#updates every saturday evening

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[ros3ybabe]

Winter Break Goals/Habits/Things to Begin

So, my winter break begins Saturday officially, even tho I finish all my schoolwork by tomorrow/Thursday. I figured to keep me on track with my goal of being a better me in 2024, I'd make a list of some things I'd like to incorporate into my days during my 6 week long winter break! Not everything will be accomplished, but I'm going to try my hardest.

🩷 My Winter Break List 🩷

consistent workout routine 3-5 days a week

try out a pilates class (local studio)

study japanese/spanish every day (create a new routine for studying either)

consistent sleep schedule (10pm - 6am)

daily afternoon hot girl walks (30+ minutes)

daily gratitude journaling

answer a journal prompt daily

read every day, 1 chapter of a book minimum

pick up a hobby and practice it several times a week (drawing, crochet, etc)

daily morning and night skincare

daily meditation (in the morning)

educate myself on healthy financial habits

drink electrolytes daily

watch one episode of a TV show minimum (NOT American Dad - thats my comfort sho)

clean bedroom and do laundry often, weekly at worst

get ready for the day, every day (do my hair, wear clothes I DIDNT sleep in, maybe some light makeup)

eat breakfast every day

meet my protein goal daily

track all my habits daily

it seems like a lot, yes, but it is completely doable as some of these habits take 10 minutes or less and I have 24 hours in a day to fill up. I get bored very easy si if I don't set goals, I'll end up staying in bed on my phone all day long and that's not healthy or productive whatsoever. I'll include these in my daily challenge updates too to keep myself accountable!!

here's to trying ro be a better me!

til next time lovelies 🩷

[ttoddii]

"really? a man?"

pairing(s): flirty bestfriend!bada x cheater!f!reader

cw: smut, MDNI, bada is jealous, howl (i know but it's for a good reason i promise, and i only mention him once or twice), semi-public sex (bathroom stall), fingering, thigh-riding, ruined orgasm, edging, praising, degrading, cheating, bada is a bad person in this ngl, lots of cussing, bad grammar, bad descriptions (i'm so sorry), lowercase intended.

summary: you're dating your boyfriend and you guys are so in love but having a taste of your bestfriend remind you of some undeniable feelings.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i would like to remind you all that this is my first time writing smut, please be nice to me i'm learning i swear ;-; personal thank you to @beomjunnchoii25 because without her i would not even finish this. (she gave me a pep talk, honestly ilysm)

"really? a man?" bada scoff, her face full of disbelief as she cross her arm in front of her chest and she furrows her brows.

"what?" you ask, "what's so bad about me dating howl?" you straighten up your back, facing your bestfriend as you drink from your cup, your eyes still bore into bada's face attentively as you see her biting her lower lip annoyed.

it's a normal saturday morning, and like every other saturday morning, you would meet up with bada, your bestfriend and also your dance teacher, at your usual coffee shop.

as you two had always update each other on your life, you thought that it would be a good time to tell bada about your relationship that you had been keeping a secret for a while. but judging from her reaction, it's clear that your decision is not a good one.

"well, to start off, he's my co-worker, how can i ever look at him the same way knowing that he's screwing my bestfriend? secondly, he's a man" bada raise one of her eyebrow, clearly in dismay. her pointer finger keep on tapping the coffee table, and you slowly put your cup down.

"don't be so dramatic, and you don't have to mention the screwing part, we barely do anything, like maybe once? twice? we're both very fucking busy you know" you scoff, rolling your eyes at bada.

"he's a nice guy, he buy me food, take care of me when i'm sick, he always give me flowers and gifts on our anniversary, and he wrote me a hand-written letter to confess his feelings! he's such a dork, i love him!" you exclaim, trying to persuade your bestfriend to at least like your boyfriend.

"don't get me wrong, as a co-worker of his for years, i think i know him longer than you, and please, he's a man" bada shake her head, she keep reminding you that howl's a man and her voice sound serious when she told you about how long she had known him. she put her arm on the table to lean into you, completely denying your effort on persuading her.

you sigh, slumping yourself back to your chair as you shake your head "he's good to me, bada, gender doesn't matter if they're good to you, you used to say that" you defend yourself.

"yah! as an attempt to make you like me! not for you to have such a low standard!" bada suddenly raise her voice, her hand hit the table as she tell you to quit your yapping about how great howl is as a boyfriend.

"yea right" you roll your eyes, turning away from bada as you need a break from all this unreasonable nonsense she's talking about.

you know she's joking about liking you, so you pay no mind to it, she usually just flirt with other girls, and then she would slide into their bed for one night before dumping them into her 'girls i had fucked' list. it's a normal thing for her to joke about relationship, but for you relationships are serious. and thinking about bada like that make your mouth taste all bitter.

"don't just roll your eyes at me", bada said, her eyes staring daggers into your form as she take a sip from her cup to water her dry throat. and by the time she jug down all the water, she give you a whole speech.

"everything that you said he did for you, from buying you food, giving you gifts, writing letters to you, that's the bare minimum. what? i never do all of that to you or something? and why didn't you swoon over me, but him? howl this howl that, how about he eat my ass."

her voice full of jealousy as she spit out every word. to your surprise, bada doesn't seem like she's joking, her body tense up as she bite her lower lip, bada stare at you, her chest heaves up and down as she's clearly mad. her state make you panic a bit. so you straighten your back again and take a hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly so she could calm down.

"alright, i'm sorry, let's just move to another topic" you said, attempting to calm bada down and move on from this awkwardness.

in your point of view, she look like she would either cry out loud from being mad by the way she bit her lower lip, or she would rush to howl's house to commit arson. whichever one it is, it's not a good thing, you had known bada for a long time, long enough for you to understand that once bada feel something, she feels it hard, she would not take it lightly, and she would not drop the topic until it's done.

"does he fuck better than me?" bada asked, low enough for no one else to hear, but loud enough for you to catch it. yet you decide to ask again, acting like you didn't hear her.

"what did you just say?" you asked.

big mistake

bada look at you attentively, and you could see her rolling her tongue from the inside of her cheek before she sigh loudly, her shoulder relax and bada redirect her gaze onto your hand that is currently squeezing hers. she grabs you by your wrist as she yanks you up to your feet and pull you into the bathroom.

instinctively, you followed her as she drag you in one of the stall and lock the door behind her. you follow her movement closely while you furrow your brows at her action.

"i said, does he fuck you better than me?", bada ask again, this time her voice much more lower and aggressive, she let go of your wrist, her tall figure tower over you as she push you down to sit.

"what do you mean?" you ask while looking up at bada. and in this small confined space, she look like she could eat you up alive.

bada crouch down, her face lean in closer to yours as she said "we fucked before, didn't we? before you date that little pathetic dude, it was one hell of a night wasn't it? i still remember you moaning my name darling, don't act like you forget. i know you miss how i fuck you senseless that night."

you pursed your lips into a thin line. you hate to admit it, you hate to think that you love bada and just use howl as a distraction. you hate to admit that when you have sex with howl, all you could think about is bada's touch, her name, her voice, her kiss. and that's why you usually deny his touch. you hate to admit that you're in love with your bestfriend.

"cat got your tounge baby?" bada chuckle, she knows she's right, she doesn't need you to confirm for it to be true. she lean in again, dangerously close to you as she kiss you on your lip.

it's a soft kiss, she only kiss you lightly, not even fully put her lips onto yours yet.

it's a teasing kiss, you realize, it's a trap. a trap in which you would gladly jump in, and so you put your arms around her neck and pull bada closer to you, almost slamming her whole body onto yours as you kiss her hard.

and fuck, you can feel bada smirk from behind the kiss as she knows you had fully jump into the bottomless pit. she knows you're all hers to love, to care, just her baby.

her hands roam around your body as she let one of them get under your shirt, pulling down your bra to squeeze your chest softly. and you moan into the kiss as she did that, your body voluntarily curve into her touch.

"so needy" she said softly, breaking apart from your kiss to hold your chin up and take a good look at you. your face all red and flustered, your lips puffy from the harsh kiss, and your breath quicken to have some air in your lung "such a pretty girl for me."

bada chuckle lightly, her tall figure bending down to give you a quick peck on your lips as a way to comfort you before she slowly kneel down on the bathroom floor, all while keeping eyes contact with you.

her hands travel up to your knees as she spread your legs apart slowly, and you groan in frustration at her action "stop teasing" you breath out lightly.

bada smirk and kiss your inner thigh, giving you only a small amount of what you actually need, and at some point, you decide to just grab her tie to pull her head up and low your upper body down to talk.

"it's either you fuck me right here, right now, or i'll be sliding my way back to howl."

bada groan at your comment, "so demanding i see" she said softly, and then she chuckle "well, if you already know what you want" she pull you up to stand on your feet before she switch place with you and place you on her thigh "ride it".

you stop in motion, shock at what you just heard.

"why the face darling? you were so demanding just a second ago, and now you can't even do it yourself?" bada ask, her left hand hold on to your waist to keep it in place before her right hand slide down to pull your panty to the side and she dip two fingers inside of your wet folds, her eyes bore into the way you would jump lightly as she insert her fingers in.

"fuck" you breath out, feeling bada moving her fingers inside of you slowly, dragging it on your gummy wall, her thumb is place on your clit as she draw circle around it.

"such a slut, your pussy is so wet and yet you don't have the gut to ride on my thigh? pathetic bitch" bada laugh, her voice low and dark as she fasten her pace.

"fuck, bada" you moan, your eyes hazy from how good she makes you feel, you wrap your arms around her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder, having no energy to even sit straight anymore.

"so loud, remember we're in public baby, anyone can walk their merry way into here right now, so you better shut your mouth" bada whisper into your ear.

fuck she is such a tease, she told you to shut up, but she keep quicken her pace, and you swear you could hear the squelching sound from your own pussy as she finger you senselessly.

her long fingers hitting all the right spot inside of you as you groan softly into her ear, your leg shaking lightly as your body keep jerking up from the build up stimulation.

"bada" you call out to her softly, indicating to her that you're very close.

and yet, she suddenly stop, her face display a smirk as she raise her eyebrow at you, and you oh so hate her right now.

'ride it' she mouthed, her fingers still inside of you, and she teasingly curve it a bit to hit your G-spot.

you bite your lower lip, your mood slowly going down from the ruined orgasm, but you are still not satisfy, and you suck your pride up before you slowly move your hip, giving in to bada satisfaction. all you know is that you have to please your bestfriend if you want to let go of the tension in your lower part.

"now we're actually on to something" she whisper into your ears, her fingers match your pace as she circle your clit "such a good slut for me, so obedient aren't you, good girl."

you moan lightly, your hip moving on her thigh, trying to make her fingers hit the right spot, you're desperate. you move your head to kiss bada harshly, you bite onto bada's lower lip every time you want to moan, and your tongue find its way into her mouth as you give her a sloppy kiss.

by the time you're done kissing, bada groan as she plunge another finger into you, and she just hold your waist down before her fingers curve up to hit your G-spot, her thumb that is circling your clit fasten its pace.

"who is fucking you?" she ask, her fingers quicken its pace again, dragging around your wall and abusing your spongey G spot.

the air is so hot, you can feel yourself melting into bada's touch, her hand on your waist seems like it's burning a mark into your skin. permanently mark you as her own.

"bada" you breath out, your chest raise up and down quickly as you try to get in as much air as you could, sweat rolling down your forehead as you groan into the crook of bada neck, and as you slowly reaching your orgasm, your back arch and you shake lightly.

"that's right baby, it's me that's fucking you, not howl, not anyone else, me, the bada lee."

and with that, you reach your orgasm, you groan loudly and your body shake as you see stars in the back of your eyes. your head rest on bada's shoulder as she slowly pull her fingers out of you. she plant a soft kiss onto your hair before asking you a question.

"so, you still want to date him?" she ask.

and you softly shake your head.

[satoriberry]

Higuruma Hiromi is a cat.

No. That's not the correct verb.

Higuruma Hiromi behaves like a cat. Occasionally. Well, it only happened once.

Higuruma Hiromi, a man who lives up to the reputation he doesn't even know he created for himself a while back, never ceased to amaze you. He amazed you a first time when he correctly guessed your favourite skittle without even knowing your name ("You have the face of someone who would enjoy grape skittles.").

He amazed you a second time when he technically won a case and managed to score his client a one-month house arrest instead of a decade in jail after proving her innonence with nothing but tax return receipts as his golden piece of evidence. He amazed you a third time when you watched him ride a mechanical bull and manage to stay still as a statue the whole ride - not even whobbling when he got off.

A few dozen (read: hundred) more shocks and synonyms of the word "wow" later, you found yourself cohabiting a cozy apartment with him, one that conveniently allowed him to dodge public transport and bask in the crisp morning air on his way to his firm, then lackadaisically gaze at the moon on the way back. Nevertheless, Hiromi didn't find himself any more chipper or excited about going to slave in an office than he was before.

It had been a while since Higuruma has done something major that made you ogle him with a mixture of fear and wonder, ergo, amazed you. It had been a while since he's wowed you, but that didn't make you love him any less. It may actually be quite the opposite: ever since you made the mutual decision of living together, you believe you've become even more charmed by the man. His painfully bland yet charged lifestyle was practically the whole reason behind you sighing dramatically with heart eyes whenever someone mentioned the first two syllables of his name.

However, Hiromi managed to update the surprise score you had in your brain just for him, and, for the first time in a while, made you wonder what exactly was he made of.

9:56 AM.

You stood in the kitchen, palms on the marble counter's edge and eyes drooping every few seconds as you tried to resist the urge to sleep, and the only noises that kept you somewhat awake came from the chirping of birds outside your balcony doors, the typical Saturday traffic and the faint sizzle produced by the waffle maker you had plugged in.

You chose to skip some sleep, that was now starting to sound much more appealing than it did previously, and cook up an elaborate breakfast to avoid the avocado toast and coffee combo you and him have been having out of convenience for the past 10 days or so. You were waiting for the waffles to be done so you could move on to the other food items.

You reached for the egg tray and held one in either hand, contemplating the cook that you were going to go for, then horror struck as you heard your shared bedroom door creak, followed by the sound of irregular footsteps against the wooden tiles. He was already up. Feeling a bit betrayed and looking visibly deflated, you replaced the eggs on the tray and went back to staring at the red light that indicated that the waffles were still cooking.

The footsteps became louder as Hiromi approached your figure, rubbing his eyes with the ends of his palms, completely mute aside from the "ouch" he let out after bumping the island.

"Morning sleepyhead," you greeted him with similar fatigue in your grin, enjoying the sight of him manouevring rather terribly. You didn't move, awaiting the back-to-chest embrace he made a habit of offering you every time the occasion presented itself. However, you didn't get one. You didn't feel two warms arms wrap around your midriff, nor did you feel a jaw being placed on one of your shoulders.

You simply felt a nudge on your neck. More correctly, you felt a series of nudges, pokes and nuzzling motions on the side of your neck, accompanied by his bedhair scratching your ear multiple times. You additionally felt him rub his boney cheek against your shoulder's exposed skin, uncovered by the baggy shirt you had on.

He was rubbing his face against you. Like a cat.

You were certain of that due to the familiar bump of his hooked nose jabbing you gently, and rubbing along the expanse of your neck in a vertical motion. All this with his eyes glued shut despite wiping the life out of them a few moments ago.

You breathlessly giggled at the ridiculousness of....whatever this was. "Hiromi, don't take this the wrong way but, what on Earth are you doing?"

He made a bizarre grunt, but no words came out of his mouth. He contently kept tilting and pushing his face into your shoulder, his body stiff and arms dead on either side. A few times, you felt him push the top of his head in the junction between your shoulder and neck, as if he was spreading his atoms all over you. The feeling of his somewhat spikey morning hair made you emit a perplexed chuckle.

After what felt like a century, he switched gears and began peppering light kisses that started at the cap of your shoulder and made a trail to behind your ear, where he placed a final peck before patting your head and making to the bathroom, croakily mumbling, "Morning angel."

Just as you were doing before, you stood in the kitchen silently, body still and palms on the countertop's edge. Yet contrary to earlier, you were gobsmacked, absolutely lost as to what the fuck your will-be husband just did. Your eyes didn't leave the spice rack that was in direct line with your vision, and your jaw was still floored by the feline assault you just went through. It wasn't until the waffle maker's light switched to green with a clicking sound that you snapped out of your shock-induced stupeur, and began moving again.

Scratching your head in a cartoony manner, you walked to the bathroom whose door was completely ajar and showed that Hiromi was almost over with his morning routine, splashing water on his face to rinse off the ridiculously priced cleanser you persauded forced him to get.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, he patted his face dry a couple times before looking up at you with a mocking grin plastered on his features. Throwing the towel away haphazardly, he placed a callous palm on your shoulder and planted a brief kiss on your forehead, then proceeded to let you know just how good whatever it is that you're cooking up smelled, before heading off, leaving you a second time with no answer to your question.

Higuruma Hiromi was a man with a myriad of tricks up his sleeves, but waltzing up to you and acting like a needy cat wasn't something you could have predicated.

[junipers-archive]

spencer reid x bau!reader pining over each other to the point that other law enforcement people (maybe even luke or tara when they first join) think they are dating and are shocked when they find out they are just "friends"?

ah yes yes I love this, and hope you don't mind I added them acting like an old married couple and made it Emily noticing :)) (Word Count: 600)

Today is Saturday's are for Spencer :) request an au!

You were on your way back from the most recent case, loading onto the jet you look over at Spencer, noticing once more how utterly and unfairly cute he was when he was thinking. He was currently absorbed in one of the many books he checked out from the library this week, headphones plugged into his ears, probably listening to some classical music.

Taking a seat next to Rossi and across from Emily you keep your gaze trained on him, the sunlight trickling in through the window as the jet takes off, you observe, gives him an even more ethereal glow.

You blush when you find that Emily's caught you staring at him for perhaps the third time that day. "What?" You try to play it off cooly, only getting a smile back as she replies,

"Nothing, I just think you two are lucky to have each other."

You mouth opens, agape and looking like an idiot you stare at her blankly, you know she's new to the team and she probably hasn't gotten close enough to know the whole story but to think you and Spencer were really dating? That, in your opinion, was insane.

"I-we-Spencer and I, I mean- we're not a c-couple!" You stutter turning a darker shade of rouse as Rossi begins to smirk next to you.

"Might as well be, the way they pine over one another. All we ever hear is 'Spencer this' from her and 'Y/n that' from him." He finally speaks up.

"Don't give me hope Rossi, the only pining is on my part, and I'm happy just to be friends!" The truth was you weren't, far from it in fact, but Emily didn't have to know that, especially seeing as she'd just joined the team.

"So let me get this straight...you're just friends?" She questions you as Rossi chuckles and you shake your head getting up from your seat to take a nap on the couch. You really shouldn't be getting your hopes up, how could someone as perfect as him like you?

When you get to the couch however you find your spot taken by one doctor Spencer Reid.

"Move." Your lips are pouted and you're eyebrows pulled together, and if Spencer didn't know any better he'd think you were the most adorable human being on planet earth.

His heart sinks every time he lets his gaze linger on you too long, knowing that someone as smart, beautiful and funny as you would never feel the same way. So even as he rants about you to the others, even as he spends every waking minute he can with you and falls for you more and more everyday he tries his best not to tip you off.

Which becomes increasingly harder the longer you stand there with that look on your face.

Its Derek clearing his throat that brings Spencer out of this daze,

"S-sorry what?" He takes one of his earbuds out.

"Move." You repeat, "You're on my side of the couch."

He beams up at you and you swear you melt, "And since when was this your side of the couch?"

You cross your arms, leaning your weight on one of your hips, "Since the day I joined the team, this has been my side of the couch!"

He hums in response which only seems to fuel your anger, and as you two begin to bicker like an old married couple the team places bets on who's to confess first.

Rossi and Derek are firm believers that one day Spence will slip up, but JJ is almost certain that its his puppy dog eyes that will tip you off at some point and force you to finally confess.

Emily's still in disbelief when you land a few hours later, asking one last time before you all exit, "Are you sure they're not together??"

Update: Part 2

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi, this is my first time asking here I really love your work and also the whole reason me going into the DC fandom really... Anyway, back to my request can you do like a fluffy interaction with the batfamily when child (male or gn) reader told them that they had a "boyfriend" at school.

Not entirely sure if this is really you're cup of tea and if not you can ignore it.

:D

Oh this is my cup of tea, don't worry. And I got you into DC fandom? I hope you like the fandom so far.

Summary: (Y/N) is slowly growing up. Bruce and the others can't handle it.

Warnings: fluff, Bruce and everyone is emotional, just pure fluff everyone, Titus makes an appearance

The family has been going through a rather tough time recently. (Y/N) has started going to kindergarten and they couldn't see him for almost the entire day. Bruce knew it was important that (Y/N) starts socializing with children his age.

Bruce knew that is was important for (Y/N) to do it and he needs to get over all the child sicknesses. Such as chicken pox and some others. It would build his immunity system and make him stronger. And it was difficult the first day.

Everyone was emotional that first day. All of them barley kept it together as they walked (Y/N) to the kindergarten, more so to the place where he would be spending time until he needs to go to elementary school.

(Y/N) was nervous at first, but Bruce assured him how they would be back to get him back. The brothers all said goodbye and nearly broke down when (Y/N) left and everyone, including Alfred broke down in the car.

" He is growing up so quickly. " Jason said as he was wiping his eyes, trying not to cry fully.

" I know. " Dick said, not even keeping his cool anymore. Bruce and Damian didn't cry, but they were definitely sad about the fact that they couldn't see their brother anyone. Tim was just quiet as he sniffed quietly and Alfred simply looked ahead, outright refusing to cry.

Everyone went on with their days and once they were done with work or school, they would pick up (Y/N). (Y/N) was happy to his family once more and he just wanted a hug from his dad.

And he wanted to be carried by his dad. It was their tradition after all. Soon, Bruce had to update the list of people who could pick him up and included everyone in the family, besides Damian. The kindergarten policy made it clear that you needed to present ID every time you want to pick him up.

Bruce had to admit, he was impressed with the sheer security of the kindergarten and the way that they made sure that nobody unauthorized or somebody who had more sinister motives could get in. Thankfully.

(Y/N) has been going for a few months and he liked it very much. He has made a few friends and Bruce couldn't be happier. (Y/N)'s brother's were happy too. (Y/N) was happy, liked going there and had fun.

What more could they ask for? Nothing more.

As long as their brother is happy, so are they.

It was all going to be fine.

Well, that fine turned into pure confusion when (Y/N) was home. It was a Saturday. (Y/N) and the family was having a family night and (Y/N) was watching a movie in his father's lap, enjoying the contact from his father. Bruce covered his son in a blanket, making sure it was warm. It has started snowing a few hours ago and it was perfect.

More importantly, it was peaceful.

Until (Y/N) started to speak.

It was all fine.

" I forgot to tell you something! " (Y/N) declared as he sat up upright. Bruce glanced at (Y/N) and hummed at him, showing him that he had his attention.

" I have a boyfriend! "

Those four words made Bruce's head spin and he swears he hears that he has heard something crash in the kitchen. Jason spat out his water, coughing the rest of it out. Dick wept and Damian froze. Tim blinked a few times.

What the hell?!

" I'm sorry, what do you mean by that? " Bruce asked as he got some of his composure back. (Y/N) smiled widely and Bruce had to make sure he didn't fall down.

" I have a boyfriend! We hold hands and do everything together! " (Y/N) said loudly and Dick wept louder. Jason took a deep breath and Damian blinked a few times. Tim just drank his coffee. Nope. He is too pumped with caffeine to even think about it.

" What's wrong with Dick? " (Y/N) asked, looking at his brother who was weeping. Jason gave Dick a hug and Dick was mumbling the words so quickly and grow up. In not really particular order actually.

" Nothing (Y/N), you know how he gets emotional. " Bruce explained and (Y/N) let out a little huh. Bruce wanted to cry really, but he couldn't. His son was growing up too soon, but growing up is normal.

It's going to happen eventually.

Sooner rather than later.

" Come here. " Dick said as he wiped his eyes. He stood up and took (Y/N) into his arms, hugging him. His brother can't grow up. No. It's completely wrong and not- No.

(Y/N) can't grow up. No.

(Y/N) was confused as to why Dick would cry. Why? Is he sad? Why would be sad?

" Why are you said Dick? " (Y/N) asked and Dick finally found it in himself to chuckle. He gave (Y/N) a kiss on the cheek.

" I'm not sad baby bird. "

" Then why are you crying? When you are sad, you cry. " (Y/N) stated and Dick shook his head fondly.

" Sometimes, when you are so happy, you are so overwhelmed with happiness that you just start crying. " Dick explained and (Y/N) let out a little oh, leaning his head on Dick's shoulder.

Dick sighed as he sat down on the couch and Alfred finally made his way into the the living room.

" Master Bruce, did I hear correctly? Master (Y/N) has a boyfriend? " Alfred asked, clearly not wanting to believe it. His youngest grandson has a boyfriend?

" Yes, (Y/N) has a boyfriend. " Bruce confirmed and Alfred sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. His grandson will send him to his grave. Early grave, mind you.

Jason sighed as he wanted Dick to hand (Y/N) over to him. His brother can't have a boyfriend now. He is a baby in his eyes and he can't have a boyfriend or a girlfriend for that matter until he is about 30.

That is a reasonable age to have a boyfriend. Right?

" Should I open up the scotch? " Alfred asked and Bruce smiled at the suggestion.

" Later Alfred. "

" As you wish master Bruce. "

" Dad? " (Y/N) asked from Jason's arms and Bruce felt something warm in his heart.

" Yes? "

" Can we go out to play in the snow? Pretty please. " (Y/N) asked and Bruce nodded in agreement.

" Of course we can. But you need to make sure that you are warm. You can't get a cold can you? " Bruce said as he picked (Y/N) up from Jason and (Y/N) let out a little hurray.

" He is too pure for this world. " Damian said once (Y/N) and Bruce left the room to bundle up. and there was something that everyone could agree on. Even Jason and Damian could agree on that phrase.

Titus wagged his tail as he whined for Damian to open the door to the garden. Damian did so and Titus started playing in the snow. It was weird to see such a black mass in the white snow.

Titus almost looked like a demon and then that image was gone when (Y/N) ran over to Titus. Titus was very happy, tail wagging like mad, but still remained calm and gentle with his little brother. Bruce watched as (Y/N) ran around, making angels and throwing snowballs at Bruce.

Titus would also run for snowballs that the two would make, considering that they couldn't find his tennis balls to throw. He was confused at the way the would disappear, but still came back for more.

" Maybe we have overreacted. " Dick said and everyone agreed in a certain way. (Y/N) is a child and he probably doesn't know the meaning of the word. But they know that sooner or later they will have an actual boyfriend on their hands.

Hopefully that will never happen. Hopefully.

[xrenjunniesx]

when you walk through heavy rain

bf!nct dream

mark

when you walked through the door, completely drenched with water droplets falling onto the floor beneath you, he could only stare at you in disbelief.

“you should’ve brought a jacket at least… you literally keep an umbrella right by your front door!” he exclaimed, pointing at the umbrella right next to the door. you just smiled, “I wanted to see you right now though.”

he rushes you to the bathroom and tells you to shower while he gets you some clothes to change into.

renjun

when you said you were coming over right now, he thought you meant by car. you know, since it was literally storming. but when you arrived at his door, dripping water onto the floor and a broken umbrella in your hand, he almost laughed.

he acts fast, pulling you inside and rushes you into the bathroom where he runs the shower and gets you inside. he does this all the while telling you that he could’ve picked you up or that you should’ve put a rain jacket on.

jeno

he waited at the cafe, hoping you would get here before the rain hit. but you didn’t. so when you walked through the doors to the cafe, laughing at yourself when you saw your reflection in the window, he could only laugh at you as well.

“take an umbrella next time.” he said, taking his own jacket off to give it to you.

“I thought I could make it..” You say, looking down at the floor where you were quite literally dripping water into a small puddle.

haechan

you wanted to go for a walk before the day ended since you had literally done nothing all day despite the perfect weather. haechan didn’t want to go and instead said he would do the dishes while you were gone.

ten minutes later he heard heavy rain hitting the windows. he immediately called you, and was met with you yelling over the loud rain into the phone, “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS HAPPENED TO ME!”

he goes to the front door, leaning down to put his shoes on, “where are you? I’ll come with an umbrella.”

“THE RAIN IS ON A ANGLE! I NEED A JACKET TOO!”

just know that when he approached you, standing under a tree that was somehow protecting you just a bit from the rain, he was laughing hysterically at you and your bad luck.

jaemin

when you walked through the door, appearing in his lounge room, he was expecting you to be DRY and happy. not wet and upset. he rushes to his feet, taking his hoodie off in the process and walking over to you.

“you shouldn’t have walked in the rain.” he scolds, putting his hoodie over your head and onto your drenched body.

“I didn’t look at the weather. it was perfect all day and when I left the house the weather wasn’t even bad.” he just sighed and took a good look at you, laughing before telling you to go shower and he will get you some clothes.

chenle

you two were meeting at the shopping mall so you could then go for a walk to a garden nearby to eat lunch. neither of you read the updated version of the weather today, and only assumed it would be perfect weather just like it was when you last checked. however, chenle was smart enough to bring an umbrella, since the clouds did look a bit grey.

when you walked up to him, drenched from the heavy rain that was still falling from the sky, he laughed at you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“this isn’t funny.”

“yes it is, oh my god I have to get a photo.”

jisung

you texted him that you were on your way to his place, and told him to get a movie ready. every saturday, if not busy, you two liked to watch a movie together. it had been like this ever since you two were friends. as he got ready, he didn’t notice the rain, he didn’t even know it was going to rain today.

it wasn’t until he opened his door and was met with you, immediately rushing into his heated apartment. “I’m taking a shower.” you say as you take your shoes off and make your way through the apartment.

“why didn’t you bring an umbrella?” he asked, before taking a good look at you, “OR A JACKET?”

[boyruggeroii]

Refused a call from my father cause I want to study and now I'm feeling guilty :(

[baptismbaby]

✩ LIKE A DOG WITH A BIRD AT YOUR DOOR

toxic!ellie x reader (modern) a/n: will post to ao3: baptismsbaby warnings: ANGST. cannot stress it enough. cheater!ellie i'm so sorry for that, reader is super jealous and it's hinted she can be possessive, ellie isn't super toxic but i mean.. she cheats that's toxic enough lmao, brief mention of s*mno and drugs. brief mention of vomiting as well. no smut just depressing sorry songs to listen to: moon song by phoebe bridgers, i know it's over by the smiths, i bet on losing dogs by mitski, become the warm jets by current joys creds to elliesgalaxy on pinterest for the ellie pic wc: 3.5k<3

Ellie had made a new friend.

You and Ellie were at a college party a couple months ago. It was a part of y’all’s routine. Classes Monday-Thursday, party Friday and Saturday, and use Sunday to recover from the hangover. You would go and dance, drink, smoke, and on the occasion do a couple lines of coke. Ellie didn’t dance but loved watching you from the bar. A girl your age sat next to Ellie and striked a conversation with her. When you noticed, you immediately power walked on over. Ellie was beautiful, a lot of girls wanted her. Ellie would turn them away. She didn’t care about anyone else but you. Why is she talking to this stranger?

Come to find out, her name was Lila. Ellie and Lila went to the same high school years ago and wanted to catch up with Ellie. Lila had a long term boyfriend and majored in psychology. Once you knew she was straight, you left them alone after shaking Lila’s hand. You were no longer worried and just wanted to get as crossed as you could.

The next morning, Ellie woke you up with a finger inside of you. The entire time you couldn’t focus due to the constant beeping of her phone. You asked her to stop and reached for Ellie’s phone, tapping the screen to see Lila had texted Ellie eight times. You thought it was strange but according to Ellie, instead of saying everything she wanted in a single text, she’d send multiple. She had been texting Lila since she got you back to your dorm. You found it strange that Ellie had already caught on to her texting patterns but told yourself Lila was straight, nothing is wrong, Ellie made a friend and they’re getting to know each other. You were afraid of losing Ellie. So many girls would tell you how lucky you were. You knew it but saw red when being told that. To you, it meant they would throw themselves at Ellie if you weren’t in the picture.

Ellie began hanging with Lila in her dorm, which was a floor above yours. She’d text you every five minutes to keep you updated and even gave you Lila’s number so the two of you could become friends. She came off as clingy but was super sweet. Ellie made plans to go out to the bar with you and invited Lila so you could hit it off. You did, you actually adored her so much. She was super cool and funny. She’d talk shit to guys who tried to hit on her and would come to you or Ellie’s defense if anyone tried flirting with either of you. You liked that about her. She was loyal, a girl’s girl, overall a fun person to be around. The three of you would hang out often, sometimes just Ellie and Lila, sometimes you and Lila. Lila would boast about her boyfriend and ask a lot of questions about your relationship with Ellie. The sex, fights, anniversaries, little things Ellie would do, etc. It all fascinated Lila. She’d talk about how her boyfriend Josh was silent and off putting but gentle towards her. You enjoyed bonding with her.

You felt it had been awhile since you went on a date with Ellie. You decided to surprise her by showing up to her dorm, tossing rose petals all over the floor and lighting candles for an intimate setting. You knew Ellie would love it. But she never came. You had called beforehand and told her that you would stay the night in her dorm so she knew not to go to yours. You texted her and asked where she was. She said she was having a movie night with Lila. You thought it was weird you weren’t invited. You and Ellie would only hang out with her alone if the other had a class or was busy. If the three of you were free, y’all were together. You felt hurt and cleaned up the mess. You argued with her about it the next day and found out it was Lila’s idea. You texted her and expressed how uncomfortable it made you. She was apologetic and made you promise not to tell Ellie that she was telling you a secret. Ellie was planning a big surprise for you since an anniversary was coming up. You felt guilty and apologized to Ellie. You asked to have dinner Saturday, which was supposedly when the surprise was going to take place.

You waited for Ellie at her favorite diner. The minutes kept passing by and by, Ellie never showing up. You were blowing up her phone but she wasn’t responding. You never told Ellie, who preferred having her read receipts off, that you turned hers on secretly for you. She read every one and still no response. About an hour later, you were bawling your eyes out and decided it was time to leave. In walked Ellie, who was surprised to see you so emotional. 

“Baby, what is it?”

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

You made sure to bump her shoulder as you stormed past her. Once you made it outside of the diner, Ellie had caught up with you and grabbed your arm. “Let go!” you yelled.

People around started to stare. Ellie gave you a dirty look and pulled you closer. “Stop causing a fucking scene, these people think I’m hurting you,” she growled under her breath. “Calm down.”

She shoved your wrist away and stepped back, running a hand through her short hair. You tried to calm yourself down but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “I thought it was at seven. I’m so sorry baby,” she apologized.

“I reminded you a million times that it was at six.”

Ellie took her phone out and sighed at the text messages, acting as if she was guilty for not “seeing them.” You were starting to get pissed off but knew you couldn’t reveal that you knew she was lying.

“Sweetheart… I’m so sorry. I was over at Lila’s to-”

“Lila’s again?!” you nearly shrieked. Ellie made a face at you.

“She’s our friend. I was hanging out with our friend. She was helping me get ready because I wanted to look nice for you.”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that Ellie would text less and less the more she hung out with Lila. She wouldn’t really text you much either. 

“I’m starting to think she’s interfering with our relationship, Ellie. It feels like we barely talk. We don’t do anything together anymore. All you wanna do is hang out with her. ”

“She’s not interfering!” defended Ellie. You ignored her and walked away as she called out your name. 

When you were finally in the comfort of your bed, you decided to text Lila to see if you could talk to her privately. Your text didn’t deliver. You hoped either she had no service at the moment or her phone was turned off. You set it down next to you and shut your eyes, the emotions of the day coming to hit you all at once. You cried yourself to sleep.

You saw a flower and note on your dresser the next day from Ellie. She told you how sorry she was and that she didn’t want to fight anymore. Then there was an anniversary card next to it where she wrote an extremely long paragraph for you. She must have come by early in the morning to leave it for you before her class. You sent a text and let her know to swing by your dorm once she was finished. You didn’t have classes until the evening, so you sat around waiting.

Her class ended at 11 a.m. and it would take her five-ten minutes to make it to your room. 11:05 came and went. 11:10, you started to think she might have stopped to talk to the professor or went to the restroom before leaving. You checked your phone and saw she read the text at eleven on the dot. You slammed the phone down on the bedside table and laid down. You fought tears as you started asking yourself where things went wrong. You wished you had told Lila to back off anyway that night at the bar. Things would be different. Ellie would be holding you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear right now if it wasn’t for Lila.

-

You didn’t know you had fallen back to sleep until you woke up and realized you had missed your evening class. When you had checked the time, you also noticed Ellie sent a short text: “Not feeling so great today babe. I’m good though, no need to check in on me. Hope u liked your card. Love you:)”

You sighed. You’ve had enough. Ellie was lying and avoiding you for sure at this point. She was such a baby when she didn’t feel well, calling you and begging you to come by and take care of her. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid your shoes on, leaving your dorm room to go down the hall to Ellie’s. You tried opening the door but it was locked as if she wasn’t there. You pulled your phone out to call Lila. You swore to yourself that if they were hanging out that you would sit them both down and force them to hear how you feel. Set boundaries and make sure it’s clear that no one is allowed to hang one on one with each other anymore.

After dialing, you brought your cell to your ear and froze when the automated voice said the number wasn’t available. It didn’t ring at all, which explained why your text never delivered. She blocked you. And all you knew was that her dorm was a floor up but couldn’t remember which one. You felt stupid for not memorizing it. You didn’t want to bang on every door until you found her so you called Dina who was on the same floor as Lila.

“Hey,” she answered.

“Dina, hey, which dorm is Lila’s?”

“Oh, I’m good thanks for asking,” Dina said sarcastically “It’s like four doors down from mine. Why?”

“Ellie’s there right?”

“I mean.. I saw her this morning but kinda assumed she was back at her dorm or yours. Is she not?”

“Shit!” you hissed. “Fuck. Something is going on, I can feel it. Thanks, Dina. I’ll give you a couple of free joints for your help. Love you.”

You hung up and rushed for the stairs. You practically ran up them, skipping steps and getting nasty looks from other students who you nearly ran into. You opened the door and speed walked through the hallway to Dina’s door. It was cracked open and her head was poked out. She sent you a thumbs up as a way of saying good luck. You counted the doors and glanced back at her. She shook her head no to the door you were pointing at then nodded when you finally landed on the correct door. You felt your stomach turn. Your mouth salivated as if you were gonna throw up. 

“You got this girl, I’m gonna keep watch in case I have to jump in,” Dina whispered loudly. You gave her an awkward smile, appreciative of her support but the sick feeling was getting worse.

You slammed the door open and nearly collapsed. They were fully clothed but Ellie was on top of Lila and kissing her. Ellie turned around, her mouth falling open and her brows furrowing upwards. Lila was giggling until she made eye contact with you. Her eyes went wide with fear. You staggered backwards, your hand gripping your stomach tightly.

“E-Ellie,” you whimpered. 

Ellie jumped off of Lila and held her hands out towards you. She said something but you couldn’t hear due to the ringing in your ears. You started to sprint back to the exit, catching a glimpse of Dina leaving her room to go to Lila’s. You skipped down the stairs, busted through another door and barely made it to your dorm in time to vomit in the trash can you had sitting beside your desk. You picked it up and took it to the bathroom so you could clean it later. You stepped out, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You could feel a panic attack coming on as the image of Ellie kissing Lila replayed in your brain on repeat. You could hear a voice in the distance calling your name. A hand touched your shoulder and you slapped it away, looking up to see Ellie. 

There were tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she repeated your name over and over, as if she was begging you to speak.

“I-I can’t believe you,” you said quietly. “This isn’t… real.”

“Please, it’s not what it looks like honey.”

You kept fighting to catch your breath, trying to figure out how to feel and what to say. You heard a creak and looked up to see Lila slowly stepping in. Rage went through your entire body as if it was an adrenaline rush. There was so much you wanted to do to hurt her. You wanted to scream at her, rip her hair out, strangle her, all of the above.

“Get the fuck out!” you screeched. “I swear to God, Lila, if you don’t get out of my goddamn dorm, I will go to prison for the rest of my life after I’m finished with you!”

Lila turned to Ellie, expecting her to jump to her defense. Ellie didn’t take her eyes off you, her face twisted in pain and guilt.

“Ellie!” Lila whined. 

You stepped forward without even thinking about it. Ellie turned and grabbed Lila. She pushed her out the door, slammed it shut then locked it. You stood there, glaring at Ellie as she rested her head against the cool wood. “Fuck,” she mumbled. Her chest ached. She knew she had ruined the one good thing in her life which was you. The only girl she ever loved, who dealt with her bullshit and held her while she cried and laughed with her afterwards. Ellie risked it for no reason. She wasn’t entirely sure how everything got so fucked up.

Ellie backed away from the door, slowly rotating with each step so she was facing you. You were no longer angry. You were watching her but Ellie felt it was as if you were staring through her. You were zoned out completely, your entire body shaking and your breathing fast.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you and… spending so much time with her. It was an accident, I swear,” said Ellie. 

“How could you accidentally… kiss someone?” you asked. You decided to focus on the floor instead, Ellie’s face was too much to look at right now.

Ellie stayed silent, pacing back and forth in the room muttering to herself.

“When did it start?”

“Um, when she invited me to movie night,” responded Ellie.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“But nothing actually… started. I fucked up, baby, but there was nothing between us. She kissed me that night and I felt weird and awful. She was crying, complaining about her boyfriend and randomly kissed me. I didn’t reciprocate it that night. I stopped her, talked to her about it, and told her she’s just upset.”

Ellie stepped closer to you until she was a couple inches away from you. “Before our date, she was helping me pick out something to wear. I didn’t lie about that. But she’d kiss me on the cheek and I let her. When you left because I was late, I confided in Lila and we did… some stuff.”

“Stuff?” your voice cracked.

“Over the clothes,” Ellie sniffled as a tear fell down her cheek. “I felt awful so I got you that card.”

“So awful you had to go back.”

“It wasn’t for that at first, please believe me. I went to tell her we had to stop being friends. Then, I went back to my dorm to be alone. I wanted to figure out how to tell you so I was gonna call you but I left my fucking phone,” she sighed. “Goddamn it. I’m so fucking stupid. She invited me in. I should’ve waited outside.”

You felt a buzzing in your pocket and pulled it out to see a text from Lila. You chuckled dryly. “That’s funny, Lila just texted me. She had me blocked when I tried calling before I came by.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. You could see the panic written all over her face, her shoulders moving up and down quickly as her breath sped up.

“W-What is it?”

“A video?”

Ellie reached out to take your phone but you slapped her hand away and stepped back. “Why do you wanna see it so bad?”

“Just-Just let me see and I’ll delete it for you!”

“No, I want to watch.”

Ellie’s hands went to her stomach, watching as you played the video. You dropped your phone to the ground, realizing Lila sent you a video of Ellie kissing Lila’s body all the way down until… well, you didn’t watch that far.

“Please,” Ellie sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re wearing the same outfit right now that you were wearing in that video.”

Ellie grabbed your wrists, bringing it up to her chest as she continued to plead with you. “It was only one time. I swear, I’m so sorry. I love you s’ much. I-I’d die without you. Baby, look at me. Please.”

Ellie pulled your face up to hers, your neck and body stiff as it settled in that Ellie was probably fucking Lila before today. Ellie peppered kisses all over your forehead and temple, muttering between each one how much she loved you and wanted to spend her life with you. 

“I-I love how red your cheeks get when you-when you get embarrassed,” whispered Ellie as she planted a kiss on each one. “I love how you’re always putting chapstick on so that your lips are soft for me.” She kissed you but you didn’t do it back. “I-I love the way your chin wobbles so much when you cry over cat v-videos.”

She looked down at your arms, her tears now landing on them. “I love how you wrap your arms around me when you s-sleep. Your hands, God, I love how soft your hands feel o-on my body.”

Ellie closed the space between the two of you and slowly laid you on the bed, crawling over you and staring deep in your lifeless eyes. “You always looked at me so full of love.”

Ellie leaned forward, little whimpers falling out of her lips. “Where did it go?”

Ellie’s lips were soaked as she kissed you. You finally opened your mouth and kissed her back, her tears seeping between your lips and landing on your tongue. 

“God sent his favorite angel to save me,” she whispered between kisses.

You broke the kiss to cry, Ellie using a finger to brush off each drop. She gently shushed you. “Please don’t cry,” she said. Her voice was raspy. She sounded completely broken.

“You kiss me and I taste someone else, Ellie…”

Ellie’s face dropped in anguish as she bawled harder.

“You have to go,” you weeped. “You c-can’t do this to me.”

“But I love you. I-I’m gonna make it right.”

“I’m not sure if you can, Ellie.”

Her name used to taste so sweet in your mouth. Now, it made your throat burn. 

You gently pushed Ellie off of you. “You lied to me,” you uttered. “It’s unforgivable.”

Ellie turned away so you couldn’t see her break down. She looked around the room to see some of her clothes littered on the floor. She began to gather them together, sobbing softly.

Before she turned the knob, she stopped and glanced behind her shoulder at you. “I’m going to make this right. No matter what you say, even if thirty years from now you hate me. I will keep trying until I die.”

She left, the air in the room thickening as your brain replayed memories of the good times with Ellie. The flowers she’d pick for you on walks, her smile, her laugh, her cooking the nastiest food you ever ate. You squeezed your eyes shut as a desperate attempt to just live in those memories. You’d wake up tomorrow and none of this would’ve ever happened. You’d tell Ellie about your nightmare and she’d assure you that you were the only girl for her. You got up and picked up a shirt she had forgotten. You held it to your face, breathing in deeply and losing yourself in her scent. You slowly started to fall to your knees and onto your side. You curled up with her shirt and slowly drifted to sleep, the sweetest dream of Ellie hugging you taking the ache in your chest away.

[aromanticbuck]

AITA for maiming my best friend?

I (32M) have known my best friend, E (32M), for about 6 years. We met through work when he started at my firehouse, and we kind of clicked by the end of our first shift. These are long stories, but I help him out with his son, C (13M), a lot, I take C to the zoo regularly, and we (C and I) got caught in the tsunami a few years ago when we went to the pier for the day. E has me in his will to take custody of C if anything happens to him. When I say he's my best friend, I mean he's like family, and we've been family for a while.

Last month, our team kind of borrowed an LAFD helicopter to save our captain and his wife when their cruise ship was capsized (yeah! that cruise ship!), so my future brother-in-law called an old buddy of his, T (45M), who's a helicopter pilot to fly us into a hurricane. T is super cool! He's a pilot, and he used to be at my firehouse before I got there, and he used to be in the army (like E!), and he likes karaoke and trivia and basketball and Star Wars.

E and T got really close after we did the helicopter rescue. T flew E to Vegas for a fight that he got ring-side tickets for (which meant T couldn't go out to get a beer with me, even though I think he wanted to). They went to a karaoke trivia night together. And when E was telling me about it, I kind of thought he was going to invite me, too, but he just asked me to babysit C for him that night instead. I love C, he's a great kid, but I was kind of sad I didn't get to spend time with my best friend.

When I was babysitting C, I saw E's day planner on the fridge. Underneath a take-out menu, there was something written in for this Thursday - "B.B.P.U. w/ T" - basketball pick up game with T (my sister made me explain it to her) - and it was CIRCLED - but it's this game that first responders have every other Thursday. E has asked me to go a few times, but I don't like basketball so I always say no.

Anyway, C kept talking about T all night while we ate dinner and played videogames. And T apparently lied to C about his favorite Star Wars movie to make C like him more??? Which should be illegal.

So I asked my BIL to go to the basketball game with me, and he kept asking why I suddenly like basketball (I don't like it, it's a stupid sport), all the way to the court. E teased me, too, but that's just what E does. But we played basketball against E and T and the rest of their team, and I wasn't doing too bad. And then E and T high fived a lot and were acting like they're best friends, even though E is my best friend, not T's, and I got frustrated.

I accidentally (?) knocked E over when he was going for a basket. My BIL said E sprained his ankle and was lucky I didn't break his leg when I knocked him down.

My sister says I was acting like a 14 year old girl, and I know she's kind of right. But it wasn't on purpose, I don't think.

AITA?

UPDATE: apparently I like guys???

UPDATE 2: a lot of the comments think I'm in love with E. no, he's just my best friend! T kissed me. we have a date on Saturday.

[readerthatreadsss]

Requesting more dom!peter 😮‍💨🥵

𝗔/N: Your request is my command! (especially since I've been searching for more dom!Peter fics myself and have been failing so I might as well do it my damn self!) Also, yeah, it's been a damn long time lmao. I planned to finish up and release this like 4 months ago. Then a whole bunch of bad shit happened and I kinda gave up on writing for a little bit (outside of school cause I need that damn Bachelor's degree) BUT I've slowly started reading again and that bled into me opening up my drafts and finding this and spending some time with it. If you couldn't tell I had a shit ton of fun with this one...so feel free to check my newly updated Masterlist and request guidelines and send me more requests! The more I get, the more I'm gonna force myself to actually write them. (If you already sent one just know I’m working on it I promise)

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗧𝗮𝘀𝗺!𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

(heavily inspired by the song with the same title by Adele.) It came up in my shuffle and when I started listening to the lyrics it was just too perfect.

he's so fucking pretty aghhhh (gif not mine)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tasm!Peter Parker x Vigilante!Fem reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.6k+ (This is my big comeback so I might as well feed yall)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You and Peter have been broken up for about 3 years, but when an impromptu visit to your apartment takes a turn...that may no longer be the case...

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 (𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗡𝗜): SMUT!, lil bit of angst at the end (ex to lovers so ofc), minimal use of y/n, P*rn-with-plot, Reader and Peter are FERAL for each other because of their powers (enhanced senses and all that), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), a lil possessive Peter, oral (r receiving), fingering, praise kink, Peter using his webs to restrain reader (pre-consented ofc), dom!Peter, sub!Reader (bratty at first tho), pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, angel), choking, rough sex, brief spanking, other positions, creampie, etc...

The remaining sunlight of the evening bled through your wide studio apartment windows as you finished folding what was left of your newly washed laundry. The plan for the rest of the evening was simple;

Drink two bottles of wine (knowing that your enhanced metabolism would sober the effects), catch up on a few missing assignments to keep your NYU professors off your ass, then jump into your suit and go patrolling.

It was a familiar routine.

Or at least, it had been...since he left.

Your relationship with him ended during your first year of college. To say it hurt like hell would be an immense understatement.

What hurt the most was the fact that you both gave everything you had to make it work...but long distance can be a bitch.

On that warm Saturday night in May, your ex-boyfriend received a call informing him that he had been accepted into a very prestigious engineering program (with a full-ride scholarship attached) all the way in California.

You applied for the very same program, so you knew just how big of an opportunity it would be. And, in good faith, you pushed him to take the offer.

You both insisted, "we'll make it work," and "we'll video chat and text every day. It'll be fine!"

What a load of horseshit.

It took 6 months for you to both arrive at the conclusion that you couldn't juggle your individual academic loads, your nighttime hero personas, AND a long-distance relationship all at the same time. A three-hour time difference didn't help matters either.

It took a while, but you eventually moved on. You kept your grades up, went on a few dates here and there, and even managed to convince yourself that you were doing fine without him.

Until...

*knock knock knock*

Your head peeked out from the fridge to look where you heard the strong yet hesitant knocks on your front door.

Only a handful of people knew where you lived and you weren't expecting to see any of them today.

Assuming it would be a postal worker or someone along those lines, you swung open the door with a polite smile.

"Hi-"

You felt your voice die in your throat as you locked eyes with the deep brown ones you hadn't seen in three years.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips, barely audible.

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with that awkward grin you knew all too well.

His hair was shorter than the last time you saw him, but from the tight fit of his jacket, you could see that was about the only thing about him that shrunk.

You wanted to actually hit yourself in the head for actually imagining yourself doing many things to his large...meaty...biceps- NO, no, no, no get a grip! a voice of logic sounded in your mind.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there silently sizing him up until he spoke again. "Can I...uh...come in, maybe?"

"Umm...sure," you nervously answered, finally taking note of the small cardboard box he was holding.

As you stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment, his familiar scent invaded your sensitive senses.

"Oh God," you muttered under your breath, knowing that he heard you, yet unaware that your scent had basically the same effect on him as well.

"You alright?" he turned and asked you in concern trying to hide the tightening of his jeans with the box he brought.

You nodded way too fast, promptly putting some distance between yourself and him. He hadn't been there for longer than 5 seconds and he was already having an effect on you.

"How've you been?" he questioned you, scratching his neck and actively avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently repeating every physics law he could remember in his mind to try to quell his growing erection.

It wasn't working very well.

"I've been fine. You?" you quickly spoke, slightly out of breath.

"I-uh-I'm alright," he shook his head with a tight-lipped smile.

He soon found himself just looking at you. It wasn't a blank stare, no, it was the sort of intense look you unintentionally gave someone when trying to commit every single feature to memory as if you weren't certain when you'd get another chance to.

It was a habit of his you noticed a lot when you were dating. And just as it did back then, it sent chills running rampant down your spine. Not to mention your nipples growing obviously hard behind your large shirt with no bra to hide it.

Peter noticed it immediately and fought back a smile, which you glimpsed.

"Why are you here, Peter?" you decided to get down to business before your body betrays you any further.

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before actually coming up with an answer. "I wanted to drop these off," he placed the small box on your kitchen counter.

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "You could have mailed it. Or you could've just dropped it at the door and then left. So why are you really here Peter?" you would have felt worse about your tone if you weren't so bothered.

Why the hell did he feel the need to suddenly show up and make you start feeling things you swore you wouldn't feel for him again?

Peter took a deep breath. "Aunt May called me last week. She's not doing too good. So, I came back to help take care of her."

You felt your stomach sink at his words. While you both dated, May grew to be like a second mother to you. You had no idea she was sick.

"Oh shit Peter-I'm so sorry," you crossed the room to engulf him in a hug, despite your initial reaction to his visit.

Peter immediately accepted your hug and found the anxiety in his body dissipating soon after. Your hugs tended to have that effect on him.

He couldn't stop himself from deeply inhaling and drawing in your hair's familiar scent when he wrapped his hands around your clothed waist.

A few seconds passed before you released each other, with you also savoring the feel of his body against you and the way how your skin lit up with goosebumps though there was a thin layer of clothing separating his hands from you.

"I was just cleaning up my old room at May's and I found some of your stuff so I figured I'd drop by and..."

You nodded in understanding and walked over to where he placed the box.

It was mostly filled with old t-shirts, tools, and gadgets from days when you would sleep over at Peter's or stop by to help each other with school projects.

"Thanks," you sent him a smile as you closed the box.

Your smile warmed Peter's heart. It was actually his second favorite thing about you, after your hugs of course. "Yeah, you're welcome," he smiled back, running his hand through his hair. It was a mess by now, but you still wanted to run your hands through it…or maybe even pull on it-

"Sorting through some of this stuff made me realize how much I...missed you," he said, his tone growing more assured.

Thankfully, you were still facing away from him, not giving him the chance to catch the pained expression that briefly crossed your face.

But you could feel him slowly approaching your frozen figure and found your body silently reacting in ways it shouldn't be, yet again. "Do you miss me?" he asked, his voice heavy.

You held back the urge to scream "Yes!" because admitting that out loud would be taking 3 steps backward.

Admitting that you missed him would be undoing all the work and tears you put into moving on from him and the hopes and dreams you had for a life with him.

Admitting that you missed him would mean giving in to the part of you that thought back to your most intimate moments with him when you touched yourself.

And admitting that you missed him would mean letting him back into the four-cornered box you had locked yourself in for the past 3 years.

But, with every step closer that he took, your resolve disappeared that much faster.

"You okay?" he called for your attention.

Your sharp intake of oxygen brought a tense silence over the room when you turned to face him and realized that he stood close enough for your lips to nearly brush his.

"Peter, I-" you tried to form words, but then you saw his lust-filled brown eyes lower to your lips.

And that was all it took for the last of your self-control to disappear.

"Damn it," you mumbled once you realized what was about to happen.

Before Peter could question your outburst, you found yourself latching onto his jacket lapels and pulling him down to meet your lips.

It took mere milliseconds for Peter to react. After all, he had been thinking about doing this since you swung open the door and looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

His large calloused hands took hold of the sides of your face as you clashed in a heap of teeth and tongue. It was desperate and feverish but it was perfect.

It was a language only you and Peter seemed to master, even now after three years apart.

Your lips moved swiftly against his, eager to taste more and more of him with each passing second. You felt him press his growing bulge flush against you, causing a pathetic whine to involuntarily tumble from your lips and a smirk to find its way onto his.

"I did miss you," you softly spoke, "but we can't do this Peter," the logical part of your brain made an appearance, though you kept peppering his lips with kisses.

As his lips moved to your neck, Peter's hands slid down to your ass where he effortlessly lifted your legs off the ground and up around his waist. The feeling of his hands against the bare skin of your thighs garnered yet another moan from you.

"You don't sound so sure angel," you felt him smirk against your heated skin.

You hadn’t heard that nickname in years yet it sent small chills down your spine for the second time that night.

A mumbled curse slipped your lips when he nipped a particular spot below your ear. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

You soon gathered the strength to pull Peter's hungry lips away from your body, swinging your arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

"We can’t go back from this, you know that right?" you spoke, the both of you panting from the effects of the last minute.

"I don't wanna go back," Peter shook his head, "I wanna fuck you, right here, right now," his lips immediately found yours before his words could fully resonate.

This caught you by surprise which allowed Peter to slip his tongue between your lips.

As his taste continued to flood your senses, you felt yourself grow alarmingly wet.

Peter knew it too because he slowly pulled back and smirked down at you. "I could smell you from the moment I walked in here. Glad to see three years hasn't changed the way your body reacts to me, angel," he accompanied his words with a quick slap to your ass.

His slap and the familiar pet name left you a moaning mess. Just like he knew it would.

A lovely laugh left Peter's mouth before his lips met yours again.

He walked your entangled bodies over to the kitchen counter without breaking the sloppy kiss.

Peter used one hand to blindly clear the counter and place you on it, which sent your box of things flying toward the floor.

Not that either of you cared.

"Too much clothes," you were barely able to say in between kisses.

You followed up by shoving Peter's jacket off his shoulders which fell to your hardwood floors with a thud. He immediately got the message and got rid of his t-shirt as well.

A shameless whimper left your lips at the sight of his very toned muscles. You easily maneuvered Peter's body closer to you and began kissing and sucking his neck and every other available inch of skin just as you had pictured earlier, making sure to leave a few purple bruises in your wake.

“You’re killing me here baby,” Peter harshly swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as you continued to have your way with his chest.

"Wouldn't be a terrible way to die though, right?" you mumbled between lovebites and licks. You felt like an animal in heat but you just couldn't get enough of him, the occasional flex of his muscles with each slither of your tongue and his deep groans only egging you on more.

The taste of his skin alone could've made you cum easily.

But the same could be said for Peter as the feel of your tongue slithering all along his chest had him practically creaming his pants then and there.

Fucking enhanced senses, he cursed inwardly.

“Alright, ease up pretty girl,” he reluctantly grabbed your head, detaching your swollen lips from his body.

“Your turn,” he tugged at the hem of your top.

You quickly pulled off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare top half to him.

He spared no time in cupping your breasts with his eager hands. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbled.

"Me, or my boobs?" you jokingly raised a brow at him.

"Definitely both," he grinned, bringing his mouth down to your tits.

As his tongue made contact with the soft mounds, you loudly moaned and wrapped your fingers in his unruly tangle of hair.

He switched between nipping and sucking on your nipples, in the way he knew you liked, while his free hand pinched and squeezed the other.

"Just like that Peter fuck-" hearing his name fall from your lips drove Peter insane.

His tongue flicked your sensitive nipples harder, and his eager sucking pleased you to no end.

Peter eventually pried himself away from your supple breasts, remembering the other parts of you he wanted to worship, and brought his hands to rest on the sides of your head. Your lips connected once more in a delicate kiss.

Though you knew what lay ahead for the evening, you were both perfectly content with each other's lips at the moment, just enjoying the constant waves of pleasure from the intimate contact.

But it wasn't long before the kiss grew heated and you tried to take control. Peter, however, wasn't giving you a chance.

"I leave for three years and you think you're hot shit, huh," he smirked.

"Why don't you ask the guy I fucked on this counter last week," you retorted, knowingly riling him up.

"Don't say shit like that, it's not funny," he nearly growled as his grip on your ass grew more forceful.

You secured your grip on his hair before pressing a small kiss on the side of his lips. "Gimme a reason to shut up then," you challenged him.

“Trust me, I will,” Peter grabbed your hands from his hair and forced them to your sides. His movements were swift as he laid you flat on your counter and ripped your thong off your body.

There he is, you smiled to yourself. This is the Peter you wanted to fucking ruin you.

You felt his face ghost your drenched opening as he deeply inhaled your scent. "You smell fucking delicious baby," he praised you, his mouth actually watering at the thought of tasting you.

A genuine smile found its way onto your face but morphed into a gasp when Peter teasingly ran his tongue up your sensitive slit.

"You taste even better," he added, using his strong arms to bring your thighs closer to his head. He wanted to tease you but it was getting harder to resist the urge to dive right into your heat like a man starved.

"Holy shit," you all but screamed as he briefly nipped at your swollen clit before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

His grip on your thighs combined with the ministrations of his tongue was pure bliss.

You attempted to slip your hands in his hair once more, but found that they were suddenly held in place against your counter by two of his webs.

Your eyes briefly widened at the feel of the rough, sticky material against your wrists, not having felt it in a few years. Back then, you expressed to Peter your desire to engage in some bondage, but being the daughter of a super soldier, it was clear that no rope or wire would be able to hold you. Peter's webs became the next best choice.

"That's not fair," you pouted, though it melded into a moan as Peter continued to suck and lick between your glistening folds.

The sounds of Peter devouring you resounded through the small apartment.

"I'm close Pete," you whined, your chest heaving in arousal.

Peter decided to focus his tongue on your eager bundle of nerves while he slowly inserted two fingers into your pussy. He instantly curled the digits causing you to briefly squirm at the sudden pressure against your G-spot.

"More," you begged, and Peter delivered, adding another finger inside of you. He immediately sped up his motion inside of you, making sure his fingers gauged that spongy spot to drive you over the edge with each thrust inside of you.

“That feels so fucking good, Peter, oh my God," you loudly moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, calling forth an orgasm with no warning.

You repeatedly bucked against Peter's face as you came, white-hot pleasure filling your veins. Peter locked onto your stare, still skillfully working his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you constantly clenched around his fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ," your legs jerked when Peter dove in and drank every ounce of slick you had to give while still fucking you with his fingers.

With his face now damp of your juices, Peter looked up to meet your blissed-out eyes. "Gimme one more, angel," he placed a soft kiss on your thighs, "I know you can do it for me."

You would do anything to keep Peter's mouth between your legs.

So, you eagerly nodded in response before taking a deep breath in preparation for another onslaught.

You didn't have to wait long.

Peter’s tongue went to work on your glistening hole while his fingers fiddled with your overstimulated clit. And, within minutes, your thighs were trapping Peter's head as an even bigger orgasm rocked you again, the borderline pornographic sounds leaving your lips shooting straight to his hardened cock.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with staying between your legs all night, but you had other plans.

"Pete, I need you inside me," you begged, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes.

He rose from beneath you and climbed up to free your hands from his webs. "I know, baby, I know," he softly replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and using his hands to soothe your reddened wrists. Your own taste on his tongue flooded your senses which made you even more desperate.

Peter obliged, slipping out of his sweatpants and sliding his girth between your folds. He used one hand to hold himself up above you on the counter, and the other to slowly guide his dick into you.

You both shared a long moan as he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, your wetness making it way too easy.

He held still for a few seconds, waiting for you to adjust and give the all clear for him to move.

Eagerness guided your words. “Fuck me, please.”

Peter set a brutal pace, knowing you were more than capable of handling it. Satisfied cries left your chest as you dragged your nails along Peter’s back, hard enough to leave trails.

“You can take it, pretty girl, I know you can,” he groaned as he continued to pound into you, trying desperately not to blow his load with the way you were constantly clenching around him and marking his back.

You tried to reply, but all that you could form were sloppy moans and broken syllables.

“Oh look at you, drunk on my cock already?” he teased with a particularly hard slam that prodded your cervix, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Pleasure-filled cries mingled with words continued to fall from your lips as Peter gently moved a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear with a hand. "-feels so fucking perfect," you muttered, your lips curved into a drunken smile.

Peter reached down and pinched one of your nipples, gaining a loud whimper from you. “I love hearing you make those pretty sounds for me baby,” his strokes grew harder and deeper.

“All for you, Pete, all for you,” you panted as he fucked into you, the delicious smell and sound of sex lingering in the air.

Peter used a hand to wrap around your throat before using the other to reach down and fiddle with your aching clit.

The combination of Peter’s dick hitting that perfect spot, his fingers massaging your clit, and the lack of air from his hand around your neck was making you dizzy and overstimulated.

You fucking loved it.

“God, I missed you,” you spoke breathlessly.

He moved closer to kiss you briefly and tenderly. “I missed you too, baby.”

No amount of time could take away his knowledge on how to please you, how to get you like this with ease, not when you were all he thought about for years on end.

Peter pressed a quick kiss to your forehead then continued to fuck you on your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna cum again baby, right fucking there," you moaned out.

Peter's grip on your neck grew tighter. "Not yet, don't you cum until I tell you to sweetheart," he commanded you, removing his fingers from your clit.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you forced yourself to sustain your orgasm.

"Don't pout," he smirked.

And before you could realize it, Peter had pulled out of you and effortlessly flipped you onto your stomach.

A hand soon gripped your hair, yanking you up against his chest and eliciting a pitiful whine from you.

"Tell me what you want,” Peter commanded, using his free hand to strike your ass. Hard.

You whimpered again at the sting of his slap. “I need you inside me. Please,” you pleaded.

He seized your hair harsher and leaned forward for his lips to graze against your ears. “Beg.”

A small whine left your lips at his words. You were so desperate you didn’t even care how embarrassing this would be in retrospect. “I need to cum, Peter. Please baby you're the only one who can make me cum.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your neck, nearly causing you to lose your footing. And he soon complied by ramming himself back into you.

“Oh my Fuck-“ you cried before biting your lip, suddenly aware that you had neighbors.

But Peter pulled his cock from your heat, with just the tip remaining, before roughly slamming into you, his hips slamming against your ass with the motion. “Come on, lemme hear you angel.”

He repeated the action, knocking the air out of your chest, “Peter!” your hands gripped the sides of your counter with such force you were sure you felt it crack under your grasp.

Peter caught wind of this and freed your hair before using his hands to pull your hands behind your back. "You're so perfect baby," he mumbled in your ear, continuing to brutally fuck you from behind, "So fucking beautiful with my cock inside you."

"I can't hold it anymore," you cried, "I need to cum, Peter, please."

With that whiny tone and those overstimulated tears to top it off, Peter couldn't deny you any longer. "Let it all out for me sweetheart. Cum for me," he littered your shoulders with kisses.

Your eyes slammed shut as your walls contracted around his cock, pleasure shooting through you and rocking you on a seemingly cellular level. Your mouth opened in a silent moan, unable to form a sound from the satisfied tremors attacking your nerves. The intensity of your finish is one only brought on when Peter fucked you and it was damn near cosmic.

"Shit," you groaned in relief, your long-awaited climax passing.

Peter slowed his movements inside of you and released your hands. "You did so good for me angel," he pushed your hair aside and kissed your neck, trying to stave off his own orgasm for a little while longer.

Aftershocks rocked your body while Peter continued sporadically moving inside of you, yet you couldn't get enough. Your body was more than ready to keep taking whatever he dished out.

Peter didn't need to read your mind to see that, but he needed to make sure. His lips kept up their onslaught on your neck as he softly spoke, "You wanna keep going?"

"Hell yes," you panted with a grin that he couldn't fully see, "You still haven't cum yet, and my bed is still fully made."

Happy with your response, Peter gave your ass a sharp smack. "That's my girl."

He pulled out of you and turned your body to face him, smiling at the sight of your fucked out face. "Three orgasms and a handful of tears later and you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," he held you by the sides of your face.

His words left you reeling, causing a slight blush to dust your cheeks and butterflies to swirl within your stomach.

Before you could form a response, Peter leaned down to kiss you. He soon hoisted up your legs around his waist, preparing to escort you to your bed as per your own demands.

As he looked around for the bed's location, you took advantage of his momentary distraction and latched your lips onto his neck, reapplying the bruises you left there that were slowly fading already.

Peter was the happiest man on earth as he walked over to your bed, his cock prodding your soaked entrance, and your lips ravaging his neck.

He carefully sat on the edge of your bed, with you now on his lap and your legs still around him. You expected him to ease his length back into you but he slowly brought your head down to meet his intense stare.

You carefully wrapped your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself up, the silence in the room growing deafening.

You could tell from his eyes that he desperately wanted to say something, and you wondered if it was the same thing you had been considering as well.

But you were both aware of what saying those words would mean for your broken relationship and simply settled for smiles instead.

Peter brought a hand up to lay your forehead against his, allowing your breathing to momentarily sync.

"You ready for me?" he questioned you with a hand at the nape of your neck to hold your head against his.

You immediately nodded in response causing his own head to shake in time with yours. A small laugh was shared between you both as your nose continued to brush his own.

"You're adorable," you said before you could stop yourself.

That stupid full-toothed grin that you hadn't seen in a while soon spread across his beautiful face at your words, gaining another laugh from you.

"Last round?” you eventually pleaded with a smile.

"Anything for you," Peter replied, meaning it in every way. Adoration littered his stare as he slowly lowered you onto his length.

A satisfied mewl slipped your lips at the familiar feel of him.

The slow drag of his cock in and out of you, while he rocked your hips back and forth to grind on him, had your bottom lip sucked between your teeth with eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure.

But Peter wanted to see it all. He wrapped a hand around your neck and forced you to meet his dilated eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

His soft yet stern tone caused you to swallow back a moan as you continued to move on his girth.

He then slapped your ass with his free hand, silently urging you to move faster.

You leaned down and quickly kissed his lips before happily obliging, now beginning to bounce in his lap, chasing your next climax.

“There you go angel, just like that,” Peter’s stare never wavered.

Peter furiously fucked up into you, your moans and the constant smack of skin on skin filling the apartment.

His other hand which never left your throat now squeezed it harder. “Fuck!” You were barely able to moan out as your breasts bounced with your every move.

“Shit, you’re gripping me like a vice,” Peter groaned, his crude pace never faltering though his orgasm was closer than ever.

Your bed creaked under the onslaught of your bodies, but neither of you payed it any attention only having one goal in mind.

“One more time,” Peter planted his feet on the ground to get a better angle, "Need you to cum on my cock one more time."

But from the broken pacing of his hips to the strong furrow of his brow, you could tell he was close too. “Together?” You breathlessly suggested, grasping the nape of his neck with your hands.

Peter nodded in agreement before engulfing your chest and back with his arms, pulling you closer to his body.

Your breaths mingled, eyes focused on nothing except each other as his grip on your upper body allowed him to help you ride him even faster.

"Yes, Pete, oh my God-" pleas, curses, and moans tumbled from your lips as your skin buzzed at your incoming release.

"There you go, cum for me," Peter's voice grew strangled as his hips stuttered below you.

"Fuck," you wailed, your finish hitting you like a freight train and your pussy leaking into Peter's length.

The intense clench of your walls around him was all it took for Peter to explode with a groan, his pace faltering with that final pump.

"Holy shit baby," he panted, his cum painting your walls in spurts.

His firm hold on your body brought you collapsing on your bed together, satisfied and smiling.

And, for what felt like hours, you lay there in his arms. But of course, your thoughts began to run rampant.

Peter could damn near hear your thoughts spiraling.

"I don't regret this," he suddenly broke the silence you had elapsed into, "Do you?"

"Peter I-...I don't know," you freed yourself from his hold and sat up to look at him.

His brows furrowed at your response, hurt briefly flashing across his features.

"I loved you," you spoke, "I loved you more than anything."

"I know. I loved you too," Peter nodded with a small smile.

"And I will never blame you for leaving. Ever," you slipped a hand in his own and squeezed briefly.

"But?"

Your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall. "What happened to us, it damn near destroyed me, Peter. And it took so so long to put myself back together."

Peter swallowed harshly at your words.

"And then here you come, waltzing in here, fucking my brains out and making me feel things," you lowered your head, looking away from him.

You heard Peter move closer to you before feeling him lift your chin to face him again. His expression wasn't as disappointed as you'd expected, just confused. "Spit it out. I know you're holding something back."

"Why'd you come back here and-and do all this? Reminding me of what we had when you know you're gonna be gone again in the next few weeks?" you felt your voice shrink to a broken whisper.

Peter used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that fell from your eye, his previously puzzled look now morphing into a smirk. There was obviously something he wasn't telling you.

You sniffled and lightly hit Peter's shoulder. "Well, now it's your turn bug face, spit out whatever you're hiding!"

You received no answer other than Peter leaning forward and pressing a deep kiss against your lips. You eagerly accepted and returned the spontaneous action but were left even more confused when he pulled away.

"That wasn't an answer," you arched a brow at Peter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm moving back to New York, or already moved, technically," he began to explain.

Your mouth opened and closed in shock as your brain fumbled for a response and came up inconclusive.

"I'm gonna finish out the school year online and stay here to take care of Aunt May. I mean it, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he grinned, watching tears of joy fall from your eyes.

"This better not be some sick fucking joke Peter, I swear to God," you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Can you shut up and just come here?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you obliged and grabbed Peter's neck before pulling him in for another kiss, your face still wet from tears and a smile almost permanently etched onto your face.

You pulled away but sank into his open arms. You relished how securely he held you. "I'm so happy," you said aloud, truly meaning it for the first time in a long time, though it was only meant to be an inner thought.

Peter kissed your forehead and looked down to meet your eyes, "I'll never stop making you happy, Y/N."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

[ghosttotheparty]

a place where i belong

also on ao3 // 13k words cw: verbal abuse; gaslighting; family angst; smut/nsfw

He’s in the kitchen when he hears it. Standing by the sink and downing a painkiller, shoes on, jacket on, car keys in hand. He pauses when he hears it, hypervigilant as always, freezing without swallowing the gulp of water, the pill floating in his mouth for a moment as he realizes.

A car pulls into the driveway. 

He swallows, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, and he sets the glass in the sink. 

He’d forgotten they were coming back today. It’s been on the calendar, marked with a vague, innocuous red dot that he’d begun to look past, to look through, to ignore without meaning to. He’s been too focused on everything else, on his own messy handwriting reading Lucas basketball - 3pm and kids theater - noon and Max physical therapy - 1pm. His weekly hours are jotted down on a piece of paper that’s stuck to the wall next to the calendar, updated every Saturday evening. Robin’s handwriting is just as bad as his, but he’s gotten better at reading it, the same way she’s gotten better at reading his. 

Steve rests his back against the counter by the sink, taking a breath, steeling himself. He crosses his arms, clutching his keys in his hand so tightly the teeth bite into his palm. He looks at the ground. Follows the lines between the tiles with his eyes like he’s mapping out a maze. Or an escape.

He hears the front door open. Hears some shuffling, some muttering, the clunking of suitcases coming through the entryway. 

And then he hears, “Steven, your car is filthy, when was the last time you had it washed?”

 His eyes get stuck on a tile, at the corner of it. The tiles used to be a pristine, shining, sparkling white. When Steve was a little boy, they were always sparkling. Glistening. Always freshly mopped, scrubbed, waxed. They don’t look like that anymore. They’re dull now, still white but just barely grey. The one Steve is looking at has a crack in it. It’s a tiny crack, thin as a hair, branching off from the corner, but he sees it from where he’s standing. 

“A few weeks ago,” he says, even though he knows it’s been months. “I don’t know.” 

The house has aged with him, he thinks. His parents stopped making sure the floors were being taken care of when they started leaving. They stopped making sure the chimney was cleaned, the pool was cleaned, the walls were sturdy. Steve gave up on keeping everything in order when he started high school. When he started to question whether or not they were coming back at all instead of what day they’d show up. 

Steve stares at the tile. Traces the crack in it. 

“Steven, I paid good money for that car, I expect you to take care of it.”

He nods at the floor. 

Quiet. 

Good. 

He hates when they come home. It’s like the house gets a little colder, like the echoes of the kids’ laughter get sucked out the windows. Like the last burning embers in the fireplace have turned to ash. 

It doesn’t happen often, them coming home. But when it does…

“Goodness, this floor is filthy. We need to get these tiles replaced.” 

He blends into the walls. Turns to mist that they look right through. Fades back into the little boy he used to be, too small to look into his father’s eyes or to reach the liquor cabinet, quiet and well-behaved and good. 

They keep talking. He doesn’t hear his name. He keeps looking at the floor. He decides he likes the crack in that tile. He kind of wishes they were all like that. It took almost twenty years for that crack to appear, that tiny, thin crack. He wonders how many tiles there are in the whole room, wants to multiply that number by twenty. See if he’ll still be alive when they’re all like this one, damaged so subtly he has to look for it. He imagines it, the tiles grey and dusty with age, cracks spreading across them like a spiderweb across the floor. In his head, it’s beautiful. 

And then he remembers that they want to replace them now. Because they’re not as shiny as they used to be. 

Steve doesn’t feel very shiny. He doesn’t think he’s ever been shiny. 

They’re still talking. Steve exhales. 

His eyes find a scuff on his shoe. He blinks at it, trying to remember where it came from, and for an awful, awful second he thinks it’s from gym class, from basketball practice, from fucking around in alleyways, before he remembers. 

He thinks it’s from the Upside Down. From running, hiding, fighting. 

The keys bite into his palm, and he loosens his grip, inhaling sharply as his brain registers the pain. He looks at his hand, holding his fingers open to make sure he isn’t bleeding. He isn’t. His skin is red, indents from the teeth of the keys sharp in his skin, in the creases of his palms. 

Fuck. 

He looks at the clock across the room, and for a moment he wants to just leave silently, to walk right past them to the front door. But he doesn’t. 

“Uh,” he says, quietly enough that he isn’t really interrupting them. They both look at him, turning their heads a little but still glancing at him out of the sides of their eyes, and he finally looks at them. Sees them. They look older than he thought they did, lines around their eyes and mouths and on their foreheads. His father’s hair is mostly grey now, his mother's still dark red. It looks fake, just like the pearls around her neck. “I need to… go.”

“Go where?”

“To— To pick up some kids.” He stutters. He hates stuttering. “And take them home, I— I told their parents I’d get them home by six.”

Walter sneers. 

“Why are you driving children around?” he asks. But he isn’t really asking anything at all. He’s just… commenting. Like he always it. Your grades are shit. Your car is dirty. Why are you driving children around?

“I’m their babysitter,” Steve says. He used to hate that word. It felt so demeaning. He remembers his babysitters from when he was little, teenagers that only took the job for the money instead of for Steve, teenagers that would spend hours in the living room smoking or nursing beers and watching movies while Steve played by himself upstairs or in the corner. 

But he doesn’t mind it now. Being the babysitter. Driving the kids around. Making sure they’re okay, they’re safe and healthy and happy. Even though he tells them to shut up, he likes hearing their laughter and relentless bickering from the backseat. Even though he calls them little shits, he thinks he loves them. 

“Babysitter,” Walter repeats dryly. He’s making that face again. He’s always making that face at Steve. Like he smells, like he’s a stain on the carpet. Like he’s a dirty floor tile. Walter sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “We’re going to need to discuss your career plans, Steven, you can’t go on with your life babysitting.” 

Steve stares at him blankly. He won’t meet Steve’s eye. 

He’s wearing a suit. He’s always wearing a suit. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him in anything else. 

And now, come to think of it, Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him. 

It’s been months that they’ve been away. Months since they’ve stepped through the front door into the boring entryway, through the boring hallway, into the boring kitchen. With no greeting, no Hi, Steve, how’ve you been? No We missed you, how are your friends? What happened with the earthquakes and the serial killer? Are you okay?

Nothing. 

A comment about the dirt on Steve’s car, and the dull floor tiles, and Steve’s future career. He wonders if they even know what color his eyes are. 

“Right,” he says finally, his hand clenching around the keys again. “Well, I’d love to have that conversation with you, but I really need to go, so…”

“We just got home,” Catherine says sharply, looking at him from where she’s sitting at the table, unbuckling her high heels. “You haven’t seen us in months, Steven, and this is how you greet us?” 

Steve looks at her. At her hair. It’s stiff with hairspray, piled up on top of her head in fake curls. Her makeup is creasing in her wrinkles, and her lipstick is faded around the center of her lips. Steve blinks. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here right now,” he says carefully. “And I already told the kids’ parents I’d have them home by six, it should only take a few minutes.” He pauses, looking at her but feeling Walter’s eyes on him. Like he’s analyzing him, looking for faults. He can’t see the scars under Steve’s shirt. “I can’t just leave them there,” he says, pausing, thinking about how worried the kids would be. How they’d blow up the walkies trying to contact him, calling Eddie and Robin and even Nancy to ask if they know where he is, if they’ve heard from him. But he knows Walter would just laugh. “I’m responsible for them,” he finishes. 

And he starts toward the door. 

“When did you turn into such a little adult?” Catherine says lightly behind him, teasing. Careless. 

He stops walking, fist tightening on the keys again. He’s facing the doorway, and the room is quiet except for the soft shuffling of her shoe on the ground as she undoes the buckle. And he feels like his whole body is aching and sore, because he was nine. 

The first time they left him home alone. It was just a few days while they went to Indianapolis, but he remembers how quiet the house was. How he suddenly missed the smell of cigarettes and weed, how he missed the indistinct chatter of the television, of his babysitters’ voices muffled through the walls while they talked to their friends on the phone. He sat on the stairs for a while after hearing their car pull out of the driveway. Like he was waiting. 

He realized after a few hours that without a babysitter, he could go outside. It was his first time outside without supervision. 

He just tried to catch the fireflies. 

Steve turns around and looks at them. They’re both looking back at him, eyebrows raised curiously at the way he stopped short, at the way he froze. 

“Probably when I turned into an actual adult,” he says, his voice quieter than he intends. 

Walter scoffs. 

Steve feels like he just plunged into Lovers’ Lake again. Ice cold all over, in the dark. Eyes straining to see what’s ahead of him. 

“You’re an adult when you finish high school, Steven. You’re a child.”

Steve blinks. 

His gaze shifts over to him, to that fucking expression, at the earnestness in his eyes. The fucking ignorance. And Steve, inexplicably, laughs.

It’s a short laugh, but it’s almost hysterical, and he really just doesn’t know how the fuck else to react, to respond. They’re looking right at him. And they can’t see the age in his eyes, in his height, his face. They don’t even know him. He’s a stranger in their house. 

They’re strangers too. 

“I’m an adult, Dad,” Steve says dryly after the laugh, still half-smiling, even as the expression on Walter’s face deepens. Condescending, and mean, and judging, and even with the grey hair and the wrinkles, he’s the same man that Steve used to look up at as a child. “I graduated high school,” Steve says before Walter can say anything. “Two years ago.” 

Walter blinks, making a face and looking at Catherine, who just raises an eyebrow at Steve. 

“You were in Italy,” Steve says, trying as hard as he can to remain light, nonchalant, to keep his voice soft and sweet and quiet and good. “I sent you an invitation to the ceremony.”

“Oh, Steven, you know we never check our main when we’re abroad,” Catherine says lightly. 

Steve looks at her. The faux kindness in her eyes. The smile gracing her red lips. Like it’s Steve's fault. Like he’s a child.

He hates her. 

“Right,” he says softly, nodding slowly, looking away. “Silly me.”

“So you think finishing high school makes you a grown-up?” Walter says, amused. Steve looks at him. 

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“...Steven, you have no idea what it means to be an adult.”

Steve looks at him. At his face. The condescending shine in his eye, like he’s talking to a kid, like Steve isn’t his height. (Maybe taller. He’s too far away to tell right now.) 

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger. 

Steve nods. Puts his keys down. 

“I’ll be back in a second.”

The phone is in the living room, near the doorway, and he closes his eyes as he picks it up, taking a deep breath before he dials the number he memorized within a day of learning it. 

“Munsons.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Uh, would it be cool if you picked the kids up from the arcade for me?”

“The arcade…” Eddie repeats, his voice more distant like he’s leaning away from the phone. “Weren’t you getting them today? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies easily. But Eddie’s always able to know when he’s lying. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Every time Steve lies that he’s fine, that No, my head doesn’t hurt, and I didn’t have a nightmare, I just wanted to get some water, and I feel fine. Eddie just… looks at him. 

“Steve.”

And Steve always breaks. Lets the brick wall between them crumble to dust. 

“Uh.” He pauses, glancing down the hall. He feels like they’re listening. “My parents came back a minute ago. We’re talking.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. “Is everything okay? Do you need backup?” 

Steve smiles into the phone, closing his eyes as his stomach flutters. 

“No, just… It’ll be fine. We’re just talking.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear the gears in his head turning. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the little shits, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course, Stevie.” Steve’s stomach flutters again. “Good luck with your parents.”

“Thanks.”

They hang up. Steve presses his face to the wall for a moment, taking a slow breath before he exhales. 

He goes back to the kitchen. 

Leans against the counter by his keys. Crosses his arms and looks at the floor. Finds the cracked tile and stares at it. 

It feels farther away now. Like he’s gotten taller. 

“You don’t think I know what it means to be an adult,” he says. 

“No, Steven,” Walter says lightly. Jovially. Condescendingly. “I think you’ve lived a very sheltered life. You haven’t seen the world, or experienced anything that could push you into adulthood. But that’s okay,” he adds like it’s reassuring. “You’re fortunate, you know.”

Steve's jaw twitches. He grinds his teeth. Stares at the tile, then the scuff on his shoe. 

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Steve asks quietly. 

Walter scoffs again. 

The sound grates at the inside of Steve’s skull, and his stomach twists. His lungs feel constricted, like they’re too tight. 

“What do you think?” Walter asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle it sounds like he’s talking to a five-year-old, humoring him, playing along. Steve lifts his head and levels a gaze on him. 

And across the kitchen, in the soft late afternoon sunlight, Steve looks at his wrinkles and his grey hair and his goddamn suit, and he’s just a man. And Steve wonders how the fuck he used to look up to this man, how the fuck he used to think he was anything more than this.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” Steve says softly. 

Walter’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head in shock as Catherine lets out an Excuse me!

Steve nods, staring, and staring, and staring, and he can’t look away. 

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he says again. “I think I have been… through hell. And you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here,” Steve snaps, his voice a little louder. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight, and he thinks he is taller than his father. His stomach twists again. “You wanna know when I became a little adult, Mom?” 

She stares at him, eyes wide. 

“I became a little adult when you left me home alone to fend for myself,” he says forcefully. “When I was a child. And I should have been off playing with my friends, and memorizing multiplication tables, and getting my knees scraped on the pavement.” His heart is pounding now, and he can barely hear himself over it. “I wasn’t doing any of that. I was learning how to fucking cook, because there was no one else to do that for me. I was learning how to reset the heat in the house, and I was growing up when I shouldn’t have been.” 

“So you’ve been through hell because you had to learn how to use the stove,” Walter says dryly. Steve looks at him. 

“God, you really have no idea who I am, Dad.”

“I’m your father,” Walter says, an amused smile teasing his lips. 

“Is that what you call yourself?” Steve asks. “Is that what you tell people? That you’re a father? Because, I…” He scoffs and shakes his head, and maybe he’s more like his father than he’d hoped he’d be, but he doesn’t care right now. “I gotta tell you, man, that’s gonna be really misleading when people hear that.”

“You don’t think I’m your father,” Walter says. He’s starting to get angry, and a part of Steve feels vindicated. Good.

“No,” Steve breathes. 

“How on Earth is he not?” Catherine interrupts, and Steve had almost forgotten that she’s even here, looking up at them from the chair she’s sitting in. “You have his DNA.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So we’re related. Biologically.” He looks back at Walter, and they’re closer than he thought they were, but he can't tell how close they really are. Concussions and trauma do wonders to one’s depth perception. “You didn’t raise me.”

“I didn’t raise you?” Walter says, his cheeks flushing red. Something in Steve cheers. 

“No,” Steve says calmly. “You left me alone with teenagers that didn’t know shit about how to take care of children, and you left me home alone. By myself. In the middle of the fucking woods.”

“You weren’t that young, Steve—”

“I was nine.” He looks at Catherine, silencing her. “I remember.” He looks back at Walter. Their eyes meet. They have the same eye color. Steve hates it. “Fathers know their children,” he says. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” Walter snaps. “You’re my son, Steven, how could I not—”

“How old am I?”

The room falls quiet. 

Steve stares back as Walter looks at him. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own breaths. The water tapping in the sink. A bird chirping outside. 

And he nods. 

“You don’t know me,” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re still our son,” Catherine says haughtily.

“...When’s my birthday?” he asks. When they’re silent, he says, “What am I allergic to? What’s my favorite color? Who’s my best friend?”

“The Hagan kid,” Walter says, like it’s an accomplishment, answering one question incorrectly. 

“I haven’t talked to Tommy Hagan in three years,” Steve says. “And you didn’t know that.”

Walter huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” he mutters. “Look, Steven, this…” He gestures aimlessly at Steve, making a face. “Your favorite color, your friend’s name, they don’t matter.” He laughs lightly, dismissively. “You wanna be treated like an adult, but these are the things you care about, Steven, they’re irrelevant.”

“It doesn’t matter that they’re irrelevant, Dad,” Steve snaps, his voice louder. “It matters that you don’t care. I’m your kid, you should care about the things I like, and— and about my friends, and about my fucking birthday.”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Walter says, his eyes darkening with anger, and Steve aches. 

When he was six, he was watching Looney Tunes on the television on a Saturday morning. He laughed a little too loud, and he was sent to his room for the rest of the day. Because his father needed quiet to focus on his work. Walter’s always hated hearing Steve speak, so Steve has kept quiet. Seen and not heard. Fading in the background, hiding in plain sight. But Steve is fucking sick of being looked through. Ignored. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. “No, I’m gonna raise my voice at you. Because I’m pissed, and because you never had a problem raising your voice at me.”

“You were a child—” 

“So that made it fine? To yell at me? To tell me to keep my fucking mouth shut? That’s all fine to tell a child?” He stares at Walter. “You wanna talk about the shit that actually matters, fine. Let’s talk about the shit that actually matters.”

He’s shaking now, breathing hard and trembling with twenty years of anger that's boiling and spilling over his edges. 

“You guys know about Hawkins,” he says, crossing his arms and looking at the floor, avoiding their gazes as he takes a breath. 

“About Hawkins,” Walter repeats. 

“Hawkins, yeah,” Steve says. “The shitshow that is my hometown, you know all the shit that’s happened here, right? The missing kids, the— the fires, the lab.”

“Of course we know everything about this town, Steven,” Catherine says curtly. “We’ve lived here twenty years.”

“You really haven’t,” Steve says lightly. “But that’s fine. You know about everything.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You know the girl that went missing?” he asks, looking up at them. “Barbara. And the whole conspiracy with the lab and the chemical spill and everything.”

“Yes,” Walter says. “We heard about all of that.”

They’re both staring at him curiously now, quiet while he looks back. 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I was involved in all of that.” He watches their confusion deepen the wrinkles on their faces. “She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. She went missing from here, from—” He gestures out the window, toward the pool that’s covered with a blue tarp. The water is probably swimming with dead leaves. 

“You know anything about Billy Hargrove?” 

Catherine blinks. 

“The… The boy that passed away in the fire,” she says slowly, remembering. “At the mall.”

The fire. 

“The boy,” he mutters to himself before he bites his lip, pausing. “Yeah. The year before he ate shit, he almost fucking killed me.” 

They both blink at him, blank. 

“And he tried to kill me,” he continues, “because I stopped him from killing a thirteen-year-old.” He takes a shuddering breath, uncrossing his arms, looking at them, and his vision wavers as he remembers it, as he remembers the glass smashing over his head, the floor against his back, Billy’s laughter. The kids’ shouting. “He beat… the shit out of me. Gave me a grade four concussion.”

He looks back at forth between them, waiting for a reaction, but they keep staring. Catherine’s eyes are wide, but Walter just looks angry. Like Steve is wasting his time. 

“It took me three weeks to recover from it,” he says. “And you were in fucking Spain.”

His voice shakes. 

“The mall fire,” he continues before they can say anything. “You know about it. Fourth of July, thirty dead.” 

“Yes,” Catherine says softly. 

“Take a wild fucking guess where I was.”

Silence. 

Until Catherine’s voice says quietly, “...The mall.”

“Inside,” Steve says softly, looking at her intently. “With my friends, with the kids I babysit— and it wasn’t just a— a fucking fire.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t tell you what really happened, because I signed a goddamn nondisclosure agreement—”

“Steven, what—” 

“But I can tell you,” he interrupts loudly. “That I got the shit beaten out of me again.” 

A flash of light. A fist cracking against his face. An ache in his ribs, a sharp pain in the side of his neck. His own voice, rough from screaming, broken and pleading. 

“Another grade four concussion. The medics asked for my home number so one of you could come to pick me up,” he says, his throat tightening, his eyes stinging. “And I had to tell him that you were in Chicago for a fucking business trip.” His breath shudders, and his vision blurs, and his hands are trembling as he gestures aimlessly, pointing to nothing. “I was driven home by a fucking government agent, because you weren’t here.” 

“Steven—”

“You heard about the kids in town that were murdered?” he says, his voice breaking, tears sparking his eyes. “The kids that were fucking… broken?”

“...Of course we heard about them.”

Steve exhales shakily. 

“...There was a serial killer loose in town,” he says, fingers curling into fists. “And you never even called.” 

“We were working,” Walter snaps. 

“You’re always fucking working,” Steve says strongly. “I got used to you not being around, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier. You weren’t here when I had concussions, when I couldn’t fucking see, or when my hearing started going, you weren’t here when I could barely move because my injuries were infected, you were never fucking here.”

“Oh, Lord,” Walter says, rolling his eyes and scoffing, glancing at Catherine. Steve’s stomach twists, and he can’t see clearly. Everything is too bright, swimming in his tears. “How were we supposed to know you were hurt?” 

Hurt. 

He makes it sound so… little. Like Steve had a papercut. Like he needed a band-aid and a kiss on his forehead to feel better. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dad,” Steve says adamantly. “Obviously you wouldn’t fucking know, that’s not the problem— The problem is that you weren’t here for any of it, for anything I’ve gone through, and even when you knew what the fuck was happening in this town you couldn’t even be bothered to call, to— to make sure I was okay.”

“You said you’re an adult, didn’t you?”

Steve exhales. 

He doesn’t feel like an adult right now. 

He feels like a child. Like he’s five years old, searching for his parents’ attention, their affection, anything. Like they’re looking past him, through him, ignoring him in the hopes that he finally shuts up. 

Seen and not heard. 

Seen and not heard.

“You said you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Walter says. “Let’s say you really did— You have to be eighteen for contracts to be legally binding. So you’re an adult.” Walter looks into his eyes, like he’s sizing him up. “You shouldn’t need mommy and daddy to take care of you.”

Steve’s lip quivers. He blinks tears back. And he’s stuck here. A kindergartener in the body of a twenty-year-old, the way he was thirty when he was twelve. Unmoving. 

Walter scoffs again, looking at Steve trying not to cry.

“Are you done with your little temper tantrum?” he asks dryly, turning slightly. “It was a long trip back, I’d like to take a shower and rest.”

And Steve longs to tell them. About the monsters, the dark, the flickering and flashing lights. About the Upside Down. To show them the scars that cover his skin. 

“You weren’t here when I was a child, either,” Steve says, stopping him before he can leave, and Walter turns with a heavy sigh, giving Steve a bored look. Steve’s fists tighten. His nails bite into his palms. 

“Steven,” Catherine says, standing from the table like she’s bored too. “That’s quite enough.”

“You weren’t here when I was injured,” Steve says shakily, his vision blurring again. “You weren’t here when I was concussed, and when I couldn’t see, and you weren’t here when I turned twenty, or when I graduated high school, and you weren’t here when I learned how to ride a bike, or how to swim, and you weren’t here when I got my first A, and you weren’t here for parent-teacher conferences— I went by myself,” he adds roughly, gesturing at himself, hitting his own chest. 

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here when I had nightmares or when I got sick, I took care of myself.”

“It made you strong—”

“I was a child!” 

He’s never raised his voice at them like this. Never yelled. But he’s crying now, tears falling freely down his cheeks as they stare like he’s grown another head, and he can’t help it. 

“I didn’t need to be strong,” he shouts. “I needed to be loved, and I fucking wasn’t.” 

“How…” Catherin huffs, her face red, and Steve looks at her, taking a hiccuping breath. “You think we didn’t love you,” she says. “But we provided a roof over your head, and—” 

“A roof wasn’t enough,” he says, holding back a sob. “I used to— I used to wait after school, fucking waiting for you to come get me, to— to drive me home, I used to watch all the other kids with their moms and dads, I used to watch them laugh, and smile, and hug them, and I fucking waited for you. I waited until nighttime once, and you never fucking came.” 

“Steven, that’s just irresponsible,” Walter says, and Steve hiccups. 

“I was nine,” he says. “I waited for you, all I fucking wanted was my parents to drive me to school, and you were off in fucking Paris or wherever the hell you were. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike, and I had to take myself, because you weren’t here—”

“I have responsibilities—”

“I was your responsibility,” Steve finally screams. “I was your son.”

He takes a gasping breath as they stare at him again, and he wipes his face so roughly it hurts. 

“I missed you,” he chokes. “I needed you.”

“You clearly didn’t need us that much,” Walter says, huffing, gesturing at him. His wedding band sparkling in the sun and Steve wants to melt it. “If you’re doing just fine now.”

“I’m not,” Steve says before he can stop himself. 

He’s never said it before. That he’s not fine. Even when he was concussed, when Robin was concerned, he insisted he was okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad, Robbie, don’t worry. And he went home. Turned off the lights. Covered the windows. Laid in bed. Cried. 

It’s some cruel, cruel irony that these are the first people to know. 

“I’m so fucking far from fine,” Steve says. He covers his face for a moment, and for a brief second, he wishes he was bruised, purple and blue and bloody. He doesn’t know why. Maybe so they could fucking see it. So they’d believe him. 

“...The first time my best friend said I love you to me, I laughed.” He looks at them, and he suddenly wants to crumple to the floor, to lean against the wall, to go to bed. Exhausted. “I never fucking heard it from you guys. Never heard it from my girlfriend. I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what it fucking meant.”

He looks at them across the room. They’re both near the doorway of the kitchen, both turned slightly toward each other like they’re leaving, hesitating to watch Steve. Like he’s putting on a performance, like he’s pretending.

“You really fucked me up,” he says weakly, tiredly. 

 They’re quiet for a moment. And he doesn’t know what he expects. An apology. We’re sorry, Steve, we’ll be better parents from now on. We’ll be present in your life. 

“I really don’t like the language you’ve been using today, Steven,” Catherine says. Ignoring him. The tears on his face. “It’s really no way to speak to your parents.”

But he supposes he should have seen this coming. The deflection. 

He looks away, blinking tears back and exhaling, but before he can say anything, a car pulls into the driveway. He turns to look out the window, wiping his face as he catches the end of Eddie’s van before it’s hidden from view, and in spite of it all, he smiles. 

That was quick. 

He should have anticipated Eddie coming over as soon as he could. He probably sped on the way here. 

“Who…” Walter starts, but he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open. The doorknob hits the wall with a muffled bang, and a moment later, Eddie appears behind in the entry to the kitchen.

Walter and Catherine part, looking him up and down, looking, scandalized, at the rips in his jeans, the swords on his t-shirt that form an upside down star, at his hair. And he isn’t even wearing a jacket or any jewellery, and Steve’s stomach flutters with the realization that Eddie really didn’t waste any time. 

Eddie’s eyes find Steve, and he crosses the room, pushing past Walter. 

“Are you okay?” he asks Steve quickly, his eyes scanning over his face, his body, lingering on the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” Steve says softly, wiping his face again, and Eddie’s eyes follow the movement. Steve thinks he must be holding himself back; usually after nightmares, he wipes Steve’s tears for him, the same way Steve wipes his. “No, I just…”

Eddie exhales, looking into Steve’s eyes, looking for a lie. He’s out of breath, like he ran here instead of drove, and Steve smiles weakly. Until Walter interrupts. 

“Who the hell do you think you are,” he says forcefully, and Eddie and Steve turn to look at him. “Coming into my house.”

Eddie looks back and forth between Walter and Catherine like he’s trying to memorize them both, scanning their clothing the way they scanned his. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pursed, and even though from here Steve can’t really see him, there’s a warm pit in his stomach, because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he came for Steve, and he’s stepping forward a little bit like Walter is going to try to lay a hand on Steve, and Steve’s never felt so fucking safe before, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, and—

Catherine gasps. Steps back with a slight stumble even though she’s not wearing her high-heels anymore. Clutches at her pearls. 

“You’re that boy,” she says, touching Walter’s arm and pulling. “That Hellfire boy, you—”

“Eddie didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts, his stomach dropping, but Walter recognizes him too, and he turns red, glancing at Steve and then looking back at Eddie. 

“Get out of my house,” he says, his voice too loud, and Steve feels so fucking small, and he hates feeling small.

But Walter starts toward Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, and Steve remembers suddenly that he isn’t small anymore. 

He steps in front of Eddie, knocking Walter’s hand aside before he presses his fingertips to his chest, pushing him back gently. Walter stares, wide-eyed, red-faced. 

“You lay a finger on him,” Steve says too calmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Walter blinks, shock coloring his face darker before he laughs, but it’s a forced laugh, and Steve’s never been more serious in his life, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his heart pounding, and Walter doesn’t seem to know that Steve will do whatever the fuck he needs to for Eddie. 

“You think you can kill me, Steven?” Steve looks into his eyes. 

He’s smaller than Steve. Not by much, but when Steve lifts his chin, he has to look down at him to hold eye contact. 

“We just had a whole conversation about how little you know me,” he says quietly. “Do you really wanna fucking test me?”

He hears Eddie exhale behind him, but he doesn’t look away, staring into Walter’s eyes, challenging him, and his hands almost itch. He hasn’t had any fights in a good long while. 

Walter looks past him, breaking eye contact, staring Eddie down now, but his eyes flicker like he’s looking across Eddie’s face, analyzing him. Steve knows what he’s looking at. The scar on his cheek, the mangled skin. Steve loves that scar. It had to be stitched together, but it makes Steve think of the constellation Cassiopeia, almost W-shaped. He longs to trace it someday. To thank it. 

Walter backs up finally, and Steve exhales, watching him go back across the room to stand with Catherine, who’s still watching, wide-eyed, a hand on her chest over her heart. 

“Sickening, Steven,” Walter says, shaking his head and glaring at Eddie. “Really. I thought I raised you to associate yourself with better—”

“You didn’t raise me,” Steve interrupts. “Stop… acting like you were some fantastic fucking father that a fucking stand-up job of raising a son, you didn’t do shit.” He stares, breathing hard, his back tingling with some sort of anticipation. “I did. Not you.”

“So you think you’re so independent?” Walter says with that awful fucking laugh again. 

“I had to be,” Steve says softly. Eddie is closer now, still behind Steve, but less like Steve is protecting him, and more like Eddie is here. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

Walter looks at him. At Eddie. He’s holding the back of a chair, exasperated, and he shakes his head. 

“Never thought I’d be so disappointed in my own son.”

Steve looks away, hesitating. 

“Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so kind. 

“...Can you go upstairs and pack me a bag?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie touches the small of his back gently as he passes by toward the entryway, where he passes Walter and Catherine with a faux polite nod that’s so on brand for Eddie that Steve wants to smile. 

Walter glares at Steve while Eddie goes upstairs, and Steve can hear him breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw him this angry. 

And then Walter is standing up straight abruptly, muttering something about fucking trash in my house under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, and Steve’s stomach drops as he follows, his vision blurring as his blood courses in his veins, fingers twitching. But instead of going up the stairs, Walters passes by them, headed toward the master bedroom, and Steve stops, watching. He scoffs when he realizes where he’s headed, and he leans against the wall. He hears a thump upstairs. 

“Steven, you really…” Catherine shakes her head in disappointment. She’s got her arms crossed, twisting the plastic pearls of her necklace. “This is all very disrespectful.”

Steve looks down at her. 

“...You think you deserve my respect?” he asks quietly. She looks at him like she’s alarmed. “You think I care if you think you do?”

He looks away before she can respond.

Eddie is coming down the top steps just as Walter appears again. 

Steve looks up at Eddie.

He’s carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, carrying the nail bat in one of his hands, and he raises an eyebrow as Walter yells at Steve from across the room. 

“Where is it?”

“Nowhere you’ll find it,” Steve says lightly, lifting a hand to catch the bat as Eddie tosses it to him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Walter is huffing, and puffing, and it’s kind of ridiculous now. 

“What’s he looking for?”

“Gun.”

“Ah.” Eddie is almost smiling. The gun is in the back of his van, taken for target practice when Nancy taught Robin how to shoot.

Steve turns back into the kitchen to grab his keys, swinging the bat. It scratches the tile floor. When he turns back around, Walter and Catherine are staring at it, at the rusted nails and the blood-stained wood. 

“What the hell…”

Steve swings it again, moving his keys so he’s holding the one for his car between his fingers. 

“You don’t know me.”

Eddie is by the door with the duffel bag when Steve gets to the hallway, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. The light is dimmer now. The sun’s starting to go down. 

“Come to my place, yeah?” Eddie says softly, touching Steve’s arm gently, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his jacket before he squeezes. His eyes are shining earnestly, and Steve’s chest aches. He nods. 

They both step out onto the porch. It’s cold out, the air biting at Steve’s face, but it feels refreshing, like inside the house was stuffy and claustrophobic, like he’d been trapped under a blanket for too long. Eddie goes to the van, tossing the duffel bag in as he gives Steve one more look. 

“Is there anything else we don’t know about you?” Walter says behind Steve, who turns to look at him again. 

Walter’s eyes are lingering on Steve’s arm, like he can see Eddie’s handprint on it, and then he looks into Steve’s eyes, shining with disgust and judgement and hatred, and Steve

doesn’t

fucking 

care. 

“You’ll never get to know,” he says quietly. 

And he leaves. 

He’s vaguely aware of Catherine saying something, her voice high-pitched and wavering, and Walter shouting something about the car, but Steve ignores them, blank and empty as he gets into the car and pulls out of the driveway. He glances at the house in the rearview mirror as he leaves. It occurs to him that with the location of it, hidden by trees, away from town, Steve could live in Hawkins all his life and never have to look at the house again. 

He smiles. 

Eddie and Wayne live in an apartment in town now. It’s two floors above a cafe that opened a little after Starcourt, and sometimes when Steve is going to the door, he smells coffee and baking pastries. It’s nice. 

He doesn’t smell it at this time of night, though. 

He and Eddie arrive around the same time, and they’re quiet as Steve parks next to the van, grabs the bat and silently follows Eddie to the door. Eddie leads him in, up the narrow stairs, and they’re quiet as he unlocks the apartment, as they step inside and kick their shoes off. Steve leaves the bat resting against the wall by the door in Eddie’s room, and Eddie tosses him his bag. 

Steve looks into it, rummages through the bunched-up, hastily-packed underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters. His fingers brush cold cans that he recognizes as his hairspray, and he smiles, his stomach fluttering because Eddie remembered where they were. 

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. He’s leaning against his dresser. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily. 

“Steve,” Eddie says again, almost whispering. 

“I am, Eddie,” Steve says, looking up at him, his hands falling still on top of the bag. Eddie’s eyes are shining with concern, and his arms are crossed. “I really…” He trails off, looking at the ground. 

It’s hardwood, the wood faded and creaky, and there are a few gaps between the floorboard. He can see the nails in them, shining in the dim light of Eddie’s room, and it makes Steve think about the tiles in the kitchen at his parents’ house. Faded and dull and cracked because they’ve been walked on. Used. 

“I feel great,” he says, looking back at Eddie, half-smiling. 

Eddie’s expression softens. 

“Just tired,” Steve adds, looking away. “I haven’t… cried. In a while.”

“You wanna lay down?”

Steve hesitates. 

“...Can I borrow a sweater?”

Eddie smiles. 

“‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve likes it when he calls him that. 

It makes him feel little, but not in the way his parents make him feel. Not little like a little boy, like he has to stay quiet, stay still, like he can’t ask for a second serving of dinner or turn the volume of the television up past three in case he pisses them off. 

Little like Eddie will take care of him. 

Which he does, even though he has no idea how it really affects Steve, how it makes butterflies erupt in his belly every time he touches him, every time he calls him Stevie. He has no idea how hard Steve is crushing on him, and a part of Steve hates him for it. For how sweet he is, how kind. 

Because there are nights he’ll call after a nightmare and Steve will look out at the moon while he listens to him cry, while he listens to Eddie tell him he called because in the dream he lost Steve, because he needed to make sure he was okay. 

Because Eddie touches him in ways no one else does, in ways no one else ever has. In ways Steve wouldn’t ever let anyone. 

He blushes every time he remembers that night, the night he’d spent after staying up too late watching movies with Eddie. He’d had a gruesome nightmare, but as soon as his eyes opened he couldn’t remember what had happened. But Eddie was there, tentatively touching his hand, eyes wide awake, saying Stevie. Stevie. I’m right here. You’re okay. And Steve had just cried, reaching out to Eddie, who took him in his arms. 

He held Steve until he stopped crying. And then he kept holding him. Steve had pushed his face into Eddie’s chest, gripping his shirt, listening intently to Eddie’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but it still helped. 

And then Eddie pushed a hand into Steve's hair. 

Steve was already falling asleep, and he had let out a soft hum. Eddie pulled his hand away, apologizing. 

Sorry, I know you don’t like your hair being touched.

And even half-asleep, Steve spoke. 

Only you. Please.

Eddie pushed his hand back into his hair gently. Steve hummed. Eddie’s fingers twisted around the strands carefully as his other hand slid up Steve’s back, and Steve just fucking melted. He let out a whine that he could barely hear, and Eddie’s fingers curled into a fist, gripping his hair in a tightening fist until it almost hurt, and Steve groaned. 

Too hard?

Mm. Feels good.

Eddie kept doing it until Steve fell asleep, pulling his hair, squeezing his fist in it, tugging until Steve’s scalp ached dully, and when Steve woke up, Eddie was still asleep, his hand still in Steve’s hair. And then it was normal, every time they slept in the same bed or sat too close on the sofa during movie nights, Eddie’s fingers would find Steve’s hair again.  

They both change. Eddie tosses Steve some sweatpants along with the sweater, and Steve smiles, glancing up at Eddie as he changes, facing away from Steve. He’s paler than Steve, and Steve kind of wants to see what their skin would look like side-by-side, pressing close. His scars are mesmerizing. Steve wants to trace them with his fingertips, with his lips and tongue. 

Eddie beckons to Steve when they’re climbing into his bed, and Steve sighs. They move into their normal position, Eddie leaning against the wall, Steve between his legs, back to his chest. 

He feels little again. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly, and Steve lets his head fall back to his shoulder, sighing. He slides his hands over Eddie’s forearms. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and the fabric is soft. Steve plays with one of the folds, looking around the room, and he realizes they haven’t communicated at all about how long Steve is staying here. 

His bag is on the floor by the dresser. It blends right in with Eddie’s dark clothes littered around the floor and hanging out of his drawers, with the dark rug that Eddie bought when he moved in. 

Steve’s eyes trail across the wall, across the sliding doors of the wardrobe that are partially open, the interior hidden in shadows. At the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry that’s pinned up, the Judas Priest poster on the back of the door. The photos and magazine pages and posters that are covering the old, faded wallpaper. Eddie’s lamps have a golden glow, and it makes everything look warm. Steve loves it here. 

“How long am I staying here?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie snorts, arms tightening, burying his face in Steve’s neck. 

“Forever?” he says. “I hope?” 

Steve’s stomach flutters. 

“You want me to stay forever?” 

“Mm.”

Steve exhales when Eddie’s hand finds his, and he watches, spreading his fingers to lace with Eddie’s. His hand is a little cold. 

“Sounds nice,” he says quietly. Eddie hums. He sets his chin on Steve’s shoulder. 

“You still feel okay?” he asks softly, his voice soft and breathy next to Steve’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He feels so okay. Here in Eddie’s room, in his clothes, in his arms. “I feel good.”

One of Eddie’s arms reaches across his chest like he’s keeping him secure, and he rubs Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes a breath, unlacing their fingers to trace the back of Eddie’s hand. 

“It was kind of, like. A lot of stuff.”

“Tell me, Stevie.”

Steve closes his eyes. 

“They, uhm. Came back and just… started telling me my car was dirty, started saying the— the kitchen floor was dirty, that they should get the tiles replaced. They didn’t even say hi.”

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. 

“And when I tried to leave, I had to, like, explain I had to pick up the kids, and Dad started, just, berating me for babysitting, and Mom made this… comment. That I was acting like an adult. And when I said I am one, Dad…” He exhales, pressing closer to Eddie, whose arms tighten. “Said I’d be an adult when I graduated high school.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before, 

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t— they don’t even know how old I am.”

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, squeezing him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve ignores the butterflies that erupt in his stomach. 

“It’s…” 

“You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“...It’s not fine.”

“‘S right.”

“I tried… I tried telling them, like— showing them how they just don’t know me, but they just— everything I fucking said, they just… Tried to make it so it wasn’t their fault. Pretended it was no big deal, even though— even though it is, I…”

“It is,” Eddie murmurs softly. “It matters to you, they never treated you right, Stevie.”

Steve exhales shakily, relaxing against him again. 

“They’re so fucking condescending,” he says after a moment, his voice softer. Eddie rubs his arm gently, reassuringly. “He always does this thing, where, like… If I point something out, or I— I do something, he pulls this bullshit, and he’ll say, like, Oh, let’s say that’s true, as though I don’t fucking know, like I didn’t just fucking tell him.”

Eddie lifts a hand and reaches to touch his hair, running his fingers through it gently. 

“He said I’d be an adult when I graduate high school, and then as soon as I told him I did, and I am, suddenly I actually know nothing about adulthood and I haven’t experienced the world, and I’m— Whose fucking fault is that? They never took me along on any of their fucking trips, they left me in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.”

Eddie plays with his hair, listening to him talk. His fingers are so gentle. 

“He said I was having a temper tantrum,” Steve says, looking across the room. Eddie’s hand tightens, tugging gently. “I just… They make me feel like— like such a child. And it’s bullshit, because how can I feel so fucking little when they never treated me like I was little when I was?” he rambles. “They acted like I was a grown man when I was a kid, they acted like I knew how to live my life, but they were never there to show me how. And now I am grown, but they tell me I’m disrespectful, and that I’m having a tantrum, and…”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly. 

Steve inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and he exhales after holding it for a moment, relaxing against Eddie again, who murmurs a soft, “There you go.”

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie asks quietly. Steve nods, holding his forearm with both hands as his fingers drag through his hair slowly. “...You did everything fucking right, Stevie.”

“...You think?” 

“Jesus, yeah. They’ve never treated you the way you deserve, Steve, you have every fuckin’ right to stand up for yourself, to— to tell them to go fuck themselves.” 

Steve exhales again, a feeling settling in his chest. 

“I hate them,” he says quietly. 

“Me too.”

“And I hate that fucking house.”

“You’re here now.”

Eddie tightens his fist in his hair, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes. 

“Love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a second. 

Eddie says that a lot. Every time they say goodbye, every time Steve does something stupid, every time either of them has a nightmare. 

It was a nightmare that prompted it the first time. Eddie had slept over at Steve’s, and Steve woke up to Eddie crying in his sleep, his body shaking as he cried into the pillow, whimpering and clutching at the blanket. Steve woke him up carefully, touching his face, his hands, his arms, squeezing as gently as possible, whispering his name. Eddie woke after a minute, his eyes finding Steve in the dim moonlight, and before Steve could even say anything, he was reaching out for him, sobbing and pressing his face into Steve’s chest as Steve pulled him into a hug. He whispered it when he stopped crying, as they were rocking back and forth, as Stee combed the tangles out of his hair. 

I love you, Stevie.

And Steve’s world flipped inside out, and he was in pain, every cell in his body on fire, because he was hearing it, because Eddie told him, and because only Robin had ever said it to him like that, all three words, carefully annunciated, intentionally said. And also because Steve knew how he meant it. 

I love you too, Eddie.

“Why’d you come?” Steve asks. “After taking the kids home?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Eddie says. “...Had a feeling.”

“...Thank you,” Steve whispers. 

Eddie takes a breath, tugging again before he turns his face and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple. 

He’s never done that before. 

Steve feels almost sick with butterflies, and he can feel his face flushing with heat, but he can’t suppress his smile. Eddie looks at him for a moment, and then he does it again, slowly. Deliberately. 

Steve exhales, letting himself feel it, Eddie’s lips on his skin, his breath warm and close. Eddie’s hand tightens again, his fist squeezing in Steve’s hair before he lets go. 

And then Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, slowly and softly, and then again, and again, slowly moving down toward Steve’s jaw. Steve tilts his head, his eyes closed, and he’s scared to open them, scared he might wake up. 

Eddie’s lips press under his jaw, sucking a soft kiss into his skin, and when he pulls away, his lips brush Steve’s skin as he murmurs, “So fuckin’ proud of you.”

And Steve whimpers. 

He’s gripping Eddie’s arm tightly, and he feels like he might start crying, but Eddie just kisses him again, moving down to the side of his neck, gently pulling his hair out of the way. 

Steve bites his lip to hold in another sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to it, to Eddie’s lips on his skin, to Eddie’s soft, slow breathing, as he feels Eddie’s fingers tug at his hair. He feels fucking weightless, like he’s floating in the air, like nothing in the world exists right now except for them. 

“So proud,” Eddie breathes against his neck, kissing him again. 

“Did I do good?” 

Steve wants to jump out the fucking window. 

His voice comes out weak and breathy, quiet and so fucking desperate that he flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his eyes like he’s going to look for an escape, to leave even though he just got here, but Eddie…

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he whispers without hesitation. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales sharply, his head falling back as Eddie kisses his neck again. It’s wet this time, and Steve keens at the thought of Eddie’s open mouth against him, of his tongue and his teeth and his spit. 

“Eddie,” Steve whines breathlessly, squeezing his arm. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quickly, his hand pausing in Steve’s hair. 

“Don’t stop,” Steve says weakly. Eddie hums softly, his hand tightening, and Steve lets out a soft noise before Eddie kisses a slow line up the side of his neck until he finds his earlobe, where he pauses, kissing it before he sucks it between his lips as gently as possible. “Eddie.”

“Alright?”

“Mm. Feel so good.”

Eddie hums quietly, and Steve keens as he nibbles at the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping gently, tenderly. His arm tightens around Steve’s torso, his other hand squeezing in his hair so hard that it hurts, and one of Steve’s hands finds Eddie’s leg next to him, gripping just above his knee desperately. 

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, like he just knows how overwhelmed Steve is, how his whole body is flooding with this feeling. 

“You got me,” Steve repeats absently, head lolling back onto Eddie’s shoulder. 

“‘S right, Stevie.”

He kisses his neck again, harder, more confidently, his teeth and tongue on Steve’s skin, and Steve fucking hopes he leaves marks in his path. He wants evidence of this, proof that it wasn’t all in Steve’s head like some fucked up wet dream. 

Eddie tugs on his hair, moving his hand to the back of his head before twisting his fingers in it tightly. Steve lets out a broken noise, biting his lip to muffle it. 

“Eddie—”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. 

“I…”

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, kissing his jaw gently. “Tell me.”

“Need more,” Steve says weakly, his face hot with embarrassment. 

“More what?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve wants to be annoyed, to roll his eyes and tell Eddie not to make him say it, but he can’t, because his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his limbs feel heavy, and he feels fucking high, just because of Eddie’s mouth on him, because of Eddie’s sweet words. 

“You,” he chokes. “Please, Eddie, I need you, please—”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhales, tugging Steve’s hair so his head tilts before he leans down and kisses his neck, his lips brushing his skin as he speaks. “I need you too, Stevie.”

Steve stifles a whine, pressing his lips together as Eddie sits up a little, leaning closer to kiss his neck, and he’s almost kissing his throat now as Steve’s head falls back, and Steve reaches up to his head, pushing his fingers into Eddie’s curls messily. 

“Eddie, please,” he says softly. “More.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, breathing hard against Steve’s neck. “Turn around, come here.”

Steve turns, aching when he has to leave Eddie’s chest, and he tries to keep his balance on Eddie’s soft mattress that’s covered in blankets. Their legs tangle, and Steve has to take a moment to sort them out, and Eddie giggles softly, reaching to push Steve’s hair out of his face. Steve smiles hopelessly, moving forward. 

Eddie pulls at his legs, tugging him so their legs are wrapped around each other, so their chests almost press, so their faces are close. Eddie looks wrecked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shining like he’s going to cry, and Steve knows he can’t look much better. He exhales, reaching up to trace his scar. It stretches when Eddie smiles. Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head to let him.

His hands slide up from Steve’s legs to his hips, his waist, pressing and firm and gentle on Steve’s sides. Steve slides his hands to hold his face, leaning close enough that their noses nudge together. 

Eddie exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide to Steve’s back, pulling him closer as he murmurs. 

“So fucking proud of you, Stevie, I can’t even tell you,” he says softly, nudging their noses together again. “No fucking words.”

Steve’s body flushes with heat, and he melts, his hands slipping to Eddie’s neck. He can feel the scars under his fingertips. 

He tilts his head, his eyes stinging as Eddie keeps talking, keeping whispering and murmuring about how proud he is. 

No one’s ever told Steve that they’re proud of him. He’s never heard it before. 

But Eddie says it so earnestly, like he’s fucking reverent, and Steve listens. 

And then Eddie is kissing him between words, his lips gentle and a little chapped against Steve’s, and Steve feels like he’s going to fall over with it all, his lips parted because he can barely kiss back. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, whispering to him. 

“So proud of you, Stevie, you did so fucking good. So brave.” 

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s head again, his fingers pushing into his curls, and he sighs, listening and listening and listening and absorbing the feeling of Eddie’s lips pressing to his softly. 

His hands tighten in his hair after a moment, and he pulls Eddie in, shutting him up with a hard, lingering kiss. Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, his fingers pressing into the scarred skin, and Steve’s whole body aches. They part with a slick sound and a gasp, but Steve pulls him back in before he can say anything, tugging his hair. 

Eddie kisses him back desperately, clutching at his back, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, and Steve thinks he might be dying. It feels so fucking good, and the way Eddie is touching him…

His fingers dig into the knit of the sweater he’s wearing, holding him close as his legs tighten around him, and after a moment, one of his hands slides around Steve’s side, up over his chest slowly until it reaches his neck. It feels like he’s being so careful, gentle like Steve is delicate, and Steve’s never wanted to feel delicate before, but he’s basking in Eddie’s touch like it’s sunlight. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, and their chests are almost touching as Eddie nibbles his lip the way he did with his ear earlier. 

It feels kind of silly, really, in the grand scheme of things. 

That they’d survive the end of the world, stop the end of the world, live through horrors beyond comprehension, and Eddie is proud of him for yelling at his parents. And now they’re making out, kissing each other stupid in Eddie’s bedroom, surrounded by his posters and blankets and the glow of his cracked lamps. 

But Steve can’t think of a single place he’d rather be. 

Eddie is holding the side of his face now, his fingers gentle on his skin, and Steve holds in a groan when Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, his chest tightening. 

Eddie pulls away and they both gasp for air. 

“Baby,” Eddie breathes. 

“God, yeah.”

“Was that okay?” Eddie asks quietly, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek, and Steve closes his eyes as they start to sting. He doesn’t want to cry right now. 

“Yeah,” he says weakly, almost choking the word out. “It was so okay, Eddie, I… Please.”

Eddie kisses him again. Pulls away to breathe, resting their foreheads together. 

“Want you,” Steve says softly, whispering. 

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he can’t take it back. 

Especially when Eddie is kissing him like this, like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’s drowning and Steve is air. Steve’s arms tighten around his neck, and he’s shivering, chills spreading over his skull, down his spine, as he listens to the soft breathy hums Eddie is letting out as he listens to the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues. Eddie licks into his mouth, licks his lips and his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and Steve lets him, even though their lips and chins are wet now, slick with each other’s spit, and it’s a little gross. Steve doesn’t fucking care. It feels good. 

He lets out a whine, letting his jaw drop for Eddie to suck on his tongue for a moment, and his cheeks flush with heat. Eddie smiles against his mouth, kissing him again. 

“You still want more?” Eddie murmurs, caressing his cheek. Steve exhales, nodding. 

“Please.”

Eddie presses wet kisses over his jaw, down his neck, and Steve melts, his head falling back to give him room. He shivers, tightening, when Eddie’s lips find his throat, pausing to suck on his skin lightly before he continues, kissing across the scars on his neck. 

His scars are lighter than Eddie’s. Shallower. A metallic, faded pink that only stands out against his skin when he tans. 

His parents didn’t notice them. 

Or the scar on his chin, which Steve forgets about himself a lot of the time. It’s from that night at Starcourt. He used to stare at it in the mirror, hating it, hating himself. It’s faded so much it’s barely noticeable, but everyone knows it’s there. Steve knows it’s there. 

Eddie knows it’s there. 

He kisses it when he finishes with Steve’s neck, holding Steve’s face in place as he presses kiss after kiss after kiss to it, softly and tenderly, and Steve wonders if he looks at this scar the way Steve looks at his scar. 

“Eddie,” he breathes. 

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie presses his thumb to his lower lip, pulling it free before he kisses him gently. 

“Do you wanna take your sweater off?” he asks quietly, whispering. Steve nods.

“You too,” he whispers, opening his eyes and meeting Eddie’s gaze. He looks so… tender. His eyes are shining at Steve, and he’s almost smiling, just barely, and his face is so relaxed, more at peace than Steve thinks he’s ever seen him while awake. “Please.”

Eddie nods, kissing him again before pulling his hands away from his face, and he reaches for the hem of the sweater Steve is wearing. 

They have to separate for him to pull it up over Steve’s head, and Steve shivers when it’s off, the air in the room colder than he expected. Eddie tosses the sweater aside, his eyes skimming over Steve’s body, and he feels shy suddenly, overcome with the desire to hide his chest, his scars, the soft rolls of his belly. 

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt off, and Steve watches, crossing his arms over his stomach as he looks at Eddie’s pale skin, at the scars that mark his sides, his chest. The art that’s inked into his skin. One of the tattoos is almost gone, the bare edges of it rough around the skin graft on his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says softly, like he’s scared of disturbing the quiet air. He reaches for Steve’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re hiding his stomach, and he leans in to kiss him, pulling his hands to touch Eddie. “Wanna see you.”

Steve kisses him back, squeezing his eyes shut, and he slides his hands across Eddie’s chest to touch his neck. Eddie hums, pulling his mouth away to look at him, and Steve blushes as Eddie’s eyes scan his chest, his arms, his belly. 

“So fucking gorgeous, baby,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth. 

Steve whines. 

He pulls Eddie into another desperate kiss, and he shifts onto his knees, leaning over him, holding Eddie’s jaw so he tilts his head back. 

“You too,” he says breathlessly, into Eddie’s mouth. “So fucking pretty, Eddie, you’re so beautiful it fucking hurts.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, and he wraps his arms around Steve’s legs, holding him as they kiss, and it’s messy and sloppy and desperate, and Steve feels like Eddie is touching him everywhere, his callused hands rubbing away every bad feeling Steve’s ever had. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s, and Eddie’s hands tighten, squeezing his thighs. 

He slowly shifts onto his knees too, moving up so they’re face to face, and he hugs Steve’s waist, pulling him against himself. Steve groans softly, stifling it, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again before he slides his hands over his shoulders. 

And they can’t keep their hands off each other, palms and fingers sliding and pressing and touching. Eddie’s hand pushes into Steve’s hair, tugging sharply as he sucks on his lip, as his other hand slides across his back, gentle on his scars, and then he’s running his hands over Steve’s waist and chest and reaching down to his thighs, murmuring beautiful into Steve’s mouth, and Steve believes him. 

They kiss until Steve’s mouth is sore, until his legs are tired from kneeling like this, until his chin is wet again, and Eddie is smiling against his mouth, still fucking talking, still telling Steve how proud he is, how good Steve was. 

He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve’s head falls back. 

“God, baby,” Eddie breathes, panting as he kisses his neck again, and his tongue slips over Steve’s skin. “You’re so fucking good, shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, pushing his hand into his hair and pulling. “I need— Fuck, I need you, baby, Eddie, please, I—”

Eddie lowers so he’s kneeling, and he pulls at Steve’s thighs again, pulling him so he’s straddling his hips. Steve wraps his arms around him, letting out a sharp breath as he lowers, as Eddie licks a line up his neck. Eddie’s hand runs over Steve’s stomach until it reaches his sweatpants, and he touches him over them, gently pressing against his dick. Steve chokes, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his other hand running up his back and holding the base of his skull. Steve nods. “Baby, I need words, please.”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “‘S okay, it’s so okay, please, just… I need you .”

Eddie does it again, pressing and squeezing, and Steve is so hard it almost hurts, but Eddie is so tender with him, rubbing his back as Steve clings to him. They’re both breathing hard, and Steve is biting his lip to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Eddie whispers. 

“Can I take it out?” 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Yeah. Please.”

He holds his breath. 

Eddie’s hands are warm. And gentle. Eddie pulls away just enough to glance down to look, carefully tucking Steve’s sweatpants out of the way, and he’s smiling. Steve tugs at his hair, making him tilt his head back so he can kiss him so hard their teeth clash. Eddie is still smiling, his hand moving slowly, carefully. 

When they part, Steve is gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut so hard he might get a headache, and Eddie notices, reaching up and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb. 

“Breathe for me,” Eddie whispers. Steve exhales slowly, looking at him, watching as he nods, and lowers his head. A moment later, he’s letting a line of spit drip out of his mouth to Steve’s dick and Steve groans quietly, pulling him back into a hug as Eddie slides his hand to spread it. Eddie’s other hand presses to Steve’s back securely, holding him close. 

“Do you like it?” he asks softly. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s so high-pitched, weak and shaky and breathless and so vulnerable he wants to hate it, but he also doesn’t care, because Eddie is holding him like this, touching him and letting him tremble. “I like it, I like it so much, Eddie.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs. 

And fuck. 

Eddie moves his hand slowly, and after a moment he shifts so he’s sitting, and they’re back to how they were before, their legs wrapped around each other. Steve keeps his arms around his neck, hiding his face. Eddie slides his other hand into his hair. 

“You want me to pull?”

“God, yes,” Steve chokes. “Please.”

And Eddie definitely noticed how it made him feel just a moment ago, because—

“Good boy.”

Steve can hear his smile. 

His hand tightens, his fist squeezing in it, and it’s a slow, dull ache that grows on Steve’s scalp. He stifles a groan, pressing his lips together. 

“Stop doing that,” Eddie says breathlessly, his hand loosening, and Steve exhales with relief, his mouth falling open. A moment later he processes Eddie’s words, and he hums in confusion. 

“Keeping yourself quiet,” Eddie says. “Stop, I wanna hear you.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, his eyes blearily finding the Slayer poster above Eddie’s bed. His vision is blurry, and he feels like he’s cross-faded, out of his damn mind with the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him. 

“You don’t want me to be quiet,” he mumbles absently. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“No,” Eddie says softly, twisting his hand. Steve’es eyes close again. “I don’t want you to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby.” He moves his hand a little faster, tightening his fist, and Steve lets out a whine, burying his face in Eddie’s neck. 

“Louder,” Eddie says, moving his hand faster, his other hand tugging Steve’s hair sharply. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasps before he moans weakly. 

“Louder,” Eddie whispers, his hand tightening in his hair. Steve lets out a sob. 

“Eddie.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to kiss his jaw, and it sounds almost condescending, but it wraps around Steve like a blanket. “Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

So he isn’t. 

His mouth stays open, panting against Eddie’s neck and shoulder, letting out soft moans and whines and whimpers and Eddie’s name as Eddie pulls at his hair again, his other hand jerking Steve off, alternating between rapid and fast and slow and tender, squeezing and tugging and drawing it out. 

“I love how you sound,” Eddie murmurs after Steve lets out a sob. “So fucking pretty, baby, God.”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers. 

“I got you, honey, ’s okay.” He scratches Steve’s scalp, pulling his hair. 

“Fuck, I love you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and he pulls at Steve’s hair sharply, tugging him away from where he’s resting his head, and he kisses him. Steve kisses back after a moment, almost lightheaded, and he clutches at him, at his hair, his arm. 

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie pants when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Steve lets out a long groan, squeezing Eddie’s wrist. 

“Eddie, I—”

“You can come,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

He kisses Steve’s cheek, murmuring as Steve buries his face in his neck again, moaning as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, and Steve is crying into his neck, sobbing as his body floods with heat, as he comes.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers, fingers still working, jerking Steve until he finally slows down. “Did so good, Stevie.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s hand finally stops, and he lets go, his other hand running through Steve’s hair comfortingly as Steve catches his breath. He tucks Steve back in his sweatpants carefully, patting his crotch when he’s done, and Steve snorts.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly when Steve is breathing slowly. Steve hums. “That good, huh?”

“Mm. No one’s ever wanted to hear me before.”

“No?” Eddie says, running his hand over Steve’s back, tracing his spine. “But you sound so good.”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Steve mumbles. “One girl commented that I was noisy and it just… made me self-conscious, I guess.”

Eddie hums softly, sliding his hand up to hold the back of his neck, and it feels protective, possessive, and Steve could die happy here. 

“I like hearing you,” Eddie says. “Don’t ever want you to be quiet.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck before he kisses him gently under his jaw. “Can I get you off?”

“Mm. Yeah. ‘S not gonna take much, though, I almost came just listening to you.”

Steve giggles, lifting his head and reaching for the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants as their eyes meet. He pushes his hand under them, watching Eddie’s expression shift, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part, watching his shoulders slump. He’s still holding the back of Steve’s neck, and his hand tightens. 

“Can I take it out?” Steve whispers. 

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Go ‘head.”

Steve does, licking his lips, and Eddie pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and spits on his palm before reaching down again, touching him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing lightly. “Fuck.”

“You always this easy?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie hums.

“Only when I have the… hottest boy in the world touching my dick.”

Steve giggles, sliding his hand up and down slowly, listening to Eddie breathing heavily. He’s having fun. He’s never had fun like this during sex. It’s always felt like something to just do, to get done, to make his partner feel good. But even as he focuses on Eddie, he can’t stop smiling, watching his own hand on Eddie’s dick, listening to the soft moans and hums Eddie lets out. Eddie’s other hand finds Steve’s thigh and squeezes tightly, gripping so hard Steve wonders if he’ll leave bruises under his fingertips. He kind of hopes he does. 

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps after a while. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve kisses him. Messily, desperately. 

“Come for me.”

Eddie grunts, his hand slipping to hold the base of Steve’s head, and he pants, breathing hard against Steve’s cheek as Steve watches, almost mesmerized by the come dripping over his fingers, his knuckles. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathes as Eddie comes down, his grip on Steve’s leg and head relaxing. “You’re so…”

Eddie hums softly. 

“So…”

“I don’t know,” Steve says quietly, pulling his hand away as Eddie softens, and he tucks him back into his sweatpants, imitating him with the gentle pat. Eddie laughs. He has a beautiful laugh. 

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” Eddie says. 

“You are,” Steve says, looking into his eyes. He smiles, and Eddie tilts his head curiously. “In a good way,” he adds. “I like it.”

Eddie smiles bashfully, his cheeks pink, and Steve nudges their noses together, closing his eyes. 

“...Are you gonna talk about it?” Eddie says after a few moments. Steve exhales, swallowing. 

His hands are in his lap, and he looks at them, at the come on his hand. 

“...I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Eddie touches Steve’s chin, gently prompting him to lift his head. He’s smiling when Steve looks at him, and he leans in to kiss him softly, chastely. Familiarly. 

“Cool,” he says, his lips brushing Steve’s. “Same.”

And Steve laughs. 

Eddie kisses him again, smiling against Steve’s smile, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, keeping his dirty hand in the air as his other hand pushes into Eddie’s curls. Eddie’s hands slide across Steve’s back. 

Steve pulls away. 

“You are getting come all over my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve snorts. “What do you think about a shower to clean you up?”

“Ah, that was your master plan, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, my goal was to get you naked by getting you mostly naked.”

“Pure genius, Eddie.”

“I know…”

Steve follows him to the bathroom after they get clothes. (Eddie just gives him more of his own) 

It feels nice when Eddie washes his hair. Even though he forms it into a mohawk with the soap. He’s grinning as he does it, his eyes sparkling, amused, and Steve lets him. It also feels nice when Eddie washes his body, which he does without saying anything, scrubbing him gently, tenderly, washing the soap away with the showerhead and pressing kisses to his wet skin. Steve does the same to him. It feels nice to do this, to help him even though he doesn’t really need it. 

Steve kneels to do his legs, and as he does, he kisses his scars. Eddie holds a hand out, blocking the water from hitting Steve’s face. And Steve somehow falls in love all over again. 

The tile wall is cold as Eddie pushes him against it to kiss him, but he doesn’t mind. 

They separate to dry themselves off, and Steve stops him when he starts to scrub his hair dry with the towel. He scolds him lightly, pulling close and taking over, scrunching the ends and drying it gently, noting that he wants to get some product for him. Eddie just gazes at him silently, his hands on Steve’s hips. 

“I love you,” he whispers when Steve hangs the towels. 

Steve hugs him, and Eddie hugs him so tightly that he lifts him up a little bit, his toes touching the ground. 

“I love you too.”

Over his shoulder, Steve can see them in the reflection of the mirror. It’s fogged over from the shower steam, but he can see the shape of them, their dark clothing in the bright light of the bathroom, and Steve sighs. 

They go back to bed, arms around each other as they find their places again, Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie kisses his neck. Steve closes his eyes. 

“So what do you say about forever?” Eddie asks quietly as Steve is starting to drift off. He hums, turning to tuck his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, holding him gently. 

“Forever sounds nice.”

if you like my work maybe consider supporting me on ko-fi or looking into my commissions <3

[augustjustice]

Children Behave (That's What They Say When We're Together), 1/2

AO3

It’s just after 10 pm on a Saturday night when the Party find themselves standing out on the edge of the forest surrounding Lover’s Lake, summoned by the “Code Red” Dustin had sent out half an hour before on their walkies. 

“Dustin, seriously…what are we even doing out here?” Max demands with an exasperated flap of her arms as she hops off the back of Lucas’s bike, the pair of them stopping a few feet from the two others already dropped into the grass. 

They approach the figures at the treeline quickly, the silhouette of one of Dustin’s many rotating ballcaps and Mike’s black curls–grown out so long they nearly brush his shoulders now–easy to recognize, even in nothing but moonlight. 

It’s just the four of them these days, at least until the Byers manage to pack up their house in Lenora and move the family back to Hawkins. The party has been impatiently waiting out the days until summer begins as a collective, Dustin even rigging up a countdown clock that he updates them on every morning before school.

“Yeah, I really wish I knew,” Mike mutters in answer to Max’s question, the pair of them sharing an equally exasperated look, a rare show of solidarity.

“Reconnaissance,” Dustin interrupts, simple and curt, pointing from his position squatted down amongst the greenery. “Look.”

As one, Lucas and Max turn to follow the direction of his finger–where Steve’s familiar maroon BMW sits, about a stone's throw from Reefer Rick’s place. 

“That’s…weird,” Lucas admits. “What’s Steve doing out here?” 

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Dustin explains. “Steve wasn’t answering his walkie. He always picks up, he knows the Rule of Law.” 

“How’d you even know to look for him out here, then?” Max asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Through the powers of deduction, my dear Mayfield,” Dustin replies, voice purposefully affected. “Something’s afoot. Of the Upside Down variety.” 

Even the mere suggestion is enough to make the other three teens stiffen, casting wary glances at the darkened forest around them. 

“Vecna’s dead,” Mike says, voice threaded through with sudden tension.

“And El closed all the rifts in Hawkins,” Lucas insists.

“She did,” Max agrees immediately, coming to the defense of both Lucas and El simultaneously.

“How many times have we said that before?” Dustin asks.

Max, Lucas, and Mike all share a cowed, anxious look. 

“I’m just saying, it never hurts to stay hypervigilant. Especially around here. Don’t forget, Steve and the others tried to leave us behind, in this very spot, the last time.”

“Yeah, but…it wasn’t like we didn’t know what was going on then,” Lucas says defensively. “They would tell us, if Vecna was back.”

“That’s because we,” Dustin gestures emphatically between himself and Max, “were the ones to figure it out in the first place!”

“Come on, Dustin, he’s probably just…with some girl.” Mike’s face twists in a way that makes it clear exactly what he thinks of that. “I mean, it is Steve.”

“He’s not on a date, Mike,” Dustin rolls his eyes, his snippy tone implying the very suggestion is absurd. “Because if he was on a date, he would have told me. You think he would have missed the opportunity to brag about some hot Saturday night out he had planned? No. Besides, Steve tells me everything.”

“And yet…” Lucas holds up a finger, with the gravitas of someone interjecting in a court of law, “you still continue to insist he and Robin are dating, despite the fact that Steve’s told you a thousand times they’re not.”

“That’s not the same thing. It’s not my fault Steve’s too emotionally stunted he can’t recognize his own feelings for what they are,” Dustin waves a hand dismissively. 

“They’re definitely not dating, dude,” Max says with a certainty that makes the boys’ heads swivel in unison to look at her, like she possesses some secret knowledge none of the rest are privy to yet. She ignores them, instead taking the binoculars from Dustin without so much as a question. 

“It’s called Lover’s Lake,” Mike points out petulantly, “it’s literally a make out spot!”

“And the exact location of a former gate,” Dustin argues with just as much fervor. “Which Steve knows. Why would he be out here if it wasn’t because of something connected with the Upside Down?”

“I hate to break it to you,” Max interrupts, still peering through the binoculars, a slight smirk unfurling across her face, “but it looks like Steve’s definitely on a date.”

“What the fuck?!” Dustin squawks. “Let me see!”

As Max and Dustin begin a spirited game of keepaway with the binoculars, Lucas cranes his neck curiously. 

“Ew,” Mike’s face screws up in exaggerated disgust. 

“What?!” Lucas’s shoulders scrunch up towards his ears, defensive. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna know.” 

“I definitely don’t, dude.”

“Admit it. You’re just mad because he didn’t tell you.” As she continues taunting Dustin, the corner of Max’s mouth tilts into a teasing grin. “Busybody.” 

“Listen to what your boyfriend is saying, Max, and see reason. We need to find out if Steve and Robin finally got their shit together!”

“I already told you, they are so not dating,” Max rolls her eyes. “Besides, whoever he’s got in there with him? Has dark, curly hair. That sound like Robin to you?”

“Curly?” Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you don’t think it’s–” 

“Nancy?!” Mike gasps, completely scandalized. 

“No, but I thought–Jonathan,” Dustin darts a confused look at Mike. “Unless…I was right, and they’re out here investigating something! I mean, come on, it’s Steve and Nancy. That sounds exactly like the kind of guns blazing thing that they would do.” 

“It didn’t look like they were investigating,” Max mutters, “at least…not anything that wasn’t already inside the car.” 

Whether it’s that last comment that sets him off is unclear, but from one blink to the next, Mike is suddenly charging out of the woods towards the car. 

“Wait a second, Mike!” Max shouts, on his heels immediately. 

One fleeting look between Dustin and Lucas is all it takes to send them rushing after the pair. 

None of them is fast enough to catch up to his gangly gait, however, especially not with Mike Wheeler on a mission. In moments, he’s right on top of the Beemer, slapping an open palm impatiently against the window.

“Steve? Nancy?!” he shouts in petulant, disbelieving teenage outrage as the two figures inside spring apart. “Holy shit, is that you? Open the door!”

The question is followed by the sound of muffled cursing, and, apparently deciding the pair isn’t moving fast enough, Mike yanks repeatedly at the handle on the passenger side. 

He’s nearly knocked backwards into Lucas, the other three having caught up, when the door finally pushes open under his hand. 

"Nancy?!" he repeats in a screech to rival even Dustin’s loudest as the dark, disheveled curly hair they'd already spotted comes more clearly into view.

"Uh…" a deep, familiar voice pipes up, "sorry to disappoint, but–I'm definitely not Wheeler."

"Oh my God, you guys have gotta be fucking kidding me," Steve’s voice pipes up, and then he lets out a full-bodied groan, leaning across the console and pinning them all under his glare. 

He's wearing his 'seriously pissed off' face, which is about two shades more intense than his 'pretending to be pissed off for the sake of saving face and riling them up' face. And at his side sits none other than…

Eddie Munson, who blinks over at them with wide brown eyes.

Part 2

[jesuisstay]

Dad!Minho

It’s his first time, he’s gonna make sure this baby comes out perfect.

Stray Kids Lee Minho x pregnant!reader

Dad!Minho who makes a very detailed routine for the two of you. A new workout routine and eating schedule. It gets to be a bit obsessive, but with some conversations he understands the need for some flexibility

Dad!Minho who makes sure that he talks to the bump every single day. Even if it’s something simple like telling them about his day and that he loves them. That baby is gonna know their father.

Dad!Minho who makes sure soondoondori are already well adjusted to all things babies so that their new family member isn’t a shock. Not that he had much to worry about, they have been curling around your stomach since it’s been showing

Dad!Minho who has a journal for everything. All important things they found out at appointments. Who bought the baby their first shoes, blanket, stuffies etc. Wouldn’t be surprised if he took it into labor to keep it updated

Dad!Minho who makes you feel cherished and loved throughout the whole pregnancy. Flowers weekly to match your outfit for Saturday breakfast. Refuses to let you do any heavy lifting (which in his eyes is any lifting) because he isn’t letting anything stress you. Belly masks and foot rubs are mandatory.

Dad!Minho who is just a man stressed out if his mind and so worried for his baby. He just wants them to be happy, healthy, and loved. He’ll admit he can be obsessive to try and keep a sane head, but you know it’s just because he cares. He’s cried to you a few time about not being sure if he’ll be a good father.