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ilikeevilblondes · 2 months ago

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Team Effort

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Your roommate, Joel, is normally not a nuisance, but one evening, he barges into your room because his laptop broke and he needs to borrow yours for unspecified reasons. Of course, what he didn’t know was that you were already using it for the same thing. You manage to reach a compromise by sharing your screen and fulfilling your respective needs alongside one another. As you do.

TL;DR: Roomies who watch porn together, jack off together. And jack off each other.

W.C: ~4.2k

Warnings: roommate!joel x reader, mutual masturbation, porn imagery, age gap (10 ish years??), fingering, blowjobs, sixty-nine, healthy dose of praise, this is really horny icl (no outbreak au!)

Note: no clue how my brain cooks up this shit, not even ovulating so i have no excuse. @whaddupbaby

Living in Austin, Texas, wasn’t cheap.

Of course, you were very well-acquainted with this fact as you happened to be a young woman with a less-than-generous salary. A salary that wouldn’t have allowed you to live comfortably by your lonesome if it weren’t for your roommate.

Enter Joel Miller.

Joel was a mild-mannered guy. A creature of routine. He’d get up at the crack of fucking dawn to enjoy a nice cup of coffee—black, always black—before work, and come home just before seven o’ clock to sit with you for dinner.

Your entire friendship and housing situation was coincidentally built on a chance Craigslist ad looking for a non-axe-murdering roommate that was posted in sheer desperation that you fatefully responded to in similarly sheer desperation.

Despite being a decade and some change older than you—and despite the two of you being polar opposites in nearly every way—you got on surprisingly well. He was gruff and guarded, a habitual pessimist, while you were easy-going and irrepressibly sanguine. He was the rain-heavy cloud that dimmed the crystal-blue sky; you were the sun that oft broke through his storm. Strangely enough, you complemented each other—like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow still fit, edges worn down just enough by time and circumstance to click into place.

It had been nearly eight months of your arrangement, or, as you had joked to him a week before, nearly a full gestational term of pregnancy.

“Your mind works in strange ways, you know that, sweetheart?” He had shaken his head through a small, easy laugh.

And, in those eight months, you had not experienced any major conflict, insofar as typical roommate dynamics went, or anything to upset the carefully-built foundations of your living arrangement.

That was, until, one night.

You sighed in frustration as you stared blankly at the screen of your laptop.

The sketchy porn site you frequently employed had crashed amid your approaching climax, which, at the frozen sight of the actress’s faux gape of pleasure and her scene partner’s terrible handling of her clit, quickly withered away into a feeling of unsatisfying incompletion.

“Fucking perfect,” You scoffed, bringing your hand out from under your panties.

As far as porn videos went, the one you had carelessly chosen was not very good, anyway. You caught your mind wandering several times in between the five fake orgasms the starring actress seemingly experienced.

Maybe porn by itself wasn’t enough for you anymore, these days.

So, you splayed yourself over your bed to reach down toward the bottom-most drawer of your nightstand where you kept the vibrator you used only in dire times of need. Like tonight.

But, just as you brought it under the covers and switched the thing on to the lowest setting, a knock came at your door.

Your eyes went wide as you hurried to turn your vibrator off and slam your laptop shut.

“J-Joel?” You called out, praying he hadn’t heard the faint hum under your bed sheets.

His slightly muffled voice came through: “Yeah, sorry, sweetheart, got a favour to ask.”

You gulped. “Come in.”

Tentatively, the door to your room creaked open, and your roommate poked his salt-and-pepper head through. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorknob, ready to shut the door if you had indicated such was necessary in light of his impromptu visit.

“Hope I’m not interruptin’ you, darl’,” Joel said sheepishly.

Yes, he was.

“Not at all.” You forced a small smile, shoving your vibrator further down your bed from under the covers. “What’s up, Joel?”

“Well, ah,” Joel clicked his tongue and stepped forward, leaning on your doorframe. “My computer broke. Spilled lo—water. Water all over it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Real shame. Um, but, I was wonderin’ if I could borrow yours…?” He crossed his arms, his brows knitted.

“Mine?” You glanced at the device sitting atop your sheets.

“Just for an hour or two. Promise it won’t be too long.”

Your eyes flickered over to the digital clock on your nightstand. It was nearly eleven pm. You were vaguely aware that his job as a contractor was demanding, but surely, this was way after hours.

“You still doing work this late?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He cleared his throat, looking away.

“I mean…” You sighed, mulling it over internally. Well, it wasn’t like you were getting very far with fucking yourself before he had barged in. “Sure. Sure, you can borrow it, let me just—”

And right when you lifted the sleek lid of your laptop, the damn thing chose that exact moment to stabilise your connection.

“Oh, right there—right there! Feels so goooood!” Came the exaggerated, musical timbre of the actress’s voice, accompanied, of course, by obscenely wet slaps.

You instantly slammed it shut.

Expletives of every kind circulated in your internal monologue. Including, but not limited to; fucking shit, piss, balls, goddamn motherfucker.

Your eyes were wide.

Joel’s eyes went wider.

The two of you were locked in a deeply uncomfortable staring contest. And the longer your eyes met, the more heat you felt creeping up your neck.

Your roommate had just heard your porn. Your roommate had just heard your porn. Joel had just heard your porn.

Don’t say anything stupid. Do not say anything stupid.

“That was my porn.”

God fucking damnit.

Joel let out a strangled sound, something between a choked laugh and a dry cough.

“...I figured.” He cleared his throat, pink dusting his cheeks.

“Sorry,” You whispered.

“Don’t be, darl’,” Joel sighed. “‘S, uh, perfectly normal.”

God, this was awkward.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t, like, touching myself.” And now you were explaining yourself. Great. “Well, I was—but, um, the thing froze, and I got antsy, so I got the vibrator from—”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

You decidedly cut yourself off. Maybe your possession of a sextoy was not necessary information to bestow upon your older roommate.

The look on his face—a little pale, mouth slightly hanging open—confirmed your hunch that you had just irreparably overshared.

He was shocked. Maybe a little more than shocked.

Sweet baby Jesus, what if he got a heart attack from your words?

What if he died where he stood and you had to explain to his family that you had caused his heart failure—death by TMI?

No, Joel was too young to get heart attacks … right?

“Please don’t have a heart attack.” You whispered, pleadingly.

“I’m not—” Joel exhaled and rubbed his hand down his face. “I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Tell your family not to sue.” You breathed.

“I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Okay. Good.”

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, sharply inhaled, and began to pivot towards the hallway. “Look, I’m sorry for intrudin’, I’ll leave you … to it. We don’t gotta mention this ever again.”

Was he intruding, though?

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb had flickered to life above your head in true cartoon fashion, an idea sparked in your mind.

“Wait!”

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

Joel stilled and slowly craned his head toward you, unsure if he had heard your protest or if it was purely imagination.

“Um. You don’t have to leave.”

Too late. You were following through.

“I don’t?” Joel furrowed his brows.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t going to work on my laptop, were you?” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I—”

“I know you didn’t spill ‘water’ on it, because, well … you hesitated, firstly. And secondly, the communal lotion bottle from the half-bath went missing two days ago.”

In the pregnant silence that rose from your Sherlock Holmes-esque declaration, you were left to wonder who the hell was running your mouth because it sure wasn’t you.

“Fine, no. I was not goin’ to work on your laptop. Happy?”

“What if… what if I were to make a proposal?”

Joel arched a brow, then dryly responded, “I ain’t too keen on having a second wife just yet.”

“Not that kind of proposal.” You shifted in your seat on your bed. “We could help each other out.”

“Help each other out?” He parotted, pursing his lips.

“Yeah. I mean, we can, y’know, share the laptop.”

Joel scoffed. “Sweetheart, are you suggestin’ we…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “...together?”

“I am. I mean, what’s the harm in that?”

“Besides the obvious? I can give you about a dozen reasons.”

“Look, you wanna jerk off—”

Joel visibly cringed at your indelicate phrasing. Bluntness was always your default, to his dismay.

“—so do I. But I wasn’t getting very far on my own.” You glanced at your folded laptop, then back to meet Joel’s gaze. “And don’t tell me that a girl beside you wouldn’t help you out.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to deny your suspicion, but closed it shortly afterward.

Joel would be a big fat liar if he’d said the thought of such a thing didn’t already leave him half-hard in his sweatpants—which you noticed. Of course, you noticed. Those damn grey sweatpants never left anything to the imagination. Even on normal days, when he waltzed around at home in them, you were always treated to the sight of his generous bulge.

The thought brought warmth to your face.

You continued, somewhat casually, “this’ll be no-strings-attached. I won’t ask to meet your parents after, or make you go ring-shopping. This is purely transactional.”

Joel let out a heavy sigh. “And this won’t make it weird between us?”

“No.” You hoped, at least.

And that was how you found yourself sitting beside your roommate—practically shoulder-to-shoulder—on a Friday evening on your floral-patterned queen bed, staring at the home page of pornhub.com.

Your finger scrolled idly on the trackpad of your laptop, watching as thumbnails and their respective titles cruised by.

Lame. Overdone. Gross.

Jeez, when did they stop making good shit? You were one ‘gangbang’ away from dragging Joel’s ass to an adult video store and choosing from a more refined selection.

“Indecisive, are we?” Joel grunted from beside you, sending you a sideways glance.

“You choose, then.” You relented, tilting the device toward him.

“Gladly.”

In less than a minute, Joel had settled on the aptly-titled flick, ‘Babysitter Gets Fucked By Big Cock’. Coincidentally, the male actor shared several features with Joel, as did the female actress with you.

Or maybe that was on purpose.

In any case, you kept your mouth shut.

The video began with a horribly cliché scenario: the supposed ‘dad’ walking in on the ‘babysitter’ getting stuck in the washing machine.

But, with the way her barely-covered ass was sticking in the air, you had to admit, you were intrigued.

Joel definitely was, seeing as how his large hand began palming himself through his sweatpants beside you, his dark eyes intently focused on the screen in front of him.

You were unable to look anywhere but the sight of him pressing down and rubbing his clothed bulge. Unable to hear anything except his breathing—now slow and strained. Unable to do more than gawk at him at his most undone.

Fuck, you could swear there was even a patch of precum staining—

With incredible resolve, you directed your focus back on the video.

The girl was on her knees now, coaxing the dad’s erection from his slacks and taking it in her mouth. He was, of course, muttering praises befitting the situation and appealing to your praise kink worse nature.

Your fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, finding your underwear drenched with arousal. It was very possibly caused not by the provocative scene playing out before you, but by the man currently working his clothed hard-on to your left.

Soon, you began lazily sliding along your entrance, feeling your whole body shiver as you swiped up to your clit, then back down again. And, just as the girl on your screen had begun deepthroating her employer, you sunk a finger in.

Which, evidently, wasn’t enough to appease the coil in your stomach, so you added another.

Still not enough.

You huffed frustratedly.

“You … you, uh, alright there, sweetheart?” Joel shot you a quick sideways look, his gaze dipping down to the improper sight of your hand stuffed inside your shorts.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just not…” You sighed, shaking your head. “Can I take off my clothes?”

Joel blinked at you, his hand frozen.

“I mean, I certainly won’t object to that.” His voice was low and dripping with something dangerously hot and raspy.

Lifting your hips, you were able to shimmy your shorts off, leaving you in your soaking panties.

“Fuck,” Joel exhaled breathlessly from beside you, unaware the word had even left his lips.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted him watching you instead of the the babysitter going to town on the dad’s cock.

Because, fuck, you were gorgeous.

Joel watched you slowly reveal your puffy folds; slick and shining and fluttering ever so slightly. And, whether he knew it or not, his hand started palming himself again, almost desperately, as little breathy noises escaped his throat.

Heat raced to your cheeks, but you donned a false mask of indifference and fully pushed your underwear to the side to allow you unobscured access to resume your ministrations.

You rubbed a few fingers down your seam, arousal collecting on your skin and easing your motions.

Beside you, Joel had relinquished his attention back to the porn on your laptop, but—to your absolute delight—had pulled himself out of his sweatpants.

And fuck, your suspicions were confirmed.

He was big. And tanned. And glistening with pearls of precum dribbling down his frustrated, flushed head, down his long, thick length.

With his eyes still glued to your screen, he began lazily pumping himself with his left hand. Once, twice, thrice…

Your cunt pulsed.

Seeing no other reason to delay your pleasure, you slipped two fingers inside your weeping mound, crooking them at a relaxed rhythm.

“Mm,” You sighed under your breath.

Joel’s unoccupied hand—which you had only noticed was lying right next to your leg—twitched against your thigh.

You added a third finger, but to your displeasure, you were still left unsatisfied. You let out another huff of annoyance.

And then Joel's hand slowly skated up to the top of your thigh, resting on your heated skin.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Joel…?”

“‘S okay, sweetheart. Let me.”

And he glided his hand down your inner thigh, goosebumps rising in his wake. He stopped in front of your soaked entrance, his palm lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

“Move your hand, baby.” He sighed.

So you did. With a lewd squelch, your fingers slid free from the grip of your aching mound.

Joel hummed, eyes darkening even more, “attagirl,”

He ran his hand slowly down your seam, humming at the feeling of your slick arousal, momentarily finding your clit, before sliding back down.

“Mm, you’re dripping, baby. This all for me?”

Then, one of his thick fingers pressed inside, tentatively dragging down your walls.

You gasped, which Joel evidently took as an invitation to insert a second finger to accompany the first.

Your vibrator was long forgotten under the covers of your bed when he added a third impossibly big finger, stretching you out deliciously.

And then, ever so slowly, he began crooking his fingers—each flex sending white-hot pleasure to pool in your gut.

Once, twice, a third time—

“Joel!” You gasped, your hand coming up to clutch at his wrist.

In a moment of vulnerability, your eyes met. His half-lidded, cloudy stare was quickly overrun with realisation.

“Shit,” He stilled inside you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” He started withdrawing his hand, but your grip remained determined around his wrist.

“Don’t.” You pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

You saw how his eyes lost focus. How tiny creases formed in between his eyebrows. How the reasonable part of him fought an uphill battle to retain at least a modicum of his morality.

Evidently, that part of him lost.

Joel crooked his fingers languidly, lagging behind the pace set by his other hand, which was still slowly pumping his eager cock. But, every curve of his fingers was able to reach places you thought unreachable by anything other than a dick.

All things considered, you were glad to be proved wrong and even more glad to be proved wrong by your roommate, specifically.

Because he sure knew what he was doing.

“Joel,” Your back arched slightly off your headboard.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” He hummed lowly next to you. He continued, his voice absolutely wrecked, “fuck, y’feel so … tight.”

A glance at your laptop informed you that the babysitter was now letting the dad throat-fuck her, gagging prettily as his length drove in and out of her mouth.

Not a bad idea.

You slowly leaned over Joel’s right arm—you know, the one knuckles deep, finger-fucking you—to plant sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his length, tasting his precum-tanged skin.

A choked noise slipped from his throat.

“Oh, baby–”

Your hand wrapped around his, pushing his grip to his base to allow ample room to praise his big fucking cock.

After planting a wet kiss to his tip, you took his head in your mouth and swirled your tongue around it like a lollipop. And, goddamn, it could’ve been, because his taste was addicting.

“That’s it,” Joel exhaled. “Oh fuck, that’s it, baby.”

With that bit of encouragement, you folded forward even more to take the rest of him in your mouth, not satisfied until his head hit the back of your throat. All while his fingers continued fucking into you, because he hadn’t stopped for a even second. If anything, he sped up.

The hand not fingering you shot up to grasp your hair, guiding you gently on and off his cock. And you happily let him, moaning around his length, flattening your tongue against the underside, and sucking.

“Yeah, there we go. That’s my good girl,” Joel’s voice was breathless. “Takin’ my cock so well, hm?”

Your cunt fluttered around his ceaseless fingers.

Joel Miller had a filthy fucking mouth. Fact noted. Memory stored. Future wet dream material created.

And then he pulled you off him. His dark, wild, ruined eyes catching yours.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Joel admitted, panting slightly. “But … shit, I need to taste you.”

You felt your lips tug upward. “Yeah?”

“Please, baby.” An almost pained look crossed his features.

“Well, I don’t have to stop.” You breathed, a certain two-digit number promising a solution to your dilemma. “We can … we can multitask.”

“Can we, now?” Joel shook his head, smiling slightly. “Fuck are you waitin’ for, then? C’mere.”

Taking care not to hit your laptop, you swung your legs over to straddle Joel’s torso, your back facing his chest, giving him a good view of your ass.

“Mmm, look at you.” Joel sighed from behind you, caressing the globes of your ass with his calloused hands. “Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered to himself.

“You gonna pick your jaw off the floor anytime soon, Miller?” You mused, bending slowly to take his cock in your hands, trailing unhurried kisses up to his head.

“Cocky now, are we?” Joel chuckled.

Without warning, Joel pulled your thighs toward him with surprising ease, sending you to lay flat on your stomach on top of him.

“Joel!”

He ignored you, and instead, pressed a messy kiss to your dripping cunt.

Even more caught off guard, “Joel!”

You felt him smile against you. And then, holding you to him with an iron grip on your hips, he slowly licked up to your bud, circling it with his tongue.

Jolts of electricity sparked through you with every second that passed of Joel’s mouth connecting to your pussy. Devouring, sucking, humming into your seam like it was a five-star meal.

And to him, it was.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.” Joel groaned into your cunt, short of breath.

His tongue laved downward, finding your wet seam. Then, with a salaciously wet noise, delved inside. Your moans of pleasure graduated into outright screams from the sensation of him pushing his tongue completely through your opening and into your tight, warm, drenched walls.

You were so distracted by the sensation of Joel keenly eating you out that you had almost forgotten about your end of the bargain.

In front of you, Joel’s rock-hard cock had bounced to his stomach—still leaking trails of precum and still impossibly hard.

Delicately, you took him in your hands, pumping him once or twice as you brought him to your lips.

Without wasting another second, you sunk your mouth, licking over his head and probing against his slit. You lapped at his cock desperately, intent on bringing him closer to his release. You were undoubtedly very far ahead of him in that respect, owing to how well and desperately Joel was licking into your cunt.

“Shit,” Joel pulled away ever so slightly. “Slowly, baby, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You released him with a wet pop, then turned your head over your shoulder to meet his gaze.

His hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes were blown out with desire, and the lower half of his face was very evidently slick with your arousal.

Fuck, he was a sight for sore eyes.

“Joel, if I come soon, there’s a very good chance I’ll be too fucked-out to make you finish. And believe me, I want you to finish in my mouth.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Then, by all means, baby. Do what you gotta do.”

Back down you went, sliding your mouth further down his shaft until his head reached the back of your throat. Then, you began a rapid pace of bobbing up and down on his cock, moaning around it as you did so, filling your room with the most obscene, wet sounds. Even more obscene than the fucking porno playing on your laptop.

Behind you, Joel resumed pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt. His tongue flicked inside you as he did and dragged down the roof of your channel, coaxing you to rut your hips against his face and feel his scruff against your inner thighs.

Seeing as how you were recklessly tumbling toward a mind-melting orgasm, you decided the best course of action was to double-down and suck the man’s dick dry as much as possible.

Your mouth lifted on and off his length in a frenzy, all while your hands gripped his base. Joel groaned into your weeping cunt as you did so, and began uncontrollably driving his hips up into you.

A garbled, broken moan vaguely resembling his name was muffled by the weight of his length in your mouth.

If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you were very sure that if your neighbours were unfamiliar of his name, they would have been very sure of it by now.

Joel uttered something incoherent and barely lifted his face from your entrance.

“If I’d known you took my cock this well, I would’ve fucked you sooner.” He sighed, kissing up your seam and humming against your sensitive skin. You felt the warmth of his breath blow onto you. “Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Clearly, it was a rhetorical question because Joel didn’t wait for an answer and, instead, dove right back into worshipping your sex with his tongue.

And he was relentless in his pursuit. Lap after lap came with him barely breaking for air.

The familiar warmth that had been pooling in your gut now threatened to hurl your climax at you at any second.

As if reading your mind, Joel purred, “can feel you getting tighter, baby. You gonna come for me?”

His tongue fucked into you harder as his grip on your hips trapped you against him, causing a shattered moan to escape your throat with his cock still in your mouth.

And you came.

Holy fuck, you came.

You gushed around his face, your legs clamping down around his head, but Joel didn’t falter in the slightest, swallowing your release and continuing to eat you out like a man starved.

Very soon, Joel followed.

Following a few erratic jerks of his hips, hot spurts of his come sprayed inside your mouth and you all but happily lapped up his seed, tasting rope after rope of its salty tang down your throat.

Certain he had rode out the extent of his high, you slowly lifted yourself off him, panting deeply.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel said breathlessly.

He took you by your waist and practically manhandled you like a ragdoll to face him properly before smashing his mouth against yours, tasting each other’s release on your tongues.

“Definitely should’ve done this sooner,” He mumbled against your lips.

You sighed into his mouth in agreement, and your hands came to hold either side of his face as you lazily moved your lips against his.

The two of you were so consumed by the bliss that came with the post-orgasm haze, you barely noticed that the porn video Joel had initially selected was long gone and another had automatically replaced it.

“OHHH!”

An almost theatrical, high-pitched moan from your laptop caught your attention.

Both of you turned to find your screen displaying a girl on all-fours eagerly letting some guy’s dick ram repeatedly into her at a brutal pace from behind.

“Harder, daddy, harder!” She mewled.

Joel let out a quick huff of air, then sheepishly met your eyes. “You, uh, wanna try that next?”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #the last of us #freaky #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal

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dessarchive · 2 months ago

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DR IDEAS. A COLLECTION.

the list below is based off of my current list of drs and i thought i’d share to give others more ideas! i will be updating this often because i often have ideas for drs but i can’t say how often that will be. happy shifting!

KPOP (join an established k-pop group, create your own, redesign the lore of your faves, make the group or just yourself the opposite gender, make joint groups, switch members, script members out, switch the generation of the group, whatever your heart desires)

aespa, billlie, bts, enhypen, fromis_9, girls generation, girlnextdoor (sister group of boynextdoor), illit, ive, le sserafim, loona, monster high (based off of monster high), newjeans, powerpuff girls (based off of the powerpuff girls), p1harmony, rescene, secret, stray kids, tripleS, twice, winx (based off of winx club)

FAME (act in a movie, television series, or film, sing on stage or be a backup singer, dance on stage with your faves or be their choreographer, become the it person of a certain decade, become a world renowned artist, become the next nba player, interview your faves, create the next big book that will live on for generations, play your favorite video games as a living)

actress, artist, author, band, basketball player, ballerina, celebrity interviewer, ceo (favorite brand, an app, music), choreographer, director, drag queen, fashion designer, figure skater, gaming youtuber, influencer, katseye, lifestyle youtuber, mukbang youtuber, nepo baby, olympic medalist, royalty, singer, soccer, supermodel, teen fame, travel vlogger, victorious secret angel

TV SERIES/MOVIES (add yourself into the plot, remove the plot and live a chill life, fight off evil, have the perfect love story, be best friends with barbie, be barbie and have her many many careers, have a talking pet…. be a talking pet…, be a mermaid, vampire, be friends with or be the sidekick of superman, batman, iron man, etc)

13 going on 30, the 100, accidentally in love, a.n.t. farm, alvin and the chipmunks, the amazing world of gumball, the aristocats, a series of unfortunate events, austin & ally, avatar, the babysitters club, back to the future, barbie, barbie's life in the dream house, barbie mariposa, barbie in a mermaid tale, barbie thumbelina, batman, best friends whenever, beverly hills chihuahua, boo bitch, bottoms, boy meets world, bride wars, brooklyn 99, business proposal, camp rock, captain marvel, cat in the hat, cheaper by the dozen, coraline, criminal minds, curious george, deadly class, derry girls, descendants, despicable me, diary of a wimpy kid, dog with a blog, eternals, euphoria, fantastic beasts, footloose, franny's feet, frozen, freeridge, garfield, gilmore girls, girl meets world, good luck charlie, gravity falls, h20: just add water, hannah montana, happy feet, harry potter, heartstopper, high school musical, hocus pocus, home alone, hotel transylvania, how the grinch stole christmas, i am not okay with this, icarly, jessie, kc undercover, kickin’ it, komi can't communicate, lab rats, law & order, lemonade mouth, let it shine, lilo & stitch, little miss sunshine, little rascals, little women, mako mermaids, metal lords, moana, modern family, mr. popper's penguins, my babysitters a vampire, night at the museum, the office, on my block, outer banks, peanuts, percy jackson and the olympians, phineas and ferb, pirates of the caribbean, pixie hollow, the polar express, pretty little liars, princess diaries, the princess and the popstar, ratatouille, riverdale, the santa clause, sam and cat, sesame street, sex and the city, shake it up, shameless, sharkboy and lavagirl, sisterhood of the traveling pants, smallville, smurfs, space jam, spider-man, spongebob squarepants, spy kids, starstruck, stranger things, strong woman do bong soon, the suite life on deck, the summer i turned pretty, the thundermans, teen beach movie, the teenage mutant ninja turtles, toy story, twilight, victorious, wicked, wizards of waverly place, zoey 101

VIDEO GAMES (there’s so many more i can’t think of)

animal crossing, hogwarts legacy, life is strange, minecraft, roblox, uncharted

MISCELLANEOUS

a certain decade or time in history, all women paradise (i love women), animal kingdom, atlantis, angel, babylon, baker, better cr, boarding school, dragon academy, dream college student, eternal childhood, eternal summer, farmer, idol school, marine biologist, new colors paradise, santa’s elf, small town, studying, summer camp, teacher, time traveler, vampire, waiting room

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hitlikehammers · 4 months ago

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POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post s4 #established relationship #corroded coffin #as in: the boys are here #and they DO NOT APPROVE OF STEVE #and think it’s absolutely essential to confront eddie about what the hell he thinks he’s doing with HARRINGTON of all people #and yeah okay: maybe steve OVERHEARS IT ALL #it’s 100% accidental though #eddie’s van is just in the shop! he needs a ride from band practice!#fluff #romance #anniversary #eddie munson: COME DEFEND YOUR MAN #true love #declarations #love confessions #steve harrington gets to feel all warm and gooey about his boyfriend okay? he deserves that #stranger things #steddielovemonth #prompt: we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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at-this-point-i-dont-even-know · 13 days ago

Text

Always and Forever

Jack Abbot x Reader

About: Jack Abbot lost his wife in the war, and her memory haunts him for six years, three months and twenty four days.

Warnings: I don't know anything medical or anything military so everything is just a guess , this also might get angsty

part two

Six years, three months and twenty four days.

That was how long Jack had been considered a widower.

Six Years, three months and twenty four days since he kissed his wife goodbye and put you on a helicopter never to see you again.

And every night, for those six years, three months and twenty four days, he has woken from the same nightmare.

He’s standing in the desert, the camp behind him as he waves his wife off, your face smiling down at him from the open door as you yell out something he can’t quite hear. He smiles up at you and then turns his back, just slightly, for a half a moment to talk to someone whose face he no longer remembers, and then the blast forces him onto his back, his face burning from the explosion and the helicopter he had just put you on is alight in the air. Your screams cut through the ringing in his ears as he tries to crawl to the rubble falling from the sky. Trying to get to you as you fall, gracefully and lightly to the ground. A dead weight against the world as he finally gets to you, your face and body burnt beyond any recognition.

Every night he would wake screaming from the dream, his hands clutching the sheets and his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself back to reality.

A reality that didn’t have you in it.

He hadn’t been there the moment you died, no one had, your helicopter had gone down over enemy territory after a routine day. There were no survivors and no opportunity to retrieve your body.

So every day Jack got out of bed, poured a strong cup of coffee with equal amounts of coffee, sugar and milk, before turning on his police scanner and doing the work outs given to him by his physical therapist. Every day he goes through the motions, eating, drinking, chatting to friends, talking to his therapist, helping in the ER and every single day he is reminded that you are gone.

He moved to Pittsburg once he had been honourably discharged a year after your death and after his reckless actions had cost him his foot. Before Pittsburgh, your home had been an army issued backpack and whatever tent you both collapsed in after performing surgery for 23 hours straight in a makeshift hospital. Your address in the States had been a house in Arizona that you both had put all your life savings into, bought without seeing and sold before either of you had moved in a single box. You were gone before the ink had dried and Jack couldn’t go there without you, so it had gone back on the market and he had moved to Pittsburgh at the insistence of your sister, a woman so much your polar opposite he could not believe you were related let alone see you in her.

Emery Walsh was a force to be reckoned with, and while she may never forgive Jack for talking you into another tour (in her opinion, you were going to go no matter what your husband decided), she had taken one look at him at your gravesite, an empty coffin below his feet, an empty wine bottle in his hands and moved him to her city. Got him a job in the Emergency Room, where she could keep an eye on him without hovering.

And the days went by.

Six years, three months and twenty four days to be exact.

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It was a better day than most when everything changed.

Jack had been rostered on the day shift, which he was starting to think wasn’t as bad as he had originally thought. His friend Dr Michael Robinavitch had brought him a coffee and the Nurse Dana manning the ship it was easy to fall into a comfortable banter with his colleagues.

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff!” Dana quipped, as she scrunched her nose at Jack's coffee order, and sipped her own black coffee.

“It brings me joy- which is a good thing i’ve been told.” he laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“If you keep seeking joy, people are going to think you’re more than a grump.”

“Who called me a grump? I am a pocket full of freaking sunshine!” he said, as dryly as possible.

“Sure-” Dana said before her next words were swallowed up by an incoming emergency.

And the day continued on, Jack was working on a teenager with too many bullet holes in his chest to survive, when Walsh slammed her way into the Emergency Room, it was her day off so instead of the surgery scrubs she normally wore she was in jeans and a fluffy jumper.

A joke about her outfit was on Jack's tongue when it faded away the moment he caught her face.

Emery Walsh was a stone cold bitch, with a face that normally gives nothing away as she deals with life's challenges.

Jack keenly remembered her face on the day of your funeral, dressed in Military garb she had remained stoic beside your parents, she had made an emotionless speech about your character with no stories of your shared youth and when your empty coffin had been put in the ground she had simply walked away.

Jack had never quite forgiven her for that, but on the other side of that argument, who was he to judge, you died, he drank and then marched head first into a firefight with no backup and no worries for his own safety. It was Walsh’s unit that had pulled him out, screamed at him and then Walsh had taken leave of her own tour to stay by his bedside, not for emotional support but by some kind of twisted familiar duty for her sister.

But today, her face is white, and her eyes bloodshot red as she scanned the ER, her hands wringing as she fidgeted on the spot.

Jack moved towards her, ripping off his bloodied gloves and apron and yelling at someone else to help the kid, and grabbed her by the shoulder pulling her attention to him.

“What's wrong?” His voice is commanding, military, which pulls Walsh a little bit back to herself.

“I need Robby, now.” She says, each word an effort.

“Emery-”

“I need Robby- not you!” she hissed before turning on her heels and marching to another end of the ER.

“Dana?” Jack called out as the Charge Nurse rounded a corner.

“Yes?”

“Where’s Sad Boy?” The nickname had stuck months after the Pittfest Shooting much to Robby’s disgust.

“Ambulance Bay- I think he’s trying to get some second hand smoke.” she laughed as she wandered away.

It was a running joke, Robby trying to quit smoking, every couple of months he goes a few weeks before giving into the temptation. Jack always thought it was the biggest joke in the medical world, the fact that so many doctors, who all know the risks, still smoke so much. But who was he to judge, he ends most of his shifts at the edge of the roof.

“Marsh!” the brunette turned to him, her eyes wide and her hands still shaking, “Ambulance bay!”

He wanted to follow her, to find out what had made the woman so shaken up but as he stepped forward he was bowled over by Dana who called him over to the incoming trauma.

--------------------------

It was almost an hour before he was finally back into the bullpen and away from any patients.

Jack couldn't get the picture of Emery’s pale face and shaking hands out of his mind the whole time he coded his last patient, he didn’t even celebrate the small moment when they came back to the world of the living, instead briskly walking away leaving one of the residents to tell the family the good news.

As he walked past Dana’s desk, he couldn't locate the charge nurse, Robby or Walsh.

Where is everyone he thought to himself as he looked subtly behind curtains.

He wandered through the ER, nodding to people and stopping to ask some where Robby or Dana was but everyone was none the wiser.

He was starting to get frustrated, it was unusual for both leaders of the ER to disappear at the same time, normally they take turns having little meltdowns.

As he headed towards the peds room he finally stopped the Charge Nurse. Dana was leaning against the door and typing quickly on her mobile.

“Hey! Have you seen Robby or Walsh?”

The nurse looked up, like a deer in headlights, she went immediately ridged and stood between him and the door.

“He’s busy, can you man the front?” she asks, gently trying to push him back but he pushes his heels in.

“Dana? Where is Robby?”

She flicked her eyes between him and the shut door behind her.

“Please Jack- Go back out the front.”

“Why?”

“Jack-”

“What's going on Dana?”

“Sweetheart, I need you to go back out there.”

Icy filled his veins and suddenly he felt like he was back in the desert, having the worst news delivered to him by a patchy radio and uncaring radio operator who didn’t know who they were talking to on the other end. Whatever was behind that door was enough to have Dana calling him a pet name, and her eyes almost brimming with tears.

He gently moved her to the side and slammed the door open to peds.

The sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

Robby and Emery stood over a bed, Robby putting in an IV line while Emery sat on a stool holding the hand tight of the person in the bed.

“Who-” he whispered before taking one further step into the room and Robby turned to look at him. The attending eyes are wide and filled with emotion as he realises who walked into the door but Jack couldn’t look at him further.

Jack felt his knees buckle as he took in the patient in the bed.

Pale and sleeping with a ragged breathing pattern, covered in black and blue bruises and a scar now running from brow to lip but he would know that face anywhere.

Jack Abbot had been a widower for six years, three months and twenty four days.

But it was you.

You were there, in the bed.

Alive.

“What the fuck-” he whispered before his knees gave out and darkness took over.

#the pitt #fanfiction #dr abbot #dr robby x reader #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x you

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