you collapse on your chair, the wheels slightly rolling backwards while Rosie falls flat on top of your desk.

The sight of your girlfriend, fucked out, panting, has you questioning why you didn’t give your attention in the first place. You feel a second wind coming as the smallest bit of cum dribbles out in between her lower lips.

“Can you go again?” You ask after a few minutes, staring as more of your cum falls out. You almost reach out to push it back in, but you spare her the overstimulation.

Rosie stands straight before turning to you. She bends to kiss you softly on the lips, sitting on your lap, and circling her arms around your neck.

“Quick nap?” Rosie offers, peppering kisses over your jawline, which of course, immediately gets you worked up.

“Fine,” You pout like a petulant child.

You swoop your arms underneath her body, making sure you have a strong grip before standing. You literally have BLACKPINK’s lead singer in your arms, and any physical damage to her would automatically fall on you.

Rosie giggles as she holds on, telling you not to drop her or the girls would come after you. You roll your eyes, knowing it’s an empty—sort of. The only member you’re actually scared of is Jisoo, while the other two are like the little sisters you never wanted.

Once you gently lay your girlfriend down, you reach for the bottoms she was wearing, tossing it to her. You change into a different pair of sweats, noticing how much of a mess was actually made before joining her back in bed.

“Hi,” You whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips as you stare at your girlfriend. You still couldn’t believe she chose you to date out of everyone else.

“Hi yourself,” Rosie smiles, burying her face into your chest. “I missed you.” It comes out soft, shy even, because feelings are still hard for her to put into words.

“I missed you too,” You bring your lips to her forehead.

There’s something else you want to tell her, something you’ve been holding in for a couple months at this point. You want to say it now, but when you hear light snores, you know it’s not the time.

You say it anyway, “I love you.”

#blackpink smut #blackpink rose #blackpink park chaeyoung #rosie smut #park chaeyoung smut #park chaeyoung

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steddieasitgoes · 7 months ago

Text

you can call me boyfriend for the weekend

I posted this earlier as a link to ao3 but I know some people like to read things straight on tumblr so this is for you people lol As noted, this was supposed to be a short little ficlet inspired by unfortunate "Black Out Wednesday"/hook up with someone in your hometown pre-Thanksgiving ritual and then Steve got a backstory and Eddie wanted a POV and it spiraled out of control like most of my work lol Also I wrote this all in twelve hours and it's not beta read at all lol but enjoy! And please ignore the wonky timeline. It's canon-divergent/no Upside Down. But basically in my head, all the normal things that happened to Steve/Eddie still happened in this universe and they got close during the Autumn months of 1986. I think that's all you need to know! wc: 8.8k | rated: M Read on ao3

The Hideout is unusually packed.

In hindsight, Steve should have figured as much. It’s not like he’s the only former resident in town who needs a shot or two (okay, maybe three, but who’s really counting other than the barkeep logging everyone’s tabs) of liquid courage before heading home to spend a few days with family. The overflowing parking lot and illegally double and triple-parked cars on the street are still a sight to see when he steps out of the Yellow Taxi.

Maybe he should have taken the cute stewardess up on the alcohol offer on the plane. Would have saved him a couple of bucks that’s for damn sure. Still, every time he was about to, Robin’s nagging voice would pop into his head, spewing one of her nonsense rambles about the importance of being fully coherent on an airplane, lest they have to land the plane as if he’d have the skills to land a plane in the first place. And yet, he remained stone-cold sober on the couple-hour flight into Indianapolis from Boston just in case.

Sure, there’s liquor at his parent's house — at least, he hopes they haven’t packed up the dry bar if they did, he’s really fucked this weekend — but he needs something now to keep the anxiety bubbling in his chest at bay. And last time he checked The Hideout is the only place within a twenty-mile radius that can serve up a quick, cheap drink. Plus, there’s the fact that the Yellow Taxi he took here from the airport has already disappeared into the night, and he’s not about to go inside to call another cab without buying something; that would be rude.

In yet another surprising twist, that shouldn’t be surprising given the parking situation; there’s a small line of people waiting to get in. In the nineteen and a half years he spent in Hawkins, Steve’s never seen a line in front of The Hideaway. He knows for a fact that the place never had a bouncer, much less one who meticulously cards everyone who walks in.

Well, everyone but him it seems.

Steve doesn’t even get his wallet open, much less out of his pocket, before the man is wrapping a bright orange ’21 and over’ wristband on his wrist. Which, like, ouch. He knows he just got off a flight after working a half-day shift at the stupid office, but he can’t look that much like an adult. Can he?

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on his fleeting youth as he’s pushed into the crowded bar with the rest of the customers who patiently waited their turn in the frigid Indiana November evening.

The familiar scent hits him the second he’s more than three steps through the opened doors — stale beer, nicotine, the undeniable musk bodies emit when they’re dancing and, well, horny. But there’s also something new going on, too. Crisp leather, a piney scene that can only be associated with floor cleaner, and something minty, peppermint, he thinks, maybe for the upcoming holidays. Gone is the stench of piss that no amount of power washing the concrete floors could ever scrub up. Steve notices the concrete floor is gone, too, apparently, as his shoes squeak against the shiny black laminate.

There are a few new booths from the looks of things, and the stage has gotten a major upgrade since the last time he was here to see… He shakes the thought from his head and keeps walking until he finds an open spot in the corner of the bar.

A bartender materializes the second his ass makes contact with the new vinyl seat. She looks vaguely familiar, too young to be in his class, but maybe someone from Henderson’s year. He figures he’ll be downing glasses of expensive wine when he finally musters up the courage to go home, so he orders a shot of tequila and a rum and coke in the meantime. She pours the shot right there, excusing herself to grab the rum bottle from one of the other bartenders working tonight.

He grimaces as he shoots it back, tequila burning his throat as it goes down before he sucks the sliver of lime between his lips. It’s impossible for the effects to kick in this fast, but he already feels the tension easing from his shoulders. He uses the reprieve from his anxiety to really take everything in. The Hideout may have gotten some major upgrades, but he can’t say the same about its patrons.

It’s a real who’s who of Hawkins High has-beens. Andy and a couple of younger guys he remembers playing ball with his junior year of high school, all wearing their Greek letter crewnecks, downing beers and slapping each other on the back. Jason’s in the center with his arm around a stereotypical-looking blonde who is clearly not from around here. Heather Holloway is unmistakable, pressed into a booth arguing with some guy Steve thinks was on their swim team while their three kids jump around unchecked. And is that Chrissy Cunningham with… Gareth? That nerd from Dustin’s D&D group? Steve makes a mental note to bring it up with Dustin when the little shit calls him next because holy shit.

It takes him a minute to spot Tommy and Carol, but once he does, he doesn’t know how he didn’t see them sooner. They’re pressed up against each other, practically dry-humping in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Tommy’s got his tongue shoved down Carol’s throat, and her hand is fisted into his buttoned shirt that’s definitely a size too small.

Somethings never change, he thinks, rolling his eyes as the pair stumble their way towards the bathrooms at the opposite end of the bar.

Steve’s about to turn back around and disappear into the shadowy corner he’s found himself in when the static feedback of the seemingly brand-new speakers goes off, sending every patron in the bar covering their ears.

“Sorry! Sorry!” A man calls from the makeshift sound booth a few yards away from Steve. “Give it another go for me?”

“Check one, check one, two. Sounds great, Frank. We’re all set up here if you are,” a woman says from the stage. Steve figures she gets a non-verbal cue from Dave because then she’s talking again, her voice bright and way louder than it needs to be. The giggle that comes next is even worse. “Hi everyone! Lots of familiar faces in the crowd tonight.”

It takes his eyes a minute to adjust to the bright spotlight illuminating the stage, but when it does, he nearly falls out of his seat. Is that?

“Anyways, I’m Tammy, and these are the Townies, and we’re Tammy and the Townies!”

Holy shit! It’s Tammy Thompson. The Tammy Thompson. Robin is going to be so pissed when he calls and tells her about this tomorrow morning. She’ll probably say that he was just seeing things, blame it on the single shot of tequila he’s had since he’s still waiting for his drink, but he knows the truth. Especially when Tammy launches into the opening lines of “Santa Baby,” trying her best to be sultry but still sounding like a rejected Muppet.

Someone chuckles behind Steve, before an all too familiar voice says, “I haven’t heard that one before.”

His first thought is: Shit, did he say that out loud?

And then comes something even worse: Wait, I know that voice.

All the anxiety the shot of tequila chased off comes surging back to Steve, swirling in his gut, threatening to creep up his throat and out his mouth. No. He’s not going to throw up in The Hideout after one shot, not with the entirety of his high school class in attendance. And definitely not in front of Eddie Munson.

There’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that it's anyone but Eddie Munson standing behind him and the bar. He would know that voice and chuckle anywhere, could pick it out in a line-up if he had to after the fall of 1985 when they— nope, not going there.

The way he sees it, he has two options. One, get the hell out of here without turning around. It’s dark in the corner, so there’s a chance Eddie hasn’t realized who he’s talking to yet; in fact, Steve’s pretty sure if Eddie knew who he just spoke to, he never would have opened his mouth to begin with. So, yeah, he could get the hell out of here, maybe leave a couple of bucks at the opposite end of the bar on the way out so he’s not drinking and ditching, and then hail a cab and head to his childhood house.

Or, he could woman the fuck up, as Robin would say, turn around and meet the gaze of a man he hasn’t seen since he was nineteen, confused and desperate to make something out of himself.

He weighs the cons: spend a few extra hours with his parents or face Eddie Munson, the only person other than Robin to ever see him. The real him.

The answer is easy.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, sizing Steve up with those big doe eyes of his the second Steve turns in his chair. “If it isn’t Steve Harrington in the flesh. What the hell are you doing around these parts? Thought you left to go make daddy dearest proud?”

Ouch.

Steve should have expected Eddie not to mince words, even if he is a paying customer and all. He doesn’t allow himself to get a good look at Eddie, meeting him with his own mean-spirited retort instead.

“Guess I should have known you’d still be around, Munson,” Steve snarks. Eddie wants to play? Steve’ll gladly participate. “Still flunking out of high school?”

“Now that one I have heard before.”

Eddie doesn’t stick around for a response. He slams Steve’s rum and coke on the bar counter and gives it a rough shove. The glass slides across the sleek countertop before crashing into Steve’s awaiting hand. The drink sloshes in the cup, a few droplets spilling out, but Steve doesn’t have the energy to wave Eddie down and demand a replacement, so he shuts up and brings the now half-empty glass to his lips. He takes a much-needed gulp and then another, alcohol going down better than the shot from earlier, dulling the regret from his mean-spirited retort with it. He sulks for a moment before letting his eyes drift behind the bar. Searching.

If The Hideout is crowded, the bar is just as congested. At least four bartenders shimmy around each other. Hands reaching for various bottles, glasses clinking as ice falls in. It’s the most people Steve’s ever seen behind the small bar top, and he’s willing to bet it’s more than they’re legally allowed.

Fire code and all that.

Not that he knows much about that.

Not yet, at least.

He will once he starts his Fire Academy classes in the new year.

That is, assuming his dad doesn’t kill him the minute he finds out about his career change.

That’s a problem for tomorrow, Steve thinks, shaking the thought away and chasing it further by draining the rest of his drink.

“Can I getcha’ another round?” The young bartender asks, reappearing like a damn bar fairy.

Steve’s not sure he’s fully thought his order out, too preoccupied stealing glances at Eddie, but his lips start moving anyway, words escaping before he has a chance to stop them, “Actually, can I get a Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice instead of pineapple.”

“Pickle juice? Are you sure?”

Shit.

No.

Yes.

Steve quietly contemplates changing his unusual order, tilting his empty rum and coke glass to his lips, desperate for another teaspoon of liquid courage. He’s met with the cool sensation of ice hitting his teeth instead. Another not-so-subtle sneak at Eddie, and Steve doubles down. “Yeah. Eddie should know how to make it.”

“Oh, uh, ” the bartender says, nervously glancing to her right.

Steve follows her line of vision, giving himself permission to do more than glance this time, and finds Eddie on the opposite end tossing around bottles and the shaker like he’s fucking Tom Cruise in Cocktails and not a super-senior who half the town was convinced was a Satanist.

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Steve gives her his best customer service smile and a quick nod before watching her shuffle through the other bartenders on her quest to get to Eddie.

He lets his eyes linger as Eddie finally doles out the drink he’s been working on. Five years and some change has been good on him. His hair is still as unruly as ever, twisted back in a low bun at the base of his neck. Tending to the bar has clearly served his arms well judging by the tone biceps peaking out from under his black shirt. It’s done wonders for his entire body, if Steve’s honest, sizing up the way he finally fills out his jeans.

Eddie turns just so, new piercings catching in the reflection of the spotlight from the stage. Steve catalogs them, a few new ones to his ears, a hoop in his left nostril. There’s new ink, too, decorating his strong forearms and peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

Steve’s attraction to Eddie isn’t a surprise, especially after the Fall of ‘86. But it’s like a match has just ignited a new flame in the depths of his body. He looks good, is all. Really, really good.

Steve’s pulled from his not-so-subtle ogling when the young bartender finally gets Eddie’s attention. He can’t hear the conversation, but he spent enough time around Eddie to know what the man is saying without even looking at his lips. Her back is to him, but Steve knows the minute he brings up the drink because Eddie’s body goes stiff, his head jolting toward Steve, eyes growing wide as he glares at him from the opposite end of the bar.

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s truly fucked up. Well, more than he did five and a half years ago when he let his dad convince him to set him up with a job in Boston that forced him to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, least of all Eddie. But then he sees the moment Eddie’s stubbornness sets in, clouding his eyes and forcing his chunky boots to stomp through the hoard of sweaty bartenders.

“Did you come all the way home to fuck with me?” Eddie barks, still a foot and a half away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Harrington,” Eddie snaps, hands smacking onto the countertop.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Eddie rages on. If it wasn’t for Tammy Thompson’s wailing in the background, Steve’s pretty sure they’d have everyone’s attention right now. Thank God for Tammy Thompson.

“Seriously? Pickle juice!”

Steve’s hit with the familiar woodsy, nicotine smell he spent months chasing around town as Eddie drops to his elbows, leaning in closer to Steve. For a second, he thinks Eddie is going to deck him, at the very least fist his hand into his shirt and yank him forward, but he doesn’t.

“I know damn well you’re not ordering Vodka Party Punch with fucking pickle juice at the fancy bars wherever you ended up. What makes you think you can order one here now?”

“You’re right, I don’t order them in Boston,” Steve says, answering the question Eddie really didn’t ask. “But I’m ordering it now because you’re the creator of the drink, and I know you’ll make it taste right.”

Steve watches Eddie’s jaw drop. The bar is dimly lit but it doesn’t take florescent lights to catch the red tinting the tips of Eddie’s ears, fully exposed with his hair pulled back in a bun. It’s been a minute since Steve attempted this game with anyone, but Eddie’s always been a fun participant — especially when he’s pretending he doesn’t like it.

“I’m charging you double,” Eddie concedes, twirling the giant skull ring still perched on his finger.

“Better make it worth my dime, Munson.”

“You know I always do, Harrington,” Eddie taunts, clearly finding his footing in this flirtatious sparing match they’ve started.

* * *

By the time Eddie returns with his drink, Tammy and the Townsies have wrapped up their set for the night — thank god — and The Hideout slowly starts to empty out. With a few less bodies occupying the actual bar, Eddie has no problem sticking around, tossing his dish rag over his shoulder as he slides the Vodka Party Punch with pickle juice over to Steve, much gentler this time.

The drink smells exactly like he remembers, but the presentation has improved since their days of mixing them in the Munson’s crowded kitchen. A mini pickle is skewered through a toothpick as garnish, and the glass is tall and clean, a rarity in the mug-infested kitchen of that autumn.

Steve makes a show of his first sip, slowly raising the glass to his mouth without breaking eye contact with Eddie as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s eyes dilate the second Steve’s tongue makes an appearance, and it takes everything in Steve not to jump across the bar and shove it down Eddie’s throat a la Carol and Tommy style. He knows the Eddie from five autumns ago wouldn’t mind, but this Eddie might.

He does the next best thing instead, taking a slow sip of the drink, exaggerating when he swallows before punctuating the first taste with a low moan of approval. Judging by the smattering of pink moving to Eddie’s cheeks, it works.

“Delicious, just like I remembered.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it the minute the words leave his lips, and the flush on Eddie’s cheeks drains to a ghostly white , eyes turning to fire.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that,” Eddie scoffs, snapping his dish towel off his shoulder to wipe the counter.

“I just, I—“ Steve groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. Leave it to him to be back in Hawkins for less than three hours and already fuck things up. “Thank you,” he finally says, eyes trained on his drink. “You didn’t have to make it, and you did, so thanks.”

“Whatever customers want, they get here at The Hideout.”

Steve can’t help but snort, “S’that a new motto?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

When Steve glances up, Eddie’s smiling at him. Not his toothy grin Steve loved to coax out of him, but his lips are definitely quirked into a grin which he’ll take as a win. Small victories and all that.

“That what they pay you the big bucks for? Slinging drinks like Tom Cruise and coming up with new slogans?”

“Something like that.” Eddie finishes wiping down the counter in front of Steve and moves half a step to his right, working on the next area that’s vacated.

Steve thinks that’s it. The beginning and end of their civil conversation, but then Eddie looks across the bar, no doubt taking in the empty state of things, before turning back to look at Steve. Really, look at him.

If it weren’t for the liquor coursing through Steve’s veins, he doesn’t think he’d be able to sit there under Eddie’s gaze. But he does have alcohol on his side, so he stays glued to his seat, his own cheeks heating up as Eddie’s brown eyes roam over his body, taking him in the same way he did with Eddie a while ago.

When he’s done, Eddie cocks his head to the side and tuts. “You’ve seen better days, Harrington. I think your eye bags have eye bags.”“Corporate life’ll do that to you,” Steve grumbles, taking another sour sip from his drink. When Eddie doesn’t throw a dig he knows is on the tip of his tongue, Steve breaks the silence. “You look good behind a bar.” Jesus, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. “I mean, uh, how long have you been working here.”

Eddie snorts, coming back over until he’s right in front of Steve. He drops to his elbows again, pillowing his chin in his hands as he makes direct eye contact. “About five-ish years ago. Right after I graduated.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“I, uh, thought the plan was to get the hell out of here?”

Eddie hums. “It was. Took the job to save money so I could do just that.”

“And you ended up loving it?”

“Hated it at first, actually, but you know we’re not all lucky enough to be able to get the hell out of Hawkins just because people tell us we should,” Eddie says, eyes boring judgment into Steve’s own. “Figured if I have to stick around I might as well try and make it better for those of us still here.”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” Steve asks, generally curious. He always knew Eddie had a savior complex, saw it firsthand when Dustin and the rest of the kids started high school, and immediately got swept up in Eddie’s inner circle of outcasts. “Making Hawkins better?”

“Trying to,” Eddie says, and Steve can feel the walls around him shrinking, only for them to harden in an instant. “Turns out it’s a lot easier when the assholes flee.”

Steve winces and downs the rest of his drink. When it’s drained, he sets it down and fumbles through his pockets for his wallet. He gets no more than three measly bucks out before Eddie is shooing him away.

“It’s on the house tonight.”

Steve shakes his head, digging back into his wallet “Don’t think your boss’ll be happy about that.

“Good thing m’the boss then.”

Steve gawks. He’s pretty sure his jaw is fully open, but it's worth it to see the pleased look on Eddie’s face. “Shit, seriously?”

“What, you think old Dave was the one to plan the renovation of this place? That cheapskate was slinging water tinted brown with food coloring to the regulars once they got drunk enough not to tell.”

Steve laughs, but doesn’t get distracted with the anecdote like he knows Eddie hopes he will. Eddie Munson might have his heart in his sleep, but if there’s one thing Steve knows about him, it’s that he hates being emotionally vulnerable. Steve can’t say he blames him, but still, he presses on.

“Eddie Munson, CEO of the Hideout. Who would have thought?”

“I don’t know about CEO,” Eddie says, fingers struggling with the elastic holding his hair back. It takes a second for him to get the strands untangled, and when it does, his hair cascades over his shoulder in those same unruly curls Steve tried to tame once or twice. Eddie’s hand immediately finds a strand, twirling it around his fingers and pulling it towards his lips. “Owner as of the first of the year, though.”

“Eds, that’s really fucking cool. Holy shit! Congrats! I feel like we should toast or something.”

If Eddie catches the nickname slip up, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe Robin’s patenting ramble so they can’t comprehend every embarrassing thing you’ve said method actually works.

Instead, he waves him off. “Sounds to me like you’re just trying to get another round of free liquor in you before heading home to the parents.”

“Damn,” Steve says, happy to play along. “Am I that obvious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but ducks behind the counter for a moment, popping back up with two clean cups. He blindly reaches for a top-shelf whiskey and pours just a bit too much to be considered a shot, but not a full serving either. They clink the glasses together in a silent toast before throwing back the over-poured shot like they’re nineteen and twenty again.

“You know,” Eddie says, closing the distance between them as he leans against the countertop again. “We’re looking for some silent investor, partner types to help out with financing. If you, uh, know anyone who might be interested.”

“Oh,” Steve says, liquor making his brain slower than usual.

Eddie pushes off the bar, shaking his head. “Don’t look too excited, Steve. I was just joking.”

“No, shit, I mean, yeah, I would invest. Love to even,” Steve rambles, desperate to keep Eddie from joining the rest of the bartenders in tallying up their tips. “It’s just, uh, I’m actually getting out of the investment world.”

“You don’t have to lie, Harrington. A simple no will do.”

“I’m serious. Today was actually my last day. I’m enrolled in the Fire Academy come January.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, that toothy grin finally making an appearance. “Way to bury the lede, Stevie! We should be toasting to you! Finally getting out from under your dad’s thumb!”

Unlike Eddie, the nickname isn’t lost on Steve, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Not if he wants to keep Eddie smiling, and dammit he does. It’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I mean, I still have to break the news to my dad. But yeah, assuming he doesn’t kill me, it’s happening.”

“Hey, Munson,” a bartender he realizes is Jeff calls from the opposite end of the bar. “Get your ass over here and close out so we can go home. Some of us actually want to see our families.”

Eddie flips Jeff off but doesn’t budge from his spot in front of Steve.

“I should probably head out, too,” Steve says, slowly rising from the stool. His legs are full of pins and needles, asleep from sitting so long, but he manages to stay upright.

“Wait,” Eddie says, shouting even though all Steve’s done is duck behind the counter to grab his duffle from the floor. “Did you drive here?”

Steve shakes his head. “Took a cab from the airport, gonna use the payphone out back to call another.”

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says in a rush. “I mean, I can’t let you waste your money on a cab when you’re unemployed now.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m going to—“

“Fire school, yeah, yeah, I got that,” Eddie says, waving him off. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll drive you home, okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Steve makes a show of sounding inconvenienced, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Eddie and a victory for himself. His streak of pretending not to care actually working lives on another day.

* * *

Seven minutes later, thanks to a mathematical error and a hushed conversation between Jeff and Eddie, Steve finds himself in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. “I can’t believe you still have this thing.”

“How is it any different from you still driving the Beamer?”

“How do you know I still drive the Beamer?”

“Please, the only thing you love more than that car is Buckley. Speaking of, where is your platonic other half?”

“Still in Boston. She got asked to write an article for her grad department’s journal.”

“Ah, so she sent you to the lion’s den all on your own,” Eddie teases, slowing to a stop despite the light still being yellow.

“Figured this was one Harrington vs Harrington battle she didn’t need to bear witness to.”

Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart. “My, my, it seems like us lowly mortals are in the presence of the Great Sir Stevebert tonight.”

Steve can’t help but snort. He’s missed this. The easy teasing, the openness. Eddie and his silly voices and even sillier words. He can’t believe he’s gone almost six years without him.

“So,” Eddie says, drawing out the vowel. “Isn’t Dick going to be extra pissed off that you’re showing up on his doorstep at three in the morning?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“What time were they expecting you?”

“When are they ever really expecting me?” Steve laughs dryly. “I didn’t really give them a set date. Figured if I told my dad I was flying out today, he’d figure out the whole work thing so I told them I’d try to catch a late flight after I finished for the day and be there by Thanksgiving dinner at the latest.”

“So they don’t know you’re in town.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not unless someone at the unofficial Hawkins High reunion tonight ratted me out.”

“Jesus H. Christ you caught that too?” Eddie shouts, smacking his left hand against the dashboard. “I’ve worked plenty of Wednesdays before Thanksgiving, but none of them have pulled that many of our former classmates out. I don’t know why everyone is back in town this year.”

“Back in town or never left?”

“Hey,” Eddie scolds. “Watch it. Your life is in the hands of a Hawkins townie right now.”

Steve holds his hands up in surrender and is glad to see Eddie grinning at him when he musters the courage to steal a glance. He wishes he could offer a careless smile back, but the closer they get to Loch Nora, the more he feels the anxiety creeping in again. Eddie must sense it, too, because he slows to well below the speed limit.

“I wouldn’t mind having a roommate for the night,” he says nonchalantly. Like Eddie’s talking about the weather and not offering to spend the night in Steve’s presence. Steve, the guy who disappeared on him one day after months of fucking around — literally and figuratively. The same Steve who hasn’t been back to Hawkins because he’s been avoiding this exact situation like the chickenshit he is.

“Wayne probably will, though,” Steve says, trying his best to turn Eddie down without actually turning him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to spend the night with him. Hell, he’d sell his left arm for the chance. The problem is it’ll just be one night, and Steve doesn’t think he has that in him. Not when he wants all the nights.

“Good thing he’s not home.”

“Wait,” Steve says, turning in the passenger seat to look at Eddie. “He left you on Thanksgiving? Isn’t that against your Munson Family Code or whatever?”

Eddie snorts, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe he remembered that’ under his breath. “I told him it was okay. He’s up in Chicago spending the holiday with Scott Clarke’s family.”

“Scott Clarke? The middle school science teacher?”

Eddie nods.

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

Eddie breaks in the middle of the street, leveling Steve with a look he finds himself receiving from Robin all the time. She says people like them are supposed to know when other people are like them, but so far, Steve has yet to inherit that superpower.

“Oh, shit,” he says, finally. “I didn’t know your uncle was into guys.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie laughs. “It was a real memorable day in the Munson’s house when I found out.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Eddie eases the van back on the rode. They stay like that for a light or two before Eddie rolls to a stop at a familiar intersection.

“Great Sir Stevebert,” he says, switching into his deep, DM voice. “It seems you have a choice to make. Shall you continue on your travels, taking the golden brick road to the lone castle on the hill, or shall you take the road less traveled and embark on the twisting journey to the Moors?”

Once again, the decision is easy.

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says instead of a definitive answer.

Eddie whoops and makes the sharp right turn that’ll take them to Forest Hills. “Onward, Sir Stevebert, to the Moors, we go!”

_ _ _

Eddie has no idea what he’s doing. One minute he’s fighting with himself, desperate to keep his attention on the out-of-town in-laws of some Hawkins High alumni in need of a blissful night out before the family shit starts and not on the sulking figure of Steve fucking Harrington on the opposite end of the bar. And the next second, he’s ushering that same Steve up the steps of the Munson trailer like he did so many times before.

Jesus H. Christ.

He should have listened to Jeff. He should have called Steve a cab and paid for it himself if it made him sleep better at night. Hell, he should have kicked Steve out the second he mouthed off to him. But he didn’t. And he couldn’t.

Despite all the bullshit, Steve put him through, despite five whole fucking years without so much as a call, Eddie still has a soft spot for the goddamn fallen King. Time heals many things, but the love he has for Steve isn’t one of them.

Love?

No. Strike that from the record.

Infatuation.

A crush, maybe.

Not love.

Not anymore.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders, shaking the thought from his entire body, and moves to unlock the door. He gestures for Steve to enter, and Eddie trails behind, bending down at the entrance to untie his work boots and free his sore feet. He wasn’t lying when he told Steve this is the busiest pre-Thanksgiving shift he’s ever worked. He’s pretty sure his blisters have blisters at this point.

His knees ache at the position, so he lets himself fall back, ass on the worn welcome mat as he finishes the task at hand. It feels nice to get off his feet, and he lets himself linger there for a moment. A hand massaging the ache from the arch of his foot while his eyes drift up, watching Steve asses the trailer much like he did the very first time he found himself in the humble abode.

As nice as it is to get off his feet, the last thing Eddie needs is for Steve to turn around and catch him staring at him from a spot on the floor. With a quiet groan, he hoists himself back into a standing position and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Wayne getting rid of his mug collection?” Steve asks, breaking the silence. Eddie follows his pointed finger to the top, empty rack shelf the patterned couch.

“No, just relocated ‘m. He spends most nights at Scott’s house now. I basically own the place. Wayne refuses to let me pay the full rent, though, since it’s his name on the lease.”

Steve lets out a low whistle that doesn’t do anything, Eddie, nothing at all, and turns to face him with a look of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Now, who’s the one with a silver spoon.”

He can’t help but laugh at how absurd that sounds. As if inheriting the trailer is some kind of privilege, but in some ways it is, right?

“It’s no rent-free apartment in a big city, but it’ll do,” he says, trying his best to throw a dig back at Steve, but it doesn’t sting the way he wants it to. If anything, it makes Steve’s lips dip into a frown instead of stroking that familiar petty flame he knows stays lit in his gut.

“Come on,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “You think Dick Harrington pays for my place in Boston? The asshole got me a shit job and told me to figure the rest out. I was lucky Robin was already there when I showed up. Her RA wasn’t too pleased, but we made it work that first year.”

Great, now he’s the asshole.

It’s such a different picture than the one he’s spent the last five years painting in his head. That good ol’ Dick Harrington shipped his only son off, far enough away that the town freak couldn’t continue sinking his teeth (and dick) into him without him knowing about it. Set him up with a good job and a nice place to sleep at night that left Steve no choice but to stay even though he knew that’s not what Steve wanted. Never was.

But that’s not the story, is it?

The real story is that Dick Harrington is an even bigger prick than he thought, and Steve is a coward. Eddie can understand Steve staying away if his dad made his new life nice for him and kept him comfortable and just shy of miserable, but he didn’t. And yet, Steve stayed in a job he hated, in a dorm he had no business crashing in because Daddy Dearest told him to do it.

A part of Eddie wants to ask why. Wants to dig his grimy finger into the still-fresh wound in Steve’s chest, judging by the grimace on his face, and get to the bottom of what the hell his dad has over him to keep in line. But what good would it do, really?

Eddie opts for a different strategy instead.

“Why now?”

Steve cocks his head, brows knitting together in that cute confused face Eddie used to love coaxing out of him with a single nerdy phrase back in the day. “Why now what?”

Eddie sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He could change the subject, shrug off his question, and steer the conversation into calmer waters to get them through the night. But that wouldn’t be fair to him or Steve. Not in the long run.

“It’s been five years since you’ve been in town, Steve,” Eddie says blankly. “Why now?”

“My parents are selling the place,” he answers, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Said they wanted one last family Thanksgiving in the place before it’s not ours anymore. It’s bullshit if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time we spent the holiday together, even when I lived here, but here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve groans, collapsing on the couch behind him. “I don’t know what it is about my parents that has me running to them every time they ask, even though they don’t give a damn about me 99% of the time.”

Eddie follows Steve's lead, settling on the couch but leaving the middle cushion open. An unofficial barrier between them. “I’m no psychologist, but it sounds like textbook daddy issues to me.”

Steve shoves at Eddie’s shoulder, but he doesn’t move, too stunned by the sudden contact to do anything else. Steve’s hand leaves his shoulder as fast as it finds it, but the effects are already in motion. Eddie’s entire body vibrates under the ghost of Steve’s touch, skin alive and hot in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Eddie turns, expecting to find Steve staring off in the distance, but instead, he’s staring at him with those open, honest hazel eyes. All it takes is one look, one single slip of his eyes to Steve’s lip and back again, and Steve’s surging forward, closing the distance between them.

Steve tastes like cheap liquor and pickle juice, and all it takes is one swipe of Steve’s tongue, and Eddie’s transported back to the Fall of 1986. Of experimenting with whatever ingredients they had on hand in the kitchen and throwing back drinks to nurse their respective education wounds — Eddie not graduating again, Steve failing to get into college. Memories of playful shoves turning into wrestling matches turning hot and heavy until lips met lips and skin, so much skin.

Five years may have passed, but it feels like no time at all as Eddie sinks further into Steve’s embrace, fingers tangling in the wisps of hair on Steve’s neck, and Steve’s own hands find themselves tangled in his curls.

It’s only when Steve moves to straddle Eddie’s hip that the reality of the situation hits him. Eddie jolts away; hands braced on Steve’s shoulders to keep a respectable amount of distance between them. He hates himself the moment he looks into Steve’s cloudy hazel eyes, but he’d hate himself more if he let this continue without checking in.

With Steve an arm's length away, Eddie studies him. Squinting as he stares into Steve’s eyes, checking for glassy, unfocused eyes, excessive sweating, and flushed face — all of which Steve has, but maybe not for the reasons Eddie is checking for.

“You’re drunk,” Eddie says plainly.

Steve shakes his head, words, not even the least bit slurred when he says, “No. Maybe a little buzzed, but that’s it. I promise.”

Something snaps inside of Eddie at those two words, releasing the anger his horniess has been holding at bay. In an instant, he feels the rage boiling inside of him, and he shoves at Steve hard enough to send him back to his end of the couch.

“With much offense, Steve,” Eddie says, venom dripping from his lips as he spits out Steve’s name. “Promises don’t mean shit coming from you.”

And just like that, they’re back where they started the evening off. Opposite sides of each other, scowling and hurt in their own ways.

Steve sighs and shifts on the couch, not-so-subtly adjusting himself in his pants. “Eds,” he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked up, okay. I know I did, but what was I supposed to? My dad was threatening you just as much as he was threatening me, and it was just easier to leave.”

“Easier for you, maybe.”

“I—“

“What are we doing here, Steve?” Eddie asks, cutting off whatever lame excuse is coming next.

“I thought I was trying to apologize but clearly I was wrong.”

Eddie can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes him. “So you apologize, and then what? We fuck, you get one last blowjob by the former freak of Hawkins, and then poof, you’re gone again?” Eddie rises from the couch in an instant, sock-covered feet pacing the length of the living room. He steals one glance down at Steve and shakes his head. “I should have listened to Jeff. Should have listened to everyone and stayed the fuck away. This is nothing but a pre-holiday fuck, and I’m so fucking stupid for falling for it.”

“No!” Steve shouts, standing up now too. “I’m not, I mean, I didn’t even know you’d be at the Hideout. I just stopped there because I couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up to my parents' place sober.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Eddie snaps. “Tell me this: if I wasn’t at the bar tonight, would you have come to find me?”

Steve says silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t even know you were still in Hawkins until tonight!”

“Bullshit! I know for a fact Henderson has mentioned seeing me when he comes back for the holidays. Just stop lying!”

“You want me to stop lying?” Steve shouts, stalking over to where Eddie’s stopped pacing. He boxes him in against the new bookshelf he installed in the corner where Wayne’s roll-away mattress used to sit. With his shoes still on, Steve’s got half an inch on Eddie and it’s daunting staring up into those eyes when Steve’s jaw is set in a hardline. “I fucking love you, okay? I have for years! And yeah, I was a fucking coward for leaving, and I could have, should have called in the years since, but I was scared, okay? I was scared you figured out that I’m not worth it and found someone better, just almost everyone else in my stupid fucking life and—“

It’s Eddie’s lips that crash into Steve’s this time. The words die on Steve’s lip, and for a maddening moment, Eddie wonders if he’s broken him beyond repair. That maybe he sould have left him keep spiraling and hit rock button, but then Steve kisses him back and it’s perfect. Well, as close to perfect as they can get considering they’re both angry and exhausted and Jesus h. Christ when did Steve learn to do that with his tongue? It’s headier than the kiss on the couch, leagues better than their awkward teenage makeouts from that autumn. They’ve both grown up, practiced, and found what works, and god damn, does it work.

When they pull apart this time, it's only to catch their breaths before diving back in. Eddie gets his hands on Steve’s shirt, rucking it up and over his head in a tangle of limbs, his own shirt isn’t too far behind, flying through the air with reckless abandon. Steve’s lips find his throat and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to scream or sink into him further so he does a mix of both, a wanton moan falling from his lips as he pulls Steve closer by his hips and ruts against him.

They’re really moving now, stumbling down the familiar hallway until they’re crashing into Eddie’s unmade bed. Eddie hovers over Steve, admiring his flushed torso and blissed-out face for all of two seconds before Steve pulls him close, whispering want you and need you, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything, much less mutual pleasure?

They fumble with each other’s jeans, hands shoving and hips lifting and twisting until there’s nothing between them but the thick, musty air. Eddie’s hands trail up and down Steve’s body, his lips and teeth following leaving marks on his favorite moles. He licks a stripe from the dip of his waist to his belly button and back down, and Steve keens under him.

“Please,” Steve whines. “Stop teasing.”

“It’s call foreplay, sweetheart,” Eddie chirps, but ultimately gives in, taking all of Steve in his mouth in one go.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve swears, fisting a hand into the sheets.

Eddie pulls away, eyes wide and full of mischief. “First you say no teasing, then you get mad when I take you? What do you want from me, Stevie?” He cups Steve’s ball, rolling them with enough pleasure to coax another moan from Steve’s lips.

“Just play nice, Eds.”

Eddie hums, then dives back in, slower this time but still just as desperate. He’s missed this almost as much as he’s missed Steve in general. Maybe even more, if he’s honest. There are a lot of dicks in the sea, but none as beautiful and responsive as Steve’s.

Eddie laughs at the cheesy thought, and the vibrations do something to Steve to elicit the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard. He almost laughs again just to hear it again, but before he has a chance, Steve’s shoving him off and flipping them over.

“Wh— what’s going on?”

“M’too close, and I don’t want cum without tasting you first.”

Despite his protests, Steve dives straight in with no preamble and Eddie feels the familiar coil of pressure building in an instant. He’s not going to last, not if Steve keeps doing that with his tongue and Jesus h. Christ he’s never going to live it down if he cums two seconds into getting Steve’s lips on him.

He tries to think of anything else. The disgusting bathrooms at the Hideout he’s going to have to clean tomorrow and the grocery list on the fridge he has to brave the last-minute holiday shoppers for, but nothing seems to work.

Eddie squirms, tries his best to get away from Steve but Steve hand settles on his hips, holding him to the mattress as he continues to move up and down. Eddie sees the stars building in his eyes without even closing his eyes and his hand moves on its own volution, finding Steve’s leaking cock and wrapping his hand around it.

If he’s going to cum embarrassingly fast, so is Steve.

He matches his strokes with Steve’s and they both fill the room with their moans and cries until finally they collapse on each other. Eddie’s hand and chest are sticky with Steve’s cum, and his own is spilling out Steve’s lips, but he doesn’t care. He pulls Steve closer, capturing his lips in a searing, sweaty kiss.

* * *

Another round and an hour-long make-out session later, they finally get up to clean themselves up. Eddie leaves Steve in his room and disappears into the bathroom. One look at His debauched self in the mirror and Eddie can’t help the smile that breaks out. If someone had told him this was how he’d be spending the early hours of his first Thanksgiving without Wayne, he would have laughed in their face.

When he returns to the room a few minutes later, Steve’s back on the bed, the thin sheet doing little to cover his lower half while his torso lays on full display, light by the warm light seeping through the cracks of Eddie’s blinds as the sun rises outside.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, suddenly shy as he slips back into bed.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back, shuffling across the bed and making himself comfortable on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Steve’s bare middle before bending the other behind his own head. He looks down at Steve, slowly drinking in the look of peace on his face and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he starves off sleep they’re both desperate for.

“How long are you in town for?” Eddie asks and mentally curses himself. Fucking Munson, just enjoy the moment!

Steve shifts, chin digging into Eddie’s solar plexus as his sleepy eyes find Eddie’s. “The weekend, at least. Maybe a few extra days.”

“Yeah?”

“I could be persuaded,” he says, reaching up to wrap a lock Eddie’s hair around his finger. “I mean, I am unemployed until January, as you so kindly pointed out.”

A part of Eddie wants to laugh, maybe even apologize for the uninspired jab from hours ago, but there’s something more important he has to do. Even if it kills him. He tries to keep his smile intact when he opens his mouth next, whispering the words as close to Steve’s ear as he can so he can’t deny hearing them.

“I’m not asking you to stay. You have to make that choice on your own, Steve. Start living your life for you.”

Steve’s smile falters, lips twitching, threatening to turn into a pout, but they don’t. Instead, he nods, and Eddie feels the weight of his confession and the fear-strikes anticipation of Steve’s reaction evaporate from his own body.

Steve nods, turning to press a chaste kiss to the same demon that’s been etched there since before Steve became his all those years ago. “I know.”

Eddie hums noncommittally and drags his fingers through Steve’s damp hair, nails lightly stretching at his scalp in the way he knows Steve loves. “So then, what do you want?”

There’s a moment of silence and Eddie watches the seven stages of grief wash over Steve’s face before he opens his mouth again. “I can promise you the weekend to start.”

It’s not the answer Eddie wanted, but it’s the one he was bracing for. He knows better than to expect Steve to make a life-changing decision in their post-coital haze. Wouldn’t want him to even if he gave him the answer he wanted. All he really needs is the truth.

“Boyfriends for the weekend?” Eddie says. The word feels foreign on his tongue and yet just right. “Does that mean I get a front-row seat to watch you ruin your dad’s life when you tell him about the fire academy?”

Steve snorts, hot air tickling Eddie’s love-bite-ridden neck. “I mean, if you want. Might make things worse, though.”

Eddie hums in agreement. The last thing he wants is to make Steve’s day even harder than it’s going to be, no matter how much he’d love to get some face-to-face time with good ol’ Dick Harrington.

“How about this,” Eddie says, turning so they’re nose to nose in bed now. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Drive you over, and when you’re ready to leave, I’ll be waiting around the bend like old times sake. And then…” He trails off, nose bumping against Steve as he peppers his freckled face with kisses and nips. “I’ll bring you back here and we can make good use of this whole boyfriends for the weekend thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, breathy and more of a sigh than anything else but the sentiment is there. “That sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums and pulls Steve’s lips between his in a long, lingering kiss before separating. “The only condition is I get to be the one who leaves this time when you have to come back.”

“Not forever, though, right?”

“Well, that’s up to you, babe.”

Steve nods, swooping in to give Eddie his own version of a passionate kiss. “Okay, but then we’re even.”

“Yeah, we’ll be even.”

Eddie watches the smile slowly spread across Steve’s face before he hides in the crook of his neck. Eddie presses his own grin into the mop of sweaty hair on Steve’s head as they lay there, completely intertwined from their head to their toes.

“Boyfriends for the weekend,” Steve mumbles through a yawn before finally letting his eyes flutter shut.

“And then for life,” Eddie whispers, lips pressing into Steve’s forehead before his own eyes give in to the exhaustion coursing through his body.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fan fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #steddie smut #steddie angst #dani writes

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